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Topics - Krystal Itzume

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1
Freestyle Roleplay / Entropy [Closed]
« on: March 20, 2016, 03:28:32 am »
“Wow.”

It was the single syllable that could describe the entire scene before Erin Pierce, as she looked back briefly at the marble steps she’d just walked up to get into the gala.

The gala itself was huge, with a domed ceiling and obvious arches. Above them, the rain played on the windows, and an occasional burst of lightning illuminated the already-bright room, lit by glittering candles on each wall. The substance wouldn’t burn out, the flame eternal until doused. The wax never got shorter, nor did the wick.

Erin kept close to her companion, invited supposedly because he might be hired to do a portrait of the man who had risen up in the world. Erin knew better—the auburn haired girl of 23 years knew her friend was mostly beloved for his company, and he’d made plenty of friends through his life. They had invited him, and she latched on when he mentioned not having a date.

How could she resist a chance at this lux, just once? Given, she felt that she stood out in her cheap heels and short, Prom-ish green dress. It fell to her knees, just belling out a little. A black satin belt was around her waist and tied in a pretty bow, which she incorporated into her hair as a pretty black satin bow that held her red hair up.

Compared to everyone else, though…all the women in their long gowns, with their slender forms and perfect make-up, she felt quite inadequate. Not to mention they all seemed to have flawless skin; her face was speckled with freckles. Her eyes were even speckled, a green color that seemed flecked with gold.

However, that feeling faded when she looked around and let herself be overwhelmed by the technology in the building, the scents of foods, and the hum of strings. “They have a live orchestra!” It was small, but it was impressive to her, even though no one present seemed to be giving the musicians the time of day. The food table was attended, at least, with people moving about as they liked to grab whatever interested them.

“Now where are your friends,”
she mused, thinking she’d find them and then go get herself and her own friend a drink. As she skimmed the room, her eyes briefly fell upon a woman who looked familiar. She paused in her walking, and looked around her friend. “Hum,” the familiarity seemed to be with her friend, as she took a glance at his face and then looked back to the woman.

Only to find her staring back.

Erin shrunk back around the body of her friend. ‘Creepy.’ Something in the eyes, or the way her skin seemed colored, something was…wrong. “Oh, there they are,” Erin took solace in the fact her shrinking away had let her see where their group of friends were. “I’ll go get us something to drink. What would you like?” She asked, bouncing back on her feet and trying to pretend she had good balance on her heels when, of course, she didn’t.

Her job didn’t require looking pretty or wearing heels.

She waited on her friend’s answer. Once she had it, she would dash off to the food table to get drinks, and perhaps a few of the hors d’oeuvres for them to snack on.

~***~

“You look beautiful.”


It seemed to be the only compliment that the man in the dark suit was capable of, but it was the only compliment that the woman needed him to be capable of. He wrapped an arm around her waist, covered by a dark purple fabric that matched his tie, and brought out the color of her own, purple eyes. He stared at her through the mirror, his face besides hers, and a lazy smile on his lips.

She stared back, admittedly pleased with the way she had pulled it all together. Naturally pale, the dark colors contrasted beautifully with her skin. Not only that, the glint of gold in the fabric played with the pearl sheen of her skin—she knew she was not fully human. Most weren’t quite sure. What they knew, was that she was abnormal. She wasn’t albino, but her hair was white, her eyes violet, and her skin as pale as if she were. It had a sheen to it that defied human understanding, but it was so subtle that most just rolled with it. Accepted it.

That day, she played it up. Her skin sparkled from added make-up, and around the left eye there was an elaborate design, akin to butterfly’s wing, that glittered gold, black, and purple. Her lips were stained burgundy, and her hair was up. It was done so that some of it still fell down her back, and metal and crystal trinkets jingled from the hair sticks and down into the fall of white hair.

Yes, she was beautiful in her flats so she wouldn’t be taller than her date. Beautiful, with the revealed tattoo on her back of a thorny vine that spiraled around to bloom a rose over her heart—that was unseen, of course. Beautiful, with black nails.

Beautiful, with a locket that held a small piece of paper wrapped around a crystal. ‘Tonight.’

“Are you ready to go now?”
Her most recent patron and paramour asked, and she softly smiled into the mirror.

“Yes,”
she answered, and moved as he did, rising and then stepping under his arm, and stepping with him. His long strides were easy to match, and each long step revealed her legs beneath the dark fabric. The slit up the right side was generous, and for that reason the woman thought it such a pity she didn’t get to wear heels. No matter; she’d feed the ego of this one as much as necessary.

He wouldn’t be alive much longer, anyway. ‘Just one more hour.’ She thought as they stepped out into the lighted city. Halos bloomed around many of them, for the rain that fell was misty. Neither bothered with a coat or an umbrella, though. Their destination was not far.

“What is it that Professor Layton is celebrating?”
the woman asked as they walked to the gala with its marble steps. She hadn’t forgotten.

“His new employment. He won’t have to teach anymore at the rubbish university, and good riddance,”
the man huffed as he stepped up towards the double doors, “His time was wasted there. He’ll be put full-time to researching now. He might finally figure out the key to stopping the atrophy of the universe.”

“Atrophy of the universe?”
He was saying it wrong. He meant ‘entropy’. She did not correct him.

As if that were the thing to worry about, but her current paramour was obsessed with theories of energy, and she had needed that. It had been the final key to her own work.

“Heat death of the universe. It’s part of a theory of thermodynamics…,”
he started to talk, and the woman knew he’d go on endlessly about this theory without noticing much of what she did. So, as the double doors opened before them, she took to glancing around. They were not the first. They were likely not the last. There were plenty of figures she’d seen before. They all ran in the same circles, even if she was an ‘outsider’.

Sure, she had the money now.

She had the degrees.

She even had the looks.

That meant little since she did not seem to have the blood nor ambition. Not to mention, too many in these circles knew where she began, as an oddity among other oddities. Unlike bearded women, though, her oddities weren't considered grotesque. It made her 'less', like a scuffed limited edition statue--but still, limited edition.

She ran with it.

“…it shouldn’t happen in our time, but we must consider future generations.”
Actually he just wanted to have more access to more energy, so he could find a way to capture it and market it. “Possibly our generations, Mina.”

She blinked and looked away from the crowd, from a particularly strange individual and a woman in a short, green dress. The shock on her face was sincere, and he smiled at it, “I’ve been considering it.”

This was a point where she was supposed to act happy, wasn’t it? It was a queer way to propose, “We’re not even engaged, Constantine.” Nor did she want to be. Before he could say more, she lifted a single finger to his lips and held it there with a light press, “Later. Let’s enjoy this party and then we can discuss our future,” or hers. She let her expression offer him hope, as if there would be a future to discuss, though. “Come, let’s go see Professor Layton first. We need to make sure you get to speak, so everyone sees you.”

And by default, her. She’d steal his thunder. She already had plans, and she turned from him to look into the crowd again. She knew where Layton was, but pretended to look.

She let Constantine find him, and again they linked up, and he walked to where Layton was, with his other admirers who wanted to fund the directions of his research now that he was free from the university that had held him captive.

2
Freestyle Roleplay / Glass Shards [Closed]
« on: March 03, 2016, 01:44:22 am »
Between Stained-Glass and Monster-of-the-Week

Spoiler: Timeline • show


1890s: Seren dies.
1890s-1950s: Vastien spends time travelling, learning different languages, taking on supernatural baddies on his own and learning about them as well. More importantly how to kill them.
1952: Meets young Constantin in Romania. Black dog situation in our little town of Sighișoara. First encounter with Lord Florin perhaps. They come to an understanding and Vastien seeks his assistance with the black dogs.
1960: Vastien and Constantin meet Sylvié.
1983: The trio open The Devil's Water.
1993: Vastien goes to war in Hell.
1993: Dreamcatcher is broken. Seren is reborn.
1997: Vastien returns from Hell. Starts search for answers about who destroyed his tavern, search Seren's soul.
2006: Seren kills her new parents, summons a demon, learns of the war in hell.
2006: Seren is adopted by a priest and raised in a Catholic church; downtime to relearn what was lost.
2008: Seren gets Rottweiler, Baali.
2009: Priest is killed; Seren flees.
2010: Seren goes to India and meets Arjuna.
2012: Seren goes to Sighisoara, following the trail of Vastien.
2012-2013: Seren’s “tour of Europe and Upper Africa” (Lord Florin, vampire, contact)
2013-2014: Seren’s tour of Asia (Arjuna, Agni Guild, contact)
2014-2015: Seren’s tour of Australia (Gavin, werewolf, contact)
2015: Seren’s tour of America. (Johnny, human, contact)


Morgan Fitzhugh stood in the doorway of her daughter’s room and stared at the little child as she tossed and turned in her bed. Her hair, which had once been brown, was almost as white as if she’d seen ghosts. It held tinges of blonde to it, a platinum blonde color now, but it was so strange. ‘How could it be so light?’ Morgan and Derek both had dark hair. It had started to lighten when their daughter was two, and now….

It was as if God was trying to show that this child was not hers, something the young child had screamed at her so many times.

“My name is not Margaret! My name is Seren!”


It hurt.

“You aren’t my mother!”


Morgan did not know what to do to help her child. “What happened to you, Margaret?” She spoke aloud, her voice trembling as her daughter turned away, back to her. Morgan walked forward, steps hesitating as they touched the floor, but eventually, she pulled herself to the bedside.

Her sweet daughter had changed so much. Morgan reached out to brush the light strands of hair and thought of how odd it was that a child who looked so like an angel, could be so much like a demon. That was what her teacher had called to talk about. Her daughter, her sweet angel, had been drawing such terrible and frightening things. Demons, of course, but more—so much more. Angels with broken wings. Glyphs and symbols. She’d talked about how one of them would bring back her ‘Rottweiler’.

‘Vassy.’


It was the name she gave to it, and she seemed to find it so delightfully amusing to call him a Rottweiler.

“Do you want a dog, Margaret?”


Derek had asked it, and she had answered that she did, but she wanted her dog. Her Rottweiler.

“We can go to the humane shelter, if you like. You can pick out your dog.”
Margaret had denied. Her dog, her Vassy, would not be there.

“My dog is in hell. My dog has forsaken me…he wouldn’t recognize me…if he cared at all….”


And then she would go so silent, so eerily silent, before she would say, “He’s a liar. They’re all liars. You can’t trust them.”

Dogs, it seemed, were liars. Yet it made no sense, not that any of it made sense. Morgan had no idea where this ‘Seren Vesper’ identity came from. She had never heard talk of an imaginary friend named ‘Seren’. It was such a strange reaction, such a strange behavior, for the child.

No pediatrician had any answers that were satisfactory. No therapist, either. Pills had been suggested, but Morgan had hesitated to give them to Margaret. “It’s just a phase,” she murmured to herself as her girl fretted beneath her blankets. She reached to pull up the blankets over the girl’s shoulders, “How can I help you?” She asked, but there was no answer, of course.

Just fussing and murmuring.

Morgan let her hand drop from the blanket to fall upon the sheets. Then, slowly, she rose again and walked from the room, leaving her daughter to her nightmares. 


3
Fan-Based Roleplay / Star Wars: Rise of the Sith [Closed]
« on: January 09, 2016, 06:26:27 am »
The Force pulsed around the planet of Tython, a part of every breath. The planet was rich in life, and so rich in the Force. It could be seen in the planet life that grew over the stone steps, in the waterfalls that were near the docking bays, where many new travelers immediately rushed to look out at, and it was within the Jedi Temple, flowing through it as many Force-Sensitive individuals manipulated it there.

It was there as Dawn sat before the familiar statue of Qui-Gon Jinn, a Jedi posthumously honored for his many good deeds, and the knowledge he restored to the Jedi. It was thus the 'Jinn' name that Dawn had taken when she was initiated and allowed to become a padawan. Knight Dawn Jinn, for the Jedi had no families but the Jedi themselves, so all were expected to pick a patron of sorts.

It was there as water flowed around her, clear and perfectly capturing the light of the sun that shone into the temple, and casting rainbows about. An ‘abuse’ of the Force according to Jedi Master Ergas, the cerean man who had it out for her.
‘Jealous.’ Yet, he would forever be the reason she was never made into a master. Dawn sensed it.

He was certainly the reason she was not entrusted with a padawan, like Manx—his beloved pupil, and her friend. It was almost hilarious that Manx had chosen to be 'Kenobi', despite his deep appreciation of Yoda. It would have been better if Manx had ended up her padawan, but such was not the way it was meant to be.

Who, of course, was approaching. She rose as she sensed the approach, dissipating the water as she turned around to greet him with a smile on her painted lips—a dark burgundy hue that paired well with her purple eyes. He came in, dressed in the traditional robes of the Jedi Knight. Despite the freedom Manx was allowed for becoming a Knight, he kept his attire traditional, his black hair short, and everything in order.

He was not the swirling chaos that was Dawn’s long red hair and sunset-esque dress of multiple silks.

He smiled a bit,
“Did my presence disturb you that deeply?” He was used to finding her deep into her meditations, with water all around her.

She waved a dismissive hand as she approached him, and fell in step with him,
“No. I had little luck looking ahead, so I was focused only on the present.”

“Mm. You are not the only one,”
Manx noted as he kept the same pace as her, “Master Ergas has let me know that he, too, is having troubles looking to the future.”

“And you?”

“Yes,” Manx was ever-honest, “I am certain we’ll soon find the source of this disturbance, however. Are you prepared for our mission?”

“I am. Is your little one prepared?”

His padawan. If ever there was one who disturbed the Force, it was that one—anxiety, fear, anger—it all seemed to cling to that padawan. Dawn did not think they were truly ready to be a padawan with all those swirling and out of control emotions, but they were too old to be a Youngling. Manx had volunteered, ever patient Manx.


“We will soon see. I asked that they meet us at the docking bay.”


Dawn nodded,
“This mission is simple enough.”

“Two young Jedi returned injured.”


“Simple.” She reiterated.

Manx rolled his eyes, but commented not on her confidence. The docking bay was in sight, the sound of ships and the waterfall mingling together in an almost beautiful melody.

At the docks, Master Ergas also awaited them, for the bald cerean man had been the one to dictate the mission to them, and so he was there to see them off. He wore the traditional robe of the Jedi, too, his in a dark blue hue with white trimmings. He stood with his hands held in front of him, patient, and also quite clearly annoyed by something. The wrinkles were deep along the bridge of his nose.


4
Fan-Based Roleplay / Star Wars: Dusk of the Jedi [Closed]
« on: December 28, 2015, 03:22:15 am »
‘Where are you, Dawn?’

Manx Proteus was a mask of calm as he waited besides the ship the Jedi Order was loaning to him for the journey to Nox. His green eyes did not betray a hint of his anxiety, and he kept it tightly inside so that his former Master would not sense it. He kept a lopsided smile on his lips as he looked that way, to where his former Master, Yerba, stood.

The Jedi Master was a Cerean, with a large head and no hair upon it. He looked severe, constantly, which was basically his personality. Manx remembered it well, and it was only increasing his anxiety as he stood, and he waited, for Dawn.

He tried to focus on happier things, like his new padawan. The woman was called Trisana, and he had not known her long. He had been surprised, in fact, when the Jedi Order thought he was capable enough to have a padawan considering he had only been a knight for a couple of years now. Dawn had been a knight for a year longer, and she had not been entrusted with one.
‘Not that I blame them.’

She was running late for this mission, after all, giving his padawan a great example of what not to do.

His Master looked annoyed. A part of him wanted to say,
‘Well, you wanted her along,’ but he refrained.

The thought must have slipped in some way, though. Yerba’s eyes looked up and found his,
“Do you know where that friend of yours is?” He had a high-pitched voice for one so intimidating.

“I do not know for certain,” Manx answered, voice smooth and level. He had ideas of where she was. Dawn liked to pay her respects to the Temple before she headed out, and that was likely where she was now, or else where she was leaving. He would have gone to get her, but he knew too well of the friendship between Trisana and Vaan. ‘And with a Master like Yerba….’ Well, Trisana needed all the time she could get with him.

Trisana had not the will to defy her Master, as Dawn had, to visit him.


“She will be here soon. Be patient. It was you who wanted her along,”
there was too much cheek to his words, he knew.

That large forehead furrowed in irritation with the narrowing of Yerba’s gaze,
“Yes, and I am beginning to regret this decision.”

“Why did you want her along?” It was odd. This was a mission that Manx could easily handle himself.

Yerba shook his head and looked disdainfully out,
“Those resisting us do not understand the Force nor our Order. One like Dawn may be able to reach them, as she is…atypical.”

‘To say the least.’

It was like a cue then. That rainbow of color came into their sights, running with the Force behind her, pushing her faster than any human was capable of running. She delighted in dodging the dock workers, dancing around the heavy cargo that was being moved about and not once slipping up. A feat, to be sure, considering the dress should have entangled her legs, but the silk never dared.

She did not look at all like she belonged, and yet, she did. While Manx had chosen to wear the usual tunics and slacks of the Jedi even after advancing beyond padawan, she had taken the freedom of her Knighthood as an excuse to wear whatever she liked, and she tended to match her name and look to the fashions of her homeworld, Naboo, for inspiration.
'Attachment....' something she was not meant to have. There was a lesson here, for his padawan.

She came to a halt before them, and quickly moved her arm over her waist before bowing,
“My apologies, Master Yerba,” she greeted, the fall of red hair cascading over her face, “I have delayed everyone.”

“Yes,” Yerba’s voice was testy, “Why?”

Dawn lifted herself from the bow, hair falling back behind her shoulder,
“I was speaking to Master Jinn,” was her answer. Manx could feel the Force moving in the space between Yerba and Dawn, as Yerba tried to probe and Dawn blocked.

Again, Yerba looked dissatisfied and turned his attention way,
“Vaan, you see this fine example of a Knight?” He directed his attention to Dawn, the sarcasm biting, “If you never wish to advance beyond the position of Knight, follow her lead.”

“Why, thank you, Yerba,”
Dawn’s smile was charming, purple eyes alight, “I didn’t realize you thought I was the perfect knight!”

There was such a flare of anger in Yerba, that even Manx could feel the ripples in the Force. It was, of course, due to proximity, but he felt it all the same. Dawn though, was calm.

The flare of anger was only momentary. It was squashed immediately, and washed away in the constant ebb and flow of the Force. Yerba made no comment to that.
“I trust that you will return shortly with the infant, and not fail.”

“Of course, Master,”
Manx inclined his head to the man. “We will return before supper.”

5
OOC Discussion / Duties of Love [Information]
« on: September 04, 2015, 06:39:17 am »
A hierarchical world, with little social mobility. Marriage and death are the easiest routes, and so often the ones taken. Lord Royce Escala challenged his liege lords, the Alta family, and suffered for the consequences. However, it was not just his own life that was taken. Lord Briant Alta sought to make an example of them, and slaughtered the entire family, save one daughter, who escaped to the Inosus family. Though an act of treachery, the Inosus family took her in. As time goes on, the Inosus family will find themselves challenged by this choice, and put at great risk.

  • Cast

6
Fantasy Roleplay / Duties of Love [Closed]
« on: September 04, 2015, 06:06:22 am »
Eyes emerald green
Pale skin like a queen
With a crown of fire and gold
You will be loved
This I know to be true
My sweet little baby girl….

The memories were fragmented even close to them. The little girl remembered the laughter of the Great Hall, where her father feasted those men willing to fight and die for him. She had sat near him, and had been missing half of the jokes being told by her father’s friend as she chatted with him. Yet, her mother scowled, and her father laughed, so she continued conversing and trying to understand.

Then she remembered the way a man came running in, and on his lips were the words:
“Lord Alta is outside with his host.”

Her brothers rose as one, though they tried to be two.

Her mother gasped.

A roar came from a large man, and her mother grabbed onto her and pulled her close.

Her father rose, the picture of poise,
“Let us go out and meet him, then,” he spoke. Cheers and roars engulfed the room, and men immediately started to move. Her father, beautiful and red-headed, came to her and her mother.

Whispered and panicked words escaped her mother, as the girl was held close to her skirts by a strength she didn’t know her mother possessed. It gripped her shoulder so hard it hurt. Her father whispered back, and the girl looked up with blinking green eyes, trying to read lips for words she had not yet mastered.
“Dad!” She cried out at last, and he looked down to her.

He did not pick her up, but he knelt before her to be at eye level. They had the same eyes. So much the same, really.
“Princess,” he said kindly, “Go with your mother now,” a pout came to her lips and he put his index finger under her chin and pressed his thumb to her cheek, “I’ll be back soon, and when I am back we will plan for a ball. I will get you a new dress to wear for it, I promise. But you must behave and do as your mother says.”

“But—”


The thumb pressed to her lips.
“You must be very quiet,” he told her. “You must be very quiet until morning.”

“Father!” Called Bryce, still a boy but acting a man, with a sword at his hip.

She heard her mother say clearly then,
“You cannot take them, you cannot take them, too, they’re—”

“Thirteen,”
her father said. And the girl was a child of five. He rose, and he reached for his wife, but she gave him only her cheek in her fury that her sons were being taken out the door. He did not fight with her for more, but let her stew. He did not know it would be the last time he would see her, and his daughter.

“Lord Escala!”


And he turned on his heel, not dressed for battle, but knowing he had no options. He walked to the door with his cape flowing behind him, a black shadow of death.

The girl was dragged along with her mother, who took her deeper into their home of stone. They hid with others, servants and children of the other nobles, and they listened to the sounds of violence. They heard the home itself take strikes from flaming boulders.

The grip of her mother never let up, but the girl squirmed,
“I want Reynard!”

Her mother gave her such a severe, frightened look,
“You can get him later.”

She twisted,
“I want him now!” She had no understanding of the severity of the situation. She only knew she wanted her stuffed fox, “Let me go!” She all but shrieked, and the rise of her voice seemed startling enough. There was a moment when the grip was weak, and the girl was free. She ran for the door, and ran out it, wanting nothing but her fox.

Her mother's steps pursued her, of course.


The girl never got her fox.

The rush of footsteps caused her to dive into a nearby cupboard, and hide. Fear overcame her, and there she remained. She could hear screams, first her mother's, but she tried to tune them out. She didn’t move, didn’t so much as cry out or scream.

Her father said be quiet until morning. Now she knew why. A part of her mind blamed herself. If she hadn’t screamed so, would the rushing steps go to cause the screaming?

Then there was heat, and the smell of smoke. She had burned her hand before, and knew this was not good. Fear kept her locked in the cupboard a while longer, until panic overwhelmed her and she the doors open. She was not then caught in the inferno, but she could see the flames.

Her voice was swallowed in the horror, and she ran—fast, faster than she thought she could. She got lost in the haze of smoke, though she knew the home like the back of her hand. She stumbled out a window, rather than a door, which would be to her advantage as she saw as she fell into the mud. Every door had two guards positioned near it. She froze where she fell, until she was certain she could move, certain she’d be unnoticed.


It came with a servant who ran out from the doors, and was cut down.

She wasn’t heard over the roar of fire.

She wasn’t seen beneath the billowing smoke.


She ran, but not far. She ran out her father’s hunting forest, where she used to play with her brothers, and there fell against a tree to look at her home in flames. She understood enough for her eyes to start to water, and she hugged the tree that had taken her weight. Her throat ached with words, but now more than ever her father’s advice was sticking.

Be quiet until morning.

But where would she go?

The tears continued to fall. She could not go into her home. When the flames died, maybe, but she could not wait that long. She had seen fires burn for days and days unending in her home in winter.

She bit her bottom lip against a cry.
‘Lord Alta.’ The guard had said. ‘Lord Alta….’ She heard that name so much in the household. She heard it on her father’s lips almost more than ‘princess’, always followed with insults or laughter. ‘He….’ The thought did not finish, for she had not the words she wanted. She only had the understanding that this Lord Alta was responsible for this burning home.

‘I’ll go to Lavinia.’


An image of the kindly blonde woman came to mind, a woman she had seen with her mother. The trips had always been short, and she thought she knew the way. They could take her back when the fire ended, and she’d find her father, or he’d find her. Certainly, he’d find her, and she’d apologize to her mother for not staying, a thousand times she’d apologize.


The girl would not make it on foot, but she would make it. Luck was on her side that night, and a traveling merchant came upon her as she walked along the side of the road.
“I want to go to Lavinia,” she had whispered, still trying to be quiet. He took a look at her jewelry and offered a trade, which she accepted.

He left her with a necklace, a fiery opal, and brought her to the door of Lavinia by the morning—he was heading to sell his wares in that town, anyway, and he dropped her off with a guard and left without a second thought.

So the girl spoke to the guard,
“I want to see Lavinia.” No lady. No formality at all. Dawn had broken and she was not quiet.

The guard looked at her quizzically,
“And who are you?”

“I’m Leandra Escala,”
there was a touch of her father’s pride at not being recognized immediately. “I want to see Lavinia!”

The guard seemed uncertain. He knew the name, but…,
“Where’s your mother? Your father?” He asked.

“Home. It was on fire, though, so I had to leave or I’d be burned….”


The guard lost many hues of color, the honesty of a child always startling. Her face was blackened enough, and the scent of smoke clung to her clothing, which were fine enough to be a lady’s.
“I will…no, come with me,” he offered his hand, rather than take hers, and she took it. He led her inside, but left her at the entrance as he went to fetch the Lord and Lady Inosus, who he suspected just waking up.

He went to their chambers, and he knocked,
"My Lord Inosus, My Lady Inosus," he addressed them both from behind the door, "There is a...girl here, calling herself Leandra Escala, but she has no escort," his tone must have told the story of how awkward the situation felt. "I do not think that she is lying."

~***~

Lord Royce Escala did not truly expect to lose, even when he came out of his gate astride his black destrier with his sons on either side of him, and saw the numbers. He had men on the wall, and though he saw siege weapons, he also saw that the young lordling was waiting.


“Look how he waits for your leave to start playing at war, Lord Escala,”
his man joked.

Royce had years on the young Briant, who was a child compared to Royce. The lad had experience in war already, but he was hardly blooded. Hardly anything worth fearing.
“I’ll go treat,” Royce told his man, “but be prepared.”

He rode up, leaving his sons behind him, to meet the young lord.


Lord Briant Alta was hard; his grey eyes bore into the red-head as the Lord Escala approached, but his horse didn’t move an inch under him. He let the arrogant man ride close enough to chat without offering the courtesy of meeting him halfway.
“This is rather impressive, Alta,” Royce said, “Did you want to join the feast? We’re having quite the party.”

“I know,” Briant answered. “I hear the talk is all about usurping my family.”

Royce didn’t even bother to lie, this close, with intentions laid bare,
“What can I say? You’re not very popular.”

A single black eyebrow was arched,
“Is that so? Let us test your popularity, then.” And he ordered, “Seize him.”

Before Royce could turn his horse to flee, several arrows were put into the creature and it fell, with his leg pinned under it.


The hostilities began as a blur then, with Lord Briant Alta shouting orders from atop his destrier at the beginning. Royce Escala was removed from the ground, only to be bound fast to one of the siege weapons and forced to watch as that very weapon blew holes into his home. He screamed insults at first, before he started to moan and scream out prayers and threats. He watched his sons fall, first Bryce, then Ryan.


The walls were breached. His home was breached. Lord Alta had joined the fray when it was safer to do so, not half as arrogant as Escala to endanger himself needlessly.


His screams eventually became muted hatred, as he saw his home go up in flames from the inside. The windows were painted orange. The heat reached him, and with it, came Lord Briant Alta himself.

A fox that Royce knew as Reynard was dropped into the mud at his knees. Royce shook with hatred and lifted his gaze. He thought he’d see smugness, but all he saw in Briant’s eyes were stone.


“When you go to the gods,”
Briant spoke coldly, “tell them you have come because you are an oathbreaker. You were mine, Escala. Your family, your servants, your holdings, were mine loaned to you. This is the reward for your ingratitude.”

Those hard grey eyes lifted, and Royce could see thoughts moving in that young mind, a train he could hardly understand as he looked at them.
“This was wrong. I would have never—”

“—killed all of us?” They snapped back to Royce, “I know.” He could explain at length how that made Royce unfit to so much as sniff the pedestal on which the Alta sat, but why explain to a dead man? Which reminded him, “Cut off his head, leave the body. I want his head on a spike outside my keep, to show the rest of my vassals what happens to traitors.” His father had been too scared in his old age to bother with it, so now with his father dead, Briant took initiative and gathered his men-at-arms.

Royce pulled on his bonds as someone grabbed his hair. He screamed an empty threat, before all words were cut from him.



So sleep my love, sleep
I’ll be here as you dream
Kiss your hair of fire and gold
You are so loved
You’re the heart of me
My beautiful, sweet baby girl….

7
Hype / RP Characters
« on: August 31, 2015, 04:49:33 am »
I have ridiculously long sheets and things that I tend to keep to myself. My friend found this list for me, and I think it is pretty spot on about things RPers should know about their characters, so I thought I'd share it here. Not all will fit for every setting/character, but I always have fun with these.

It was found here: http://rpg-directory.com/thread-54898.html

This is the list itself:

BASICS

1. What is your full name? Do you have a nickname?

2. How old are you? When is your birthday?

3. Where were you born? Where do you live now? Are you patriotic?

4. Who are/were your parents? (Names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

5. Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

6. What is your occupation?

7. How tall are you? How much do you weigh?

8. What color is your hair? What color are your eyes?

9. What is your race?

10. To which social class do you belong?

11. Do you consider yourself to be attractive? Do others?

12. What is your style of dress?

13. Do you have any scars? Tattoos? Birthmarks? Other unique physical features?

14. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

15. Are you right- or left-handed?

16. What does your voice sound like?

17. What kind of vocabulary do you use?

18. List three quirks or other defining characteristics.

19. How often do you bathe? Do you wear perfumes?

20. What kind of facial expression do you commonly wear (dour glare, wry smile, etc)?

21. Do you use body language? How?

22. Do you have a commonly used saying?

CHILDHOOD

23. What is your earliest memory?

24. How much schooling have you had? Did you enjoy it?

25. Where did you learn most of your knowledge and skill?

26. How would you describe your childhood in general?

27. As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

28. When and with whom was your first kiss?

29. Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

30. Do you have a notorious or celebrated ancestor? Does that affect you?

INFLUENCES

31. What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

32. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

33. What is your greatest regret?.

34. What is the most embarrassing or shameful thing ever to happen to you?

35. Do you have any secrets? If so, what are they?

36. What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

37. When was the time you were the most frightened?

38. Have you ever traveled outside of your country? If so, to where?

BELIEFS

39. What is your alignment?

40. Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

41. Do you believe in a god? If so, which one and why?

42. Do you believe in an afterlife?

43. What is your greatest fear?

44. What makes you angry? Sad? Happy? Why?

45. Do you think people are basically good or basically evil?

46. What are your views on politics?

47. What are your views on gambling, lying, theft, and killing?

48. How far will you go to defend your beliefs?

49. How much do you value money?

50. In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?

51. Do you believe in self-sacrifice for the greater good?

52. Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?

53. Are you superstitious?

54. How much do you respect the beliefs and opinions of others?

55. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings?

56. Do you have any biases or prejudices?

DEALING WITH OTHERS

57. Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

58. Who is the person you respect the most? Despise the most? Why?

59. Do you have a significant other? Who? Why?

60. Do you have a lot of friends? Who is your best friend?

61. How do you relate to members of the same race? Class? Sex?

62. How do you relate to members of a different race? Class? Sex?

63. Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.

64. What do you look for in a potential lover?

65. How close are you to your family?

66. Do you want a marriage, family, and/or children?

67. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

68. Are you a listener or a talker?

69. How long does it usually take for you to trust others?

70. Do you hold grudges?

71. Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?

72. Do you like interacting with large groups of people?

73. How well do you express yourself?

74. How quickly do you judge others?

75. Do you care what others think of you?

76. Do you have any enemies? How or why are they your enemy?

PERSONAL TASTE AND OPINIONS

77. What is your favorite pastime? Color? Food? Possession?

78. What are your preferences in arts and/or entertainment?

79. Do you smoke, drink, go whoring, or use drugs? Why or why not?

80. How do you spend a typical Saturday night?

81. What is your most cherished fantasy?

82. How long is your attention span?

83. Do you laugh a lot? What do you find funny?

84. Is there anything that shocks or offends you? If so, what?

85. How do you deal with stress?

86. How much athletic ability do you have? Artistic?

87. Do you like animals? Do you like children?

88. Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?

89. Do you have a pet? If so, what is his/her name? Species? Fur color? Etc…

SELF-IMAGE

90. What is your greatest strength as a person? Weakness?

91. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

92. Are you generally introverted or extroverted?

93. Do you like yourself?

94. Do you have a daily routine? How do you feel if your day is interrupted?

95. What goal do you most want to accomplish in the next six months? Your lifetime?

96. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years?

97. If you could choose, how would you want to die?

98. What is the one thing you would like to be remembered for after your death?

99. What three words would you use to best describe your personality?

100. What three words would others probably use to describe you?

101. Why are you risking your life to adventure?

8
Fan-Based Roleplay / Vampire Hunter D: Transient Flight
« on: August 24, 2015, 02:18:14 pm »
"This is what you shall do;
Love the earth and sun and the animals,
despise riches, give alms to every one that asks,
stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others,
hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people,
take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men,
go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families,
read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life,
re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book,
dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem
and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face
and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."

~***~

Flight had been liberating, and flight had heralded a new dawn for Euboea. Flight came in the form in what was, perhaps, one of the newest and most wondrous creations of the Nobility—or that was how Amaranth liked to think of it, since the Nobles had struggled to tame dragons though they had created them. Beneath her now, as dusk had settled to night, was that green-winged creature. He was vast, and he was powerful, and also large enough to carry more than one rider.

The red-haired woman looked to see Marshall crouching low against the beast, golden eyes wide with fright. He hated flying, but he did it.


 “Come here, Marshall,”
the woman spoke over the rush of wind in their ears, and held out one hand to him. He looked up from the scales, to her hand, then looked back down at the world rushing beneath them. He let out a whimper before crawling forward across those scales and letting Amaranth take hold of him and pull him under her arm, sitting up properly. “It isn’t so bad,” she cooed as her nails scratched at his ear.

He wanted to agree. He’d done this several times now. However, he knew this dragon wasn’t wholly the merchant, nor wholly the beast they’d conquered. It was also Pello, and a part of Marshall always imagined the dragon was going to try and throw him one day. It never did. In fact, Dracul, as she’d named it, was little like Pello.

Still, now and then, he could see the glint of the former ‘dragon’ in those silver eyes of it.
“You don’t want Mayerling to see you scared, do you?”

Mayerling had already seen him scared, the first time they’d showed up with little announcement. Mayerling had been one of the first Amaranth chose to visit, to glean ideas of how to move forward in the world once again.

It hadn’t been all that difficult. Amaranth advanced her craft with a hospital, and turned the willing to mutants. There were still hunter problems, but Marshall and Amaranth had long ago accepted that as a part of their life. The new problem were those who wanted to be mutants, that Amaranth refused, or those that refused her terms. Many of those were the dying, who had a brush with mortality and wanted a change. They tended to become violent when refused.

What did they have to lose but life?


“Why are we going to see him again?”
Came the whine, if only to have something to discuss and distract.

“He invvvvited ussss.”
His language was heavily accented, more a product of being a dragon than of who he had once been. V’s and S’s were drawn out, and all the R’s were rolled. Every hard sound, like a K in ‘key’, was clicked. “Issss Marssshall still being a puppy?”

“Yes,” Amaranth answered, earning a rueful glare from her ‘puppy’. “Are we nearly there?” The dragon made travel so much faster. Who needed a carriage with a dragon?

“Within the hour.”
It bent left and flew down, causing Marshall to stifle a whine again and cling to Amaranth. “Now we’re clossser to the ground if you fall off, Marssssh.”

“I…appreciate your…consideration,”
Marshall managed to say through gritted teeth. He did not imagine that was the reason the dragon had made such a sharp downward twist.

Less than an hour later, they came upon the old-looking structure that belonged to the Mayerling they sought. Despite how old it looked, specks of technology peeked through, or threatened to give away how advanced its inhabitant truly was. Dracul concerned himself with that only so much as it came to landing. He did not wish to harm the technology—well, he did, just to show he could, but he did not wish to invoke the wrath of a friend of Amaranth, so he was careful in placing his claws on a stone perch, on the tower he had first showed up on all those years ago, when his wings were new.

He leaned his body over the tower once he’d taken hold of it in his claws, so that Marshall would not step out onto air.
“Will I go insssside thisss time?” Dracul asked as Marshall immediately jumped off the creature’s back.

“I don’t know,”
Amaranth told him as she followed Marshall down, “I am not sure yet if Mayerling has space enough for you.” As if in answer, Dracul tried to press its wings tight against its body to make it smaller.

~***~

Nearly a century had passed for the vampire hunters, Lydia and Oleyo. Though they had been invited back to Euboea, Lydia had still paused outside its gates. Her motorcycle, updated as the years went on, hummed beneath her as she twirled a familiar orb in her hand—not updated.

It wasn’t the only thing not updated. Her style was still a mix of leathers and skin. The brown skirt she wore didn’t reach her knees, and straps of leather crossed their way down her legs to her boots. Her top had no sleeves, just a corset of buckles. The ink of her body was relaxed with her breathing, with her heartbeat. Her hair was longer, to her knees, and the wind still played with the nearly translucent strands as it always had.


“Not much has changed.”

She would say to her companion, the one who now knew more than all of the Barberoi about her. They’d spent that century doing what they always did—hunting. Lydia had considered going to Sighisoara, but each time it crossed her mind, it had been discarded. Oleyo who was on borrowed time, did not need such a thing in his life.

More and more, Lydia was aware that her time with him was shortening. Her life as a hunter, too, might be shortening. Who could replace Oleyo? But how could she go on alone?

She was not D, though made by vampires.
“There seems to be a new, large structure. A hospital,” she told him, “and there’s a lot more water flowing in and out.” The reflections on the surface made it easy to see so much more of the town, this time around. “It’s…quite alive.” Though no one could have said it was dead when they arrived the first time, now the market truly shown with bright colors and strange items for sale. “They still have lizards to eat, though,” she said before at last putting away the orb and looking over to him, lilac eyes looking for his eyes of black. “Are you ready?”

Somehow, she hadn’t imagined they would actually end up here. Despite being a mutant, thinking in terms of centuries didn’t happen often. Not in their line of business, anyway.


9
Freestyle Roleplay / Descending [Closed]
« on: July 03, 2015, 04:33:23 am »
“I told you not to come here.”

The voice was a whisper at her ear, purred with warning and warmth. Yet, it did not disturb a single blonde hair on its hearer’s head. In fact, to most eyes, there was not even anyone there to whisper any words at all.

The blonde was holding a phone to her ear, but there was no one on the other line.
“You tell me a good many things, Ishtar,” the woman responded as her shoes took her up stair after stair, towards the towering, white building. It was a beautiful gothic structure, stained glass adding color. “And I told you there’s something here worth investigating.”

“I also told you not to go to the abandoned asylum. Do you remember what happened there?”


“Something, something, draugr, something, something, I need to learn to run faster.”
Point was she got out of there alive, admittedly because the disembodied voice helped. When it wanted to help, it could. It just put a lot of strain on it to interact with the material world. “We got what I wanted, though.”

“Oh yes, those books were soooo important.”


“They were, thank you. I’m glad you understand the importance of literature.”
The books were on demons. Apparently the draugr there, before becoming a draugr, had been researching them. That might have also led to its insanity. The blonde would never know. What she knew was the talk in the town of something ‘disgusting’ in the church.

Obviously, that fascinated the young vampire. The church was open at night, one of those Catholic ones that liked to have midnight masses and stayed open at all hours to serve its flock. Once upon a time, the young woman would have found this odd. Nowadays, she knew why, and was certain the owner of the church was another like herself.

As such, the door opened without protest and she stepped into the dimly lit building. The stained-glass cast pretty lights on the floor, but she barely noticed that. Once she crossed the threshold, she felt a pull, a retreat.

She looked over her shoulder, and then stretched out the hand holding the phone towards the outside.
‘Don’t you do this, I know the churches don’t burn you, don’t you annoy me now. You need me.’

In the end, that reasoning always won. It didn’t need to be said. The woman was as smart as her sire had been, and knew the demon would keep her alive. So, the demon soon moved itself forward. There was pain as it came closer again, and reattached to the aura. There was always pain when the demon left and returned, but it was the sort of pain one got used to, the sort one came to associate with good things, like the burn after an exercise.

The woman clicked a button on the phone as if to signal ‘end call’, and the pocketed it.

She was more careful than her sire, who had been condemned by other vampires. He’d been losing his mind over the centuries, though. He started talking aloud to the demon. That drew eyes. That brought about his end, more or less.

Ishtar jumped ship, and now the demon ‘rode’ with the child.


“I hate you.”

The child didn’t answer, but walked forward. The church was empty where the pews were, and she cast her turquoise eyes about, looking for more than the eye could see. Nothing stood out. She strained her ears to hear steps or conversation elsewhere, and then, satisfied with no sounds, she approached the altar in all its candlelit glory.
“Be careful!” Ishtar shouted as she drew close.

The child didn’t yet understand the damage of fire, nor how her skin would respond like dried newspaper. She hadn’t been burned in her short life. So, she just moved around the altar and saw that the wooden podium did, indeed, have a lock on the side not facing the pews.
‘Here, then.’

Every Catholic church supposedly had a relic. What else could be so disgusting but a relic? And at that, one that might have power—one worthy of investigating, anyway.
“Would you please open the lock?” There was no one to hear, or so the woman thought, so she didn’t waste time putting the phone to her ear.

“Break it yourself.”
The demon huffed. “Or don’t you have the strength for that, Semira?”

She might, but she didn’t want to cause a scene. Why the demon couldn’t just cooperate with her, Semira didn’t know. It’d make things go a lot quicker.

10
The dhampir hunter D has gone to the land of Euboea in search of individuals who have gone missing. Euboea is ruled by the Noble, Lady Amaranth Landor, who rules it without hiding herself from her people. Oleyo and Lydia, two mutants of Barberoi (at least at one point) have also taken up the cry to find the people who went missing in Euboea. They've all discovered that the town is well-protected by mutants who serve Amaranth, and the town prospers. It has a church to Artemis, an old Greek Goddess. It's up to D, Lydia, and Oleyo to discover where the missing people went, and what role Amaranth had in it.

    • Character List
    • The World and Euboea
    • The Races of the World

11
Rules, Guidelines & Site Updates / Only able to access main page
« on: May 06, 2015, 02:40:03 pm »
Well, I'm not having Pride's issue, but I'm having an issue.

I'm only able to write this (and all my posts yesterday) because I used a proxy server website thing. Day two, the situation hasn't changed. I am able to access the main page and "view users online" sections just fine. However, the second I click the title of a thread of a forum title to search the threads, I get redirected to the "Connection was Reset" page.

I can refresh all I like, but this is the only page I get. I've tried this with multiple threads and forums on para, and this is the only result.

I may be the only one with this issue, since I know Bleu was able to access things yesterday...but it'd still be nice if it could get resolved.

12
Freestyle Roleplay / Royal Review [Closed]
« on: April 05, 2015, 05:30:09 am »
Chapter One: Fetch

It was news of a robbery in the castle at New Carthage which placed the Royal Guard, Desiree Vancour in the castle, within its walls. The crest of her position was emblazoned on the navy blue shirt she wore, but it wasn’t necessary to gain access. Having been a member of the Royal Guard for ten years, Desiree’s face was well known by anyone who would consider stopping her.

She walked along the carpeted hall and passed all the gold-trimmed portraits. Such wealth fazed her little. Familiarity caused her to take it for granted, even though it wasn’t her own wealth. There were servants, nobles, and guards moving through those halls. She overheard their whispered conversations. Many blamed the guards at the treasury door for being in league with the thief. They spoke of hearing the screams of those guards earlier that morning, and fantasized about punishments so severe, one could only wonder what sick mind dreamed of it.

When at last Desiree reached the door to the throne room, two guards stood before it to bar her entrance. The pole-arms were crossed in front of the door, and the guards did not move them at her approach. The obstinate lack of action caused Desiree to narrow her eyes as she paused in front of them. “His Majesty Philip requested my presence.”

One guard nodded. The other spoke, “We were informed, but His Majesty Philip is still speaking with Captain Trill.”

Desiree stepped back with a nod of understanding, and moved off to the side of the hall. She dared not leaned back against the stone and feign relaxation while she waited. No one wanted to upset Matthew; the common folk could speak of terrible punishment because Matthew was that mind that dreamt it up. In spite of that, the man had a public reputation as an angel, and all the appearances of it. Though he was in his forties, he looked much younger. His youthful guise was attributed to his healing magic.

It was while she dwelled on the mood of the captain that the figure of her thoughts stepped out of the room, pulling both doors open, and then pulling them closed.

Desiree stepped forward as he bowed his head in front of the shut doors, releasing a sigh. The blond hair obscured his facial expression as it fell over his face. Concern touched Desiree’s tone as she asked, “What is it, Matthew?”

He released the door handles and turned around. The pole-arms raised to let him pass, and he walked forward with a tired smile on his lips. “Just another fire to put out before it spreads,” he answered, pausing two feet in front of her. “The two guards on duty last night are to be executed. Seems I said something I shouldn’t have to them.”

Sympathy was unnecessary. Desiree was not surprised with this turn of events, a robbery rare, embarrassing and perhaps supported from within.  She nodded her understanding. “Did Mael tell you much?” He inquired.

Mael had been the figure to wake her that morning, Matthew’s second-in-command, “No, only that Philip requested me.” Matthew nodded, confirming that much was true. “What has gone missing?”

The captain shook his head, “I am not at liberty to say, it seems. Go on and see Philip. He ought to enlighten you further. I have to deal with the guards.”

She stepped aside, and he walked by her to tend to his own duties. Desiree shot the two remaining guards a look. Neither moved to replace the pole-arms to their resting place over the door, so Desiree pushed open one of the doors and walked into the throne room.

The door was pulled shut before she could turn around, so Desiree walked down the blue rug to the platform the throne sat upon. As ever, Sorrel Geminus was at the king’s right hand. She paid the advisor little mind as she took a knee before the steps up to the platform, bowing her head. “Your Majesty requested my presence?”

His shadow moved, and Desiree heard the rustling of cloth as the man leaned forward, “Yes,” he agreed, “How much do you know about what has gone missing in the treasury?”

“Little, sire,” she confessed, “I was woken to the news and I have only heard the whispers in your halls. I have heard of nothing specific.”

“That is good, I feared Matthew might have said more to you,” the comment struck Desiree as odd, paired with Matthew’s own words just moments ago, but she kept her face from showing that. “Rise.” The command was obeyed immediately, though Desiree did not lift her head to look at her liege. “Leave us, Geminus.” That was when she looked up, finding it strange that Sorrel would be dismissed.

It wasn’t questioned by the advisor, though. He merely inclined his head in a bow while moving a hand over his heart, and then walked out through one of the side entrances. Desiree’s gaze followed him until the King moved, leaning forward in his seat.

King Philip was a little older than Matthew, but had ascended the throne young. His black hair only now showed signs of graying, but his gray eyes were still young with lust for life. He released a sigh once they were given privacy, and then spoke plainly. “Desiree, something dear to me has been taken, and I am afraid if it falls into the wrong hands we may have more trouble on the horizon.”

“What is it, sire?”

“Can I trust you to a task? You are one of the few Matthew seems to trust enough to send out alone, and he has recommended you above all the others.”

Desiree could barely contain her pride as she answered, “I do well with fetch. Ask, and I will retrieve whatever you desire.”

The man chuckled at the joke he understood. Everyone in the Royal Guard was assigned an animal to wear on their official ring, and Matthew had given Desiree the dog.

“Ah, of course,” King Phillip motioned her forward, and she ascended the steps as he continued speaking, “Of all that was stolen from me, a precious scroll was among the goods lost. As you may come to see, the scroll will not open for just anyone, it is well-sealed with this symbol,” he lifted his hand, and there upon his hand was a ring Desiree had seen just once before, and not on Philip’s hand, but that of a young girl. It was a simple triangle with a line going from the tip to the bottom, and beyond, arrow-like.

Yet, even then, she had thought she knew it from somewhere else.

Philip continued talking, not allowing Desiree to dwell on that matter. “I suspect a few, all notorious thieves of whom I am certain you have heard of.  But, more than Flynn and Cane, I suspect another party is involved.” His eyes darted to the door, as if concerned one of his advisors would walk in, “I need not name who.”

Desiree understood. They had enemies to the south in the country of Solast, and the Geminus clan had family in Solast. The peace was tenuous, at best. “The scroll would not have been picked up by ignorant eyes,” he noted.

“I will find it and I will find who is responsible and bring them back for judgment,” she swore.

Philip, however, shook his head. “No, no,” he said, “Should you find those behind this, kill them quietly. I wish for no trial or jury in this matter, I wish for no others to know of this.”

Desiree did her best to hide her surprise. She knew better than to argue with an assumed injustice. If it was the command of a monarch, it was law. Morality meant little in this job. “Very well, Sire. Those who are behind this shall be silenced.”

His relief was evident. He relaxed back against his throne and smiled. “Very good.” He drew from his voluminous robes a roll of parchment. He offered it to her, and she reached out to take it. He did not release it immediately, “Should any of my guards give you trouble for steps you may need to take, show them this.” He let go then.

Desiree unraveled the scroll and skimmed it. The charter gave her greater permission to bend the laws of the land in order to accomplish her task. It was signed by both Philip and Matthew, the only ones she would have to answer to.

The scroll was rolled up. “Thank you. I shall not disappoint you.” She stepped back down to the lowest level of the throne room, “Is there anything else, Sire?”

As Philip opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the sounds of falling rocks. Desiree’s gaze turned swiftly to the window, an open arch in the stone wall.  Her steps hastened towards it. Her empty hand found itself resting on the golden hilt of the sword at her hip.

“Is something the matter?” Philip asked.

Her eyes caught sight of a brunette who was not blending in as well as he usually did. With her back to Philip, he would not notice her recognition. “A noble’s child.” She lied with ease. She turned back around, checking Philip’s expression to see if he bought it. “Throwing rocks at the window,” a shrug, as she feigned ignorance of why children did anything.

It seemed Philip believed her. Desiree was not known to be a liar. Her steps brought her back to the blue cloth rug to kneel again. “I will begin now if there is no argument. I feel this may become more complicated than we’d enjoy if haste is not made.” Haste would be necessary if she was to catch the eavesdropping man now running away.

“Make haste then,” Philip encouraged, waving her away without rising to offer the traditional blessing.

“Yes, Sire.” Desiree bowed at the waist before she turned and left the throne room. No words were offered to the guards at the door as she gradually picked up her pace to a fast walk. Desiree did not stop to grab anything as she left the castle and jogged towards the surrounding town. Already, she could hear the shouts of a disturbance. 

As she drew closer to the magical gate that separated the castle and the homes of the nobles from the more common folk, she grabbed a guard’s arm. “What’s going on?”

He looked to her, startled, before recognition set in. “A suspicious man left running through the gate, Vancour. Out to New Carthage’s town, at least,” he answered, “A couple have gone after him,” irritation entered the tone of the guard, there, “despite having no leave to do so, and at this time!”

Desiree could only smile in approval. “Good,” Desiree released his arm. “At least someone followed.” A lockdown may have been ordered, and the royal staff was expected to stay within the gated area, but Desiree was quite certain the one being chased was the thief she’d spotted. Catching him would take precedence over such an order.

Desiree continued on at a walk. Her hands began to unravel the scroll once more, only to fold it so that it could fit in one of the back pocket of her pants. She hid it there and soon came to the gate.

The gate’s opening was always full of color, a translucent hue that wavered and distorted the town through it. Presently, it shimmered violet, the color that revealed it was open to all. ‘No, it couldn’t be closed, could it?’ The colors shifted to signal whether or not the gate was open, and to whom it was open.

Desiree walked on through it. She felt nothing, although many commented on the tingling of their skin as they left through the gate. It did not take her long once she was on the other side to discern the direction she needed to take. There was a fire. That only meant one thing.

‘Ariel.’

The pyromancer of the guard was a pain to deal with. She tried not to dwell as she followed the evidence, smoking grass leading her to where the pyro stood, threatening a mere child. One of the local guards stood with the black-haired Royal Guard. “Hail, Ariel!”

The shout startled him. He turned around, dark blue eyes set in a glare. Desiree kept his gaze as she walked forward, not detoured by the implied threat. “I’m afraid the boy isn’t who you’re looking for, Ariel. Run along, lad.” Though she addressed the boy, she did not look at him.

Peripheral vision saw him run off. Desiree made note of the direction as Ariel spoke. “He likes Cane.”

Cane was the bane of the Royal Guard, a legendary thief and a local hero. Cane was the man Desiree had seen. Ariel hated him, something about a card game last Desiree paid attention. Ariel hated a lot of people. “And?”

“He might have seen him off.”

‘Your logic is infallible.’ It was impossible to hide the smirk. “So, you lost Cane’s actual trail. Typical.” The air heated up around her. Ariel’s temper put hers to shame, and she was the red-head. “You can return, I’ll handle things from here. I do have the king’s permission to leave the city.”

Ariel eyes widened, “Since when?”

Desiree drew forth the pocketed charter and offered it to Ariel. The pyro stepped forward and snatched the paper out of her hands. Desiree watched his eyes read through it once, before jumping back to the top and going through it again. He thrust it back into her hands, nearly crushing it. “Seems the king trusts me to stay near him.”

Desiree smiled as Ariel tried to appear superior, motioning to the lesser guard to follow. She calmly folded up the piece of paper. There was no point in arguing with Ariel. The charter was returned to her pocket before she lifted her eyes back to the world around her, and followed the path she’d seen the boy take. 


13
Freestyle Roleplay / Worlds Collide [Closed]
« on: March 23, 2015, 06:56:20 pm »
“Head to Even Vale.”

It was what everyone told Damia when they realized what she was, and what she was looking for. It wasn’t many that were given this information, but all answers pointed towards that city. Damia heard of it, and for thirty years she’d been avoiding it.

It seemed her thoughts were always taking her to where else white-haired vampire could go.

Lucius Andalin was the last resort.

Her attention had thus turned outward, towards Hurn and Shuvale. She knew little about either, except that Hurn was going to be a bitch to cross if she couldn’t get with a group. There were merchants who traversed it semi-regularly, the only problem was, they would charge a fee to allow her to come.

That’s what brought her out to the market that evening. It was a bit difficult to navigate, though the vampiress knew that was her own fault. In willing herself to be unnoticeable by those out in the open, spring air, she’d made herself entirely invisible to them. She knew not how to tone it back without just popping back up as herself before everyone, so she was dealing with the issue of people not acknowledging her existence.

In one way, it was very useful: it was quite easy to snatch money when people couldn’t see you. They might feel it, and some certainly did, but they turned to others and accused them of the theft while she continued on, slowly collecting the necessary amount of credits for the merchants.

Maneuvering through the crowd as best she could, her eyes fell upon a large creature with a rather impressive wingspan. More important was the fact that his credits were all kept loose, and she saw him dig into a pouch attached to his belt to pay a man for the meal he was picking up from his stand.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying, “I don’t have anything smaller. They didn’t think of that when they paid me.”

Indeed, he was holding out 100 credits for what was likely worth 7, at most. It was some sort of grilled animal on a stick, two of those.

The man behind the stand seemed annoyed, but started to make change. Damia walked up behind the totem and reached for the pouch. She opted against just swiping it. All she needed to do was take a couple hundred credits, and she’d have enough for the merchants to allow her to travel with them through Hurn.


The vampiress made a mistake in dealing with the totem, Erasmus, though. He was not familiar with illusion magic, but he was quite sensitive to cold things. Vampires were, by nature, cold. He shivered at the first brush, and then noted the change in heat seemed to hover near his hip. He looked down, and saw his pouch was open, and then caught on to the sound of credits shifting. He reached down quickly, and his hand grazed something that pulled away. It drew blood.

His green eyes narrowed as the illusionist manifested, taking several steps back, but clearly clenching something tight in her fist.
“Return what you’ve stolen,” he demanded, holding out a hand for the credits. He was wary, though. He knew enough about vampire to know of the saying about their eyes—and hers were nearly scarlet. He wasn’t personally afraid of them, but he knew what desperation could drive others to do.

He almost felt bad for his tone of voice.

The merchant behind him made the situation worse by shouting,
“Thief!” The hesitating vampiress took off without a second thought, running through the crowd that had paused to figure out who the merchant was referring to. Her illusion didn’t fall back in place. Perhaps she hoped to escape through the chaos of the evening market.


Indeed, that was part of the reason. The secondary reason. In truth, Damia had been startled to be caught, and then more startled to be called out on her thievery so loudly. The only option that seemed viable was running. She was not going to get arrested, she knew exactly what would follow. She’d be separated from her amulet, currently tucked under her violet corset, and somehow or another, an ‘accident’ would expose her to the sun and she’d be killed.


‘Nope. Not happening, not here, not now.’


Of course, what she forgot, was that the totem had wings and could use them. His shadow was soon noticeable above. Normally, she might have been able to outrun him, but she knew her own state. She didn’t have enough reserve energy to truly gain that kind of speed. Losing him in a city wasn’t an option, all the pathways were open to the sky.

Fortunately, the market was near a park. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something. Damia headed into it and sought out the best way to get lost amongst the trees.

In about a minute, she no longer saw him above. She even paused to skim the skies, and then let out a relieved sigh. She tucked the credits she'd successfully taken from his pouch into her black pants and walked on.

Damia didn’t consider he might have landed. Instead, she began to think of how to make her way out of this city and go meet the merchants near Hurn. Well, and eat.
‘Must do that so I don’t assault the merchants.’ Bloodlust was a terrible thing.

As these future plots were weaving their way through her mind, she ran into something.


Erasmus saw her run into it, too, and couldn’t help but say,
“Well, that denies my theory.”

Damia looked towards him, surprised, then looked at what she’d run into.
“I saw it from the sky. It was more interesting than you.” He seemed quite calm, strangely enough.

“What is it?”


From where Damia stood, it looked like an egg-shaped, translucent-but-watery, area of air. It gave no reason for why she couldn’t walk through it. In fact, it looked like it could be walked through. She pressed her hand to it, tried to push it through, but to no avail. Again, she looked to the totem.

He shrugged. He had no idea what it was. He didn’t think it was an art piece that was just part of the park.


“Right then,”
she tried to step around it, and escape Erasmus.

“I wouldn’t,”
his voice held warning. He turned to look at her, “I still want my credits back.”

“I need them.”


“I’m certain you do,”
there were better ways to get money than this, though. “But I need them as well.” He held out his hand once again. The egg-thing could wait. It wasn’t going anywhere.

14
OOC Discussion / Worlds Collide [Information] [Closed]
« on: March 17, 2015, 08:37:44 pm »
Welcome to the Land of Hyksis.

The Land of Hyksis is not a part of our universe, but is in a plane right besides it, one of those "alternate realities" people dream of. Only, there isn't another "you" here that is Batman. It is a world that has been "touched" by our world, and it has touched ours. This interaction is not fully understood, or even known of, by those of Hyksis and those of Earth.

But we still imagine the things that exist in Hyksis, as Hyksis imagines the things that are in our world. Airships came from a dream in the same way our mind imagined lighted houses. The two worlds have gone about creating these things in vastly different fashions, but they have still been inspired by each other. Perhaps most obviously, on Earth, we've imagined the creatures that roam in Hyksis--the vampire, the centaur, and the siren, among others. We've imagined magic, like they have it.

The barrier between these dimensions is faltering, however. It is a one-way falter, though. All roads are leading to Hyksis.

Contents:

  • The Cast
  • Hyksis's Lands
  • Hyksis's Races and Generalities
  • Hyksis's Systems of Beliefs
  • Magic and Technology
  • Lore and Myths of Hyksis

15
OOC Discussion / Worlds Collide
« on: March 09, 2015, 01:43:05 pm »
Hello Everyone.

Well, I wasn't sure who might be interested and have the time for an RP with me, so I decided I'd put this up here. Preferably, one person, but I might play with two of ya wonderful Para people.

The gist of the idea is simple: a couple of people from Earth fall into a world where magic is unrestrained and a variety of creatures roam, from dragons to vampires. Magic is technology, how advanced things are can be discussed/built up.

The people from Earth do develop talents, their own capabilities exaggerated in this world. Yet, their appearance is troublesome. The bounds between the worlds are slipping, and this can only mean one thing: a wizard is causing havoc.

You know, because it's always a wizard. Not that they'll realize this quickly, no, there's adjustments to make, questions to answer, and small problems to solve as those who first encounter the humans become, more or less, their tour guides and their friends. When the trouble is realized, there will be only one last question: will the humans stay, or will they go back to their regular lives?

~*

I did a story like this once upon a time that never finished, though we talked it all the way out to the point of the "sequel". I've been wanting to do something similar, and see how it works out with different people. Character Sheets will exist for this, if only to keep track of things for the "main group". If anyone wants to plot and brainstorm with this idea more, just start commenting ^-^

16
Modern/Futuristic Roleplay / Seven Steps to Corruption [Closed]
« on: February 28, 2015, 01:35:43 am »
The problem with motorcycles was room. The brunette woman couldn’t help but feel that life would be simpler if she just caved and bought a car. ‘It could be a cool one.’ She reasoned as she removed herself from the bike, kickstand in place so it wouldn’t fall over. ‘A decent American muscle car. A Challenger.’ And her red lips curved into a smile at the thought.

Of course, once her green eyes moved down to the bike, that smile softened,
“I’d never give you up. Not for all the money in the world,” or, apparently, all the convenience. A sigh parted her lips and she trekked on up to the motel lobby doors, chains along her waist jangling. She liked the sound—they really served no purpose except to make her feel like a badass. Well, maybe the silver of them kept werewolves away.

No one was there immediately, so she crossed her arms over the counter and leaned forward, leather jacket riding up on her back. She drummed her nails over the counter, rather than ring the bell. Eventually, a balding man with glasses came out to see her, and she gave him a bright smile,
“I need a room.” A room she would need for maybe two nights, which would store yet another dress-suit that she’d end up abandoning because she couldn’t fit it in the motorcycle bags alongside all the other things that were in there.

Seriously, she needed to work this out.


“It’s $10 an hour, or $40 a night.”


Oh, great, it was one of those motels.


“Two nights right now, champ.”
And she pushed off the counter so she could remove her wallet from an inner pocket. She laid $100 on the counter, and received a little back—curse taxes. A key was then handed to her.

“Just you?”


“For now.”
She patted the counter, “Thanks,” she saw the number on the keyring and flicked it into a closed fist as she walked back out to her motorcycle. She didn’t go to the room first but did go to acquire ‘proper’ clothing. She was posing as a real estate agent today, after all, so that she could get a good luck at a house that was causing some troubles.

The last family who owned it were all dead. If it weren’t for the way in which they’d passed, she would have ignored it, but Kenny seemed to find it suspicious. Since she was near the area anyway, she decided to check it out, despite his protests that someone else was already on the case. Some ‘Hereford’—which, if it was one of those Herefords, she didn’t want them anywhere near the case.

To acquire the proper attire, black pencil skirt and white blouse, Morgan paid in stolen credit cards. These, too, would end up left behind. She’d get more later. She always did. She didn’t have enough in cash to buy the clothing and heels.

With those in hand, she drove back to the motel, changed (always keeping the leather jacket on), and called a cab.
‘Can’t show up in the motorcycle.’ Somehow that was just improper for the role. She got odd looks, anyway.

Soon enough, a cab showed up, and Morgan gave him the address to the house. He seemed to think nothing of it, and took her there.

No one was there, so she paid the man and dismissed him.
‘Darn.’ She had hoped to talk the interested party into paying for her cab fare. Oh well. This would give her a chance to scope the place out.

It didn’t look like anything spectacular. It was just a ranch-style house with a basement, two-door garage, on perhaps three acres of land. Plenty of space between them and the neighbors, but not enough to feel isolated in the least bit. Morgan walked up the path to the door, and tried to peer inside the window on the door, cupping her hands around it to try and get a good view of the interior.


‘Pretty basic. Lots of mirrors.’
She appeared to be looking into a dining room. Mirrors lined the wall. ‘Bit creepy.’ She wondered if this trend of mirrors continued throughout the whole house. ‘Better not break anything.’[/color] The last thing she needed was seven years of bad luck. ‘Oh god, is this bloody Mary? Are we dealing with bloody Mary?’ That’s what always came to mind with mirrors.

She rarely encountered legends, though. Well, at least not the namesakes of legends.


17
OOC Discussion / Seven Steps to Corruption [Closed] [Information]
« on: February 28, 2015, 12:26:14 am »
Seven Steps to Corruption

Earth is plagued by a multitude of creatures, but most people don't even know it. They continue about their day-to-day lives, unaffected, unharmed. This is because of the humans that do know about it. Loosely organized, and known amongst each other as "hunters", they strive to keep humanity safe from all that it ought to fear. Unfortunately, these hunters could not have predicted what was in store for them...
The Seven Deadly Sins were released from Hell.

    • Cast
    • Case Summaries
    • Bestiary

    18
    Freestyle Roleplay / Before The End [In Our Hands One-Shots][Closed]
    « on: December 08, 2014, 07:58:00 am »
    We Met In A Liquor Store Trope

    The blond clerk who’s name always eluded her was smirking as he observed her looking over the options.
    “If I were you,” he started, “I’d go with the largest, strongest bottle of vodka you can carry, and about ten energy drinks.”

    The woman looked over at him, mimicking his smirk as she put a hand on her hip,
    “Yeah? You think that’s what I need for this criminal law case?”

    “Nah, I think that’s what you need for going to law school in general,”
    he joked. He knew what she did. She was in here often enough, and always, inevitably, got the same small bottle of rum, and every now and then, some bitters. Whenever she ran out. “Or maybe a good bottle of merlot, and some chick flicks. Legally Blonde?”

    “I hate that movie,” she answered him as she reached for her usual bottle, “Bimbo gets into Harvard and I get…here.” A sigh parted her lips as she put the bottle on the counter. “This.”

    “Again.” But he rang it up with a smile that suggested he really wasn’t judging her. She put the card into his hand when he asked for it, and it was swiped. “Same time next week?”

    “Maybe,” was the response. She turned to exit, but just as she reached the glass door, she paused. Outside, someone was staggering about, looking quite ill.

    “What is it?” She’d been standing there too long.

    She pushed the door open without answering and gave a call,
    “Hey, are you okay?” Maybe they were just drunk.

    That hope vanished when the individual looked up at her with bloodshot eyes and mouth hanging open, blood staining their chin and a queer, hissing sound escaping their throat. The black-haired woman didn’t need to ask twice. She let the door shut as she stepped back, right into the clerk who had moved to get a better look of what was going on. The creature outside ran into the door, scratched at it, beat against it.


    “What in the hell?”


    The woman shook her head.
    “Do you have a radio?” She asked, tilting her head back and up so she could look at him.

    He hopped over the counter and brought one up onto it,
    “Lock the door.” He said, and she stepped forward to do that, grateful that the human-looking thing didn’t seem capable of opening the door on its own. The radio was tuned to a news station.

    The report that was coming across was not what either of them wanted to hear.


    “…in your houses, in your business, and lock the doors. The national guard is being brought in to deal with this, so please, remain inside and do not go outside unless it is an emergency. I repeat, an illness that has spread across the world has caused people to lose their minds and violently attack anyone they come across, so please remain in your houses, in your business….”

    The two exchanged a look.

    The woman offered her hand,
    “Hello, I’m Alice Evers, and it looks like you’re my partner in the zombie apocalypse.”

    He reached out and took her hand,
    “Dane Darst, and I hope to hell you don’t plan to tell the zombies its illegal to kill people.”

    “Nope, there aren’t laws for zombie actions yet, after all.”


    They shook over the counter.
    “C’mon, I have a gun over here. You’ll need it.” She hesitated, but did walk around.

    “You don’t think the national guard is going to be successful?”


    The look he gave her said it all. He didn’t believe it. He put a gun in her hand, not the shotgun which was apparently hers.
    “We’ll hope, but how much good has the government ever done for you, eh?” Her understanding was clear. Not to mention, the government probably created this in the first place and then it got out of hand. “We’ll move out of here tonight when the things might not see as well.”

    “They might still be alive. I mean—”
    but she cut herself off when she heard a scream. She looked out, and saw the thing slobbering on the window look away, too, to witness a man being torn apart by a group of the sick-looking. “…or cured.”

    “Yeah, maybe,” he said, “ain’t no reason for you to die, though.”

    “I’ve never shot a gun before.”


    “Well, you’re gonna learn.”


    She did not learn that night. That day, they watched the situation escalate from within the liquor store, and say people killed. They never saw the national guard. When night fell, they crept out.

    It would be that morning she'd learn to shoot. She'd become one of the fighters in the group that she and Dane eventually made their way to, when the national guard fell and civilization toppled around them. 

    19
    OOC Discussion / In Our Hands [Closed] [Information]
    « on: December 07, 2014, 09:54:27 pm »
    At least a month has passed since the world went to hell. A virus spread and infected many, killing them. Yet, that was not the worst of it. Those who died to the virus, and those who had died previously, came back to life. Only, they had one purpose--to sate their hunger by eating the living. The response wasn't enough, and the zombies soon took over.

    Now the survivors scramble to remain that--survivors. Some have decided to accept this world, and others, certainly, are looking for a way to fix the situation. Humans can no longer trust each other in a world where food is not readily accessible and running water is a thing of the past.

    ~***~
    • Cast
    • Zombie Facts
    • History

    20
    OOC Discussion / Silver Lining [Information][Closed]
    « on: November 17, 2014, 11:41:58 pm »
    The Apocalypse did not arrive as written. It arrived when a man named Seth Stirling rocked the scene and took over, quite literally, the world. The world now runs under one government. He has governors stationed everywhere, and all report to him. He keeps power by denying those who deny him. Those with him take marks at a young age of '666', to prove they are loyal to him. Unbeknownst to most, those marks allow him to track others. This is why many refuse them, among other reasons....

    With Seth on the stage, the Apostles of Christ began appearing, too. Christ, as well, has returned to the world to deal with this issue, for Seth is no mere human but the Antichrist, son of Lucifer, poised to take the world from God.

    The fate of humanity is in their hands.

    • Cast List
    • History
    • Silver Coins and Notable Items

    21
    Modern/Futuristic Roleplay / Silver Lining [Remix][Closed]
    « on: November 17, 2014, 11:32:42 pm »
    “Already your horn has been raised
    Your wrath has been kindled
    Your star has shone brightly
    And your heart has—”
    Gospel of Judas

    A gasp escaped from the woman as she rose to sit up on the bed, a hand moving to her throat. Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, to remember where she was. Slowly, the hand slid down from her throat as it assessed that no damage was there.

    She could breathe fine. There was no real pain. Still, something was off. The cross was there, still.

    The woman bit the inside of her cheek and tried to place just what it was. She rose, and realized after a few steps just what it was.

    Zion should have been near the bed, her gorgeous, ruddy wolf-hound.
    “Zion?” She hissed into the darkness of her hotel room. No response. No padding of paws. “Where are y—” she cut herself off, noting the open window. She had opened it only a little to allow a breeze through, but clearly Zion had pushed it up further with her nose. She must have, it was the only reason that the woman could think of.

    She cursed under her breath and then lit the candle at the side of her bed. The room had electricity, but she wasn’t keen on drawing attention. Bad enough she was staying in a marked place anyway, but she was having no luck in staying within unmarked villages of late.
    ‘Damn you, dog, if you ruin this for me….’ She had come this far into Seth’s territory for one reason, and one reason only, and that was the presence of two of his high-ranking generals. They were arriving, and they were supposed to be staying in this very hotel.

    The woman walked about her room and threw on some of the clothing she’d brought and stowed away in the drawers, figuring she’d actually stay here a little while to learn how best to get at the men. On went the dark blue jeans, quite form fitting, and following that the cowl-neck black top, sleeveless, revealing. It wasn’t for that reason alone she wore it. Once upon a time, the brilliant idea of putting the mark of Seth on her chest, and it was taken to heart.

    Bits of that tattoo could be seen with the cut this low. The woman need only pull it a little lower to make it painfully obvious that she was one of the marked. ‘666’ rested just between her breasts, high up in the valley but still between, put there before she was old enough to have them. Normal people got the mark on their hand. It was easier that way to traverse the marked cities.

    Then came the tennis shoes, aged and worn-in, black and silver. ‘Better not be far.’ Even so, the woman pulled her red hair back into a ponytail. Held that way, it only fell to her shoulders. Loose, it fell a bit longer.

    She didn’t grab her purse, but she did take some of her daggers out of it and placed them in back pockets.

    She also took two coins out, silver, ancient, and put it in a front pocket. She didn’t go anywhere without them, and wasn’t about to start. She hesitated, not wanting to leave the bible either, but having no place to put it.
    ‘If I’m caught with such a thing….’ A hesitant glance to the door. True, Seth had not outright banned the things, and plenty of marked read it. Even so, Moriah always felt concerned, as if her copy was accurate and others falsified, that somehow, it would be obvious that hers was different.

    She wouldn’t be long. Zion couldn’t be far.

    Taking a deep breath, she left behind the Bible and took to the window, placing her feet on the sill before dropping down. Her room was on the second floor, but her landing was easy, practiced.
    “Zion,” she whispered into the night again.

    Nothing.

    So, Moriah, for that was the only name she had, walked on into the darkness in search of her dog, blue eyes alert for movements as she edged further into the lit-up city, to where all the noise and bustle of life was. Cities close to Seth never seemed to sleep. They had no fear, no care.

    Few, if any, unmarked ever got this far.


    22
    Freestyle Roleplay / In Our Hands [Closed]
    « on: November 04, 2014, 11:09:35 pm »
    One month had passed since day one, or somewhere around that. Time started to blur together, but it felt like a month. The world had failed. Their militaries, their police, their people, had been unable to maintain a civil society in the face of their dead rising and taking over. Plenty of the living succumbed when a freak illness swept over the world. It had been international news for a while, back when news existed.

    Then, people started dying of it.

    Then, they started rising.

    The response was too slow, or else it just wasn’t enough. The zombies, as many called them, had taken over. They stumbled about, sleepless and slow, seeking out the living. They were stupid and mindless, but they had numbers and they rarely traveled alone.

    The survivors were no longer trying to kill them all and retake the world. The survivors instead sought places they could barricade, and fought amongst each other for supplies. The production of supplies had, after all, stagnated.


    “This place will be good.”


    Dressed in jeans and a red tank top, a woman let her hip bump the side of the car as she looked out at the place declared ‘good’ by their leader, a man in his early 40s with graying black hair.
    “We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Of course, she knew that this was what he was looking for. There was plenty of land out here to start a farm. “It isn’t fenced, either.”

    “We passed a town on the way here. I saw some place that looked like it would have fencing supplies,” another of their companions noted, this one a younger man. “Strip mall, and a grocery store, a couple miles out. We just have to make a few runs and we should be good. Winter’s coming.”

    “Yes, Stark, it is. That’s why we ought to be in Cali,”
    the dark skin woman noted, clearly unhappy with their decision. “Is this house even big enough for all of us?” A glance back at their group.

    The leader shrugged his shoulders.
    “Let’s go see.”

    With that, the group split into its natural order. A few of the fighters remained with the old, the children, and the weak. The rest went towards the house itself, expecting it to have zombies. It was always the expectation. The door was unlocked, though. There were no signs of a car left behind. The group of fighters walked into the three-story home, and started to spread out, groups of two. Curiously, only a body was found, that of a woman who already had a bullet through her head.
    “They must have abandoned the place,” the leader determined when they all reunited in the kitchen. “Let’s take the body out and burn it. This place ought to be big enough.”

    “We need to go check the garage and barn first.”


    An exchange of glances. Then, in the silence, four set off to do just that, two to the barn, two to the garage.

    The woman in the red tank top remained with a few others.
    “Should we do a run before it gets dark?”

    The leader sighed,
    “Yeah, I think so. Let’s wait for the report, though, just in case.” Soon enough, those four returned. There had been a few zombies in the garage, a young girl and an older one, sisters perhaps. They were executed. None in the barn. “All right, let’s get things set up. They’re gonna do a run,” he motioned to the woman and another.

    A few requests were taken, before the keys were passed on to the brunette man and the group headed back to the cars where the rest waited. They were informed that it was safe to move into the house, and they helped unload one of the vehicles before taking it out and back onto the road.

    The woman let her body collapse into the seat as her companion took the wheel.
    “Where to, Allie?” They had the SUV.

    Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and she turned her head towards the window.
    “I want a fence, but that’s going to take a lot of trips. Let’s fill this trip up with food, and stuff from the strip mall and pawn shops, then make some runs back for fencing supplies.” They wouldn’t see those stolen any time soon anyway.

    The man smiled,
    “Sounds good to me.” And he revved the engine, earning a sharp look from her, and turning the vehicle towards the strip mall he’d seen earlier.

    Zombies milled about outside the stores and within. A look was exchanged,
    “Don’t you dare.” But of course, the driver didn’t listen. He revved the engine again, and she let out something caught between and shriek and a squeal before unbuckling herself and diving down beneath the dash as he shot the car forward to ram into a group of zombies. Her hands covered her head, resting over the mop of black hair that desperately needed a wash. The wheels squealed as he turned the steering wheel to make the most of the impact by hitting them with the side of the vehicle.

    The stop was rough and sudden. The sounds of the creatures outside were clear.
    “I FUCKING HATE YOU, AVERY!”

    “They knew we were here from the sound of the car anyway!”
    He said, reaching back and grabbing one of the guns. The woman was already rolling down her window to fire her gun.

    “NOISE, YOU BASTARD! WE DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH ALL OF THEM IF YOU WEREN’T SO DAMN NOISY!”


    “Oh, and you’re helping with shouting and shooting.”


    His point was made.
    “Fuck you.” And she threw the door open against one of the zombies, glanced down to make sure she wouldn’t be stepping on a living one, and holstered the gun. At her side was her ever-trusty sword, a pawn shop steal. She cut through the head of the nearest one.

    Avery was next out, and though he had a gun in one hand, he also had a dagger in another. He threw it into the head of the nearest zombie, and then snatched another dagger from a pouch on his belt.

    Silence was key to survival, though Avery did like to have a bit of fun now and then. He never would have done that when the group was together, with the children and elderly depending on the silence, but with just Allie or another of the fighters, he would.

    He hated these damn things.

    He hated how he remembered they were human, as he took a dagger out of the skull of a woman wearing a bracelet with a name, perhaps hers, on it. Susan, it said.


    23
    Writing Prompts & Challenges / Week Eleven [Weekly Writing Challenges]
    « on: October 13, 2014, 08:50:54 pm »
    I am behind in my own keeping up with these x.x

    Theme of themes: Haunted House

    Words to use: Key, Angelic, Written

    Other: No others!

    24
    Fan-Based Roleplay / A Year That Never Could Be [Finished]
    « on: October 13, 2014, 08:33:55 am »
    “We have to fight.”

    They were her own words, and they rang in her head as she sat in the apartment, gun in hand, and thought to end it all. ‘Coward.’

    Maya knew what the silver orb had truly been asking her, as she stood with her back to the door that Angelus was in. When it asked her if she would serve the Master, it was asking her if it would be she that served, or if it would be her brother. Maya wanted to save Angelus, and the words were on her tongue, but when she spoke it had come out as,
    “I’d rather…serve.” Though they sounded like an echo of a thought, of a memory that was just on the tip of her mind.

    Except, she had said them aloud.

    The stupid orb seemed delighted with this. Maya remembered being knocked out of the way, and when she woke up, there was no one in the apartment. Just ashes. Everyone she loved was gone and she was left on the floor, to live with her mistake.

    She didn't want to live with it, though. She found Angelus’s gun, and she sat with her back to that same bathroom, she considered ending it all.

    She turned the gun over in her hand, decision made, only for it to change as the metal gun reflected another bit of metal. Confused, Maya tried to focus the gun’s reflection, and realized it was something around her neck. She acknowledged the weight then, and reached up. Her hand wrapped around a necklace, a ring. With a frown, she set the gun in her lap and undid the knot.


    ‘Strange.’ Maya didn’t know where it came from. The ring was a pretty green and silver, but she’d never seen it before. ‘Well, no. It is familiar.’ She couldn’t quite place it, though, not then. A crimson box came to mind, but that meant nothing to her. So what if it had come in a crimson box?

    Her mind refused to think on it. With a frown, she tied it around her neck once more, then glanced down at her hands. Of course, her other ring was still there. Just as she considered throwing it away, a voice startled her from her thoughts.


    “You’re still here!” Delighted. Maya looked up to see the stupid orb. “With a gun! Can you fight?”

    “I can shoot,”
    she answered it. She wasn’t sure about fighting.

    The orb seemed to bounce with glee.
    “Oh, excellent! You will be quite useful! Come, come, get up! We must figure out just what to do with you!”

    Maya thought of shooting it, but had a feeling it wouldn’t work. So, she lifted herself up, and followed the bouncing-happy psycho orb out.
    “I should have you shoot something,” it mused as Maya walked behind it. “To make sure you aren’t lying to me. I think that dark-haired boy was more a fighter than you. Was it his gun? Oh, but what?”

    Maya’s eyes skimmed the area. There was a woman standing on a hill, an easy target.
    ‘Terrible!’ Maya’s conscious screamed at her.

    ‘But I have to prove capable.’ A calmer, quieter voice answered the voice of reason, trying to make itself sound reasonable with its calmness. ‘I have to get to the Master…to be his guard….’ So while the toclafane considered how best to test her, Maya lifted her gun, and aimed at the woman no one else was seeing. ‘There’s only one way to Saxon…through loyalty.’ And Maya could fake that. It would all be worth it in the long run.

    End justifies the means.

    A shot brought her down, and the toclafane whirled around.
    “What did you do?”

    Maya pointed up the hill with her gun. The toclafane did not invite her to follow, but she did anyway when it went in the direction she pointed. She knelt besides the woman that the toclafane struggled to see.
    'Sorry.'. She wore a strange necklace, a key, and when Maya removed it to examine it closer, it seemed the toclafane was then able to see.

    It let out a delighted laugh, unphased by the suddenly appearing corpse. Maya pocketed the key.
    “So you can kill!” That put a new spin on things. “I did not even see that one! Oh, I have just the thing for you!”

    ‘Yes, I can kill.’ This wasn't who she wanted to kill, if she had the choice. She would have the choice later.

    “We have to fight.”


    She would make her amends in this way, cruel as it would be, the end would justify the means. Maya didn't think on it. She couldn't, for whenever she started to slip into examination of her actions, she realized how little she cared. A voice remained, nagging morality, which tried to strengthen that understanding, which tried to scare Maya into fearing what she'd become, but it wasn't working. It grew quieter and quieter each day.

    Her first job was guard duty at a weapons factory, and the positions shifted over time. She ended up at a twinkie factory, but took on other responsibilities. She became one of the humans charged with infiltrating other rebel groups and destroying them, a promotion of sorts from simply guarding the weapons.


    ‘And if you do well.’ The Toclafane Maya had dubbed Eden said, ‘Then I’ll tell Him about you, and maybe He’ll take you on to the Valiant!’ They spoke of Saxon like a God.

    The twinkies were apparently more important to the Master than all his weapons, so of course if she protected them well she’d be deserving of mention. It might have been funny if Maya had a sense of humor left. She was pretty sure it died with Angelus. He had always been her source of whimsy in a world of duty. This was familiar to her in all the wrong ways. The role was different, but at its core, it was the same.

    She’d never gotten a say in anything before, and that certainly wasn’t going to change with a megalomaniac in charge of the world. 


    'It will change.'


    Such was the constant thought, and the thought that she beat out as she walked towards the burning weapons factory, singing to herself. It was a habit now, to sing. If she ever paused to think of it, she would realize that the songs she was singing were never from 2008, but after it. Always after, too.


    Click

    "Oh, misty eye of the mountain below,
    Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls
    And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke
    Keep watching over Durin's sons
    ,"


    She wondered which group it was this time. She wasn't worried about making herself obvious through song. More often than not, it had won her favor, since no one seemed to think outside of that four-beat rhythm. Singing anything that didn't adhere to that suggested she wasn't one of the Master's own.


    'And I'm not.' They would never know their deaths were not in vain, though.

    "If this is to end in fire,
    Then we should all burn together
    Watch the flames climb high into the night
    Calling out, Father, oh
    Stand by and we will
    Watch the flames burn auburn on
    The mountain side...."

    25
    Modern/Futuristic Roleplay / Broken Glass [Closed]
    « on: October 09, 2014, 02:58:02 am »
    “Sit down, sad soul, and count the moments flying.”

    Barnaby, then still the Vesper driver, sung to himself as the horses trotted up to the door of the manor he’d become accustomed to seeing. It hadn’t been there some years ago, a pile of rubble and corpses in its place, but it had been swiftly rebuilt. All but one room in the house suffered great fire damage, that one room Barnaby had never set foot in, where the Lady did most of her business.


    “Come—tell the sweet amount that’s lost by sighing!
    How many smiles? A score?
    Then laugh and count no more!”

    The carriage stopped outside of the Vesper manor. Barnaby jumped quickly from the coach’s seat, but was not quick enough to open the door first. The guard, a tall, broad-shouldered man, opened it first and stepped out. A gloved hand was offered, and Seren’s own smaller hand was taken as she was helped out.
    “We should be done with traveling for the rest of the night, Barnaby. Please put the horses up and get some rest,” Seren said, a smile crossing her lips as she stepped out into the foggy night.

    Barnaby nodded,
    “Thank you. Good night, Lady Vesper, Sir Dietrich.”

    “It’s Emil!”
    The brunette said, a sigh parting his lips. Barnaby did not call back that he understood. He had already picked up the song where he left off.

    “For day is dying!
    Lie down, sad soul, and sleep….”

    “Four years now, and he still calls me that.”


    “Respect, Emil,”
    she said, started walking forward. His hand released hers, moving instead to her shoulder as he kept pace with her. “He’s simple. It gets difficult if he has to remember all the nobles who want to be referred to in a familiar fashion.”

    “I’m not noble,”
    Emil reminded. Seren’s footing slipped then, though she didn’t fall. Emil was quick to pause and try to steady her. “You’re still hurt, my lady.”

    She shook her head in denial,
    “No. Slippery.” Not true, despite the slick leaves underfoot, orange and red. Of course, she was still hurt, an injury from two days ago. The Queen had another errand and Seren tended to it. As per usual, she was met with violence.

    Emil’s smile was one of long suffering. She was stubborn.
    “I sent for a doctor anyway.” The tension was apparent, and she glared at him. He didn’t flinch. Brown eyes didn’t avert. “I know you do not like them, but did not Raphael’s doctors help you?”

    “Did you call one of them?”
    Her voice was full of doubt.

    “No,”
    he shook his head, “I asked one of the women in the Magi, since I imagined she has a doctor used to such…well, oddities that she’s come to deal with. Someone discreet.” They were walking again, his hand now guiding her forward as it pressed on her back. Her arms were folded across her chest, clearly not happy. “Just have him look at your leg. Nothing else.”

    He spoke with knowledge of her sensitivities. Seren did not like the mark she’d been given to be seen.
    “He should be here already.”

    “So that I can’t get out of it?”


    “I do this only to help,”
    he said. His look was pleading. If the older man was capable of puppy-dog eyes, Seren suspected that was as close as he’d get.

    Seren didn’t protest, but the look suggested she was not pleased with his initiative.
    “Fine. I will see him, but if I do not like him—”

    “I’ll escort him out. Of course,”
    Emil answered. Seren let out a breath and found her key. The door was unlocked, and the two entered the well-lit home. Emil hummed to himself, continuing the melody Barnaby had been singing.

    From the entrance hall, Emil guided her to the parlor. The doctor was in civilian clothing, and walking about the parlor, examining it. He seemed to have lit candles while there. They caused the shadows in the room to dance. He was an old man, balding, portly, wrinkled hands clasped behind his back. He looked as Emil stopped humming and a smile alighted on his face.

    Emil calmly shut the door. Seren’s eyes turned to him, a frantic look as words left her.
    “My, I am surprised how quickly this place was restored. And so many of the books, too.”

    ‘Emil!’

    Seren was mute in her own terror. Emil’s look was forward, impassive. She couldn't understand it,
    “The Queen does favor you, doesn’t she?” Seren looked away from Emil. “Oh, forgive me, you have probably forgotten me. How long has it been now?” That smile might have been grandfatherly, if Seren had forgotten him. “I’m here to finish the treatments.”

    Seren reached to grab her gun, but had her wrist caught.
    “EMIL!” She shouted, “That’s—”

    “I know who it is, my lady.” 


    “No, he’s one of them, he—”


    “—has offered me quite a bit to deliver you to him.”
    And the bastard smirked at her. Seren could hardly believe it. She felt numb, too-light. This had to be a nightmare. “More money than you could ever pay me, but more than that—not that I needed more,” his nose wrinkled in disgust, “I was wrong to serve you, and I see it now. The work I’ve had to do in your service,” he shook his head, “The way you let that Underworld thrive, protect them and let that group, that Syndicate, continue. It is despicable.”

    Seren could do nothing but listen, though the words went in one ear and out the other, the shock a bit much on her psyche. The look became cruel.
    “But that is why you are perfect for their needs, I suppose.”

    “Why?”
    Shaky breath. She wasn’t sure what she was asking ‘why’ to.

    The Doctor answered,
    “You were the only one who didn’t ‘die’, that is, you never lost your will. All those other children we took succumbed to helplessness and stopped fighting, but you? No…you didn’t. You even rejected him—I must say that was a nasty shock to him,” there was glee. Seren wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘him’. The memories of then were a blur, though this Doctor’s face seemed so clear. No name connected with him, though. “You are the necessary evil we need to regain the perfection that humans were meant to have.”

    The words made no sense to her. She looked at the Doctor as if he’d spoken Korean, and indeed, the words seemed to slip through her mind because it was simply ridiculous.

    She couldn’t cling to anything but denial.
    “No.” Stubborn. Fighting. No seemed the only appropriate word, a denial of the entire situation.

    The Doctor laughed, and Emil chuckled.
    “Even now,” Emil found it amusing. The Doctor turned away, “Find something to put her to sleep, she’ll fight us the whole way.” Though he was secure in his current hold.

    “I came prepared, Emil,”
    he promised.

    ‘You burned! Certainly you burned!’
    Not that she had checked the corpses left in her wake when she escaped. They had all be cleared away that same night by the group, too, baffling the police.

    The thought flashed through her mind, and she pulled, tugged. She wasn’t going back to that. Emil pulled her closer instead, released her wrist only briefly to wrap his arm around her waist. He was able to pin both of her arms to her side that way, holding her in front of him. She stamped on his foot, but it did no good. Fingers wiggled in an effort to reach her purse, or anything.

    Nothing.


    “Hurry up!”
    His short nails dug into the flesh of her arm as she stamped down again.

    Seren gritted her teeth and glanced around the room.
    ‘Nothing but books and weapons I can’t reach.’ A pretty silver sword, another of her father’s things. In fact, this room was full of her father’s things. It had been spared most of the damage, his magic protecting it. Here was his knowledge on the occult. “I will kill you for this, Emil.”

    “I know you think that, Seren, but it is over.”


    “Even if you succeeded,”
    the Doctor laughed, “I have overpowered you alone before, and it would be no difficulty to talk the rest of your servants into joining me. No human would deny what I have to offer.”

    “I’M DENYING IT!”

    “Well, that's understandable,”
    he chuckled. “You don't want peace.”

    Seren glared. A syringe was in his hand. Seren didn’t attempt another futile struggle for freedom against Emil, though. She was not one to surrender, as they well knew, but the Doctor’s words did set in. The betrayal stung.
    ‘No, not a human.’ How she hated them all so suddenly, how she hated herself for being tricked. How long had Emil been plotting against her? She had no idea, and that realization bothered her. He had been perfect, graceful, and behaved. He had been everything that everyone hoped for and more, and she felt an instant repulsion to him and all who hid behind such wretched masks. She even hated Barnaby right then for his false politeness, abuse of titles and surnames.

    But, there were things besides humans in this world, though, things with a nature so honest they were demonized.


    “Hold her well, Emil.”

    Emil tried, but one yank, utilizing the weight of her body, pulled Emil into the needle when the Doctor tried to stick her. He let out a yelp, and she escaped his grasp.

    The Doctor did not push the serum into his arm. He removed it quickly, dropping the syringe in the process, just as Seren found her gun and pointed it at the Doctor, briefly halting the motion of Emil to grab her. Emil's step shattered the syringe underfoot. He was, indeed, the important one. It’d be simple to shoot him, but she hesitated. Technically, she was only outnumbered, even if was by one. Emil had proven himself more than capable.

    Indeed, he acted on her hesitation. Emil took his own gun out into sight and pointed it at her. The Doctor made his fatal mistake then,
    “Don’t kill her!” Emil cast him a cold look as a smile twisted onto Seren’s lips.

    “I know!”


    “Oh, you don't want to kill me?”
    Seren instead pointed the gun at her own head.

    “You won’t,” Emil’s voice trembled with doubt, though.

    Seren’s finger moved to the trigger, and added weight. In that moment, she would have. Revenge could be achieved if she were dead, if she denied them what they wanted. She imagined the darkness of death, and it was far more alluring than it had been before. No heaven, no hell, no self, just oblivion.

    One day, she might consider that Emil did his duty as a guard. He saved her life at the cost of his own. His aim had been low. He fired, the bullet striking her hip, grazing bone. Her finger pulled the trigger, but the shot jarred her aim. The bullet struck a wall instead of penetrating her skull. Seren screamed as she fell forward, catching herself with her hands, gun still held.

    Emil moved forward to disarm her, but she fought through the pain. The bullet went clean through his chest. He dropped to his knees,
    "My...lady?" before falling backward.

    Seren dropped the gun,
    “No….” The sorrow and horror didn’t need to be faked. She used her hands to pull herself forward to where he lied. Here was the necessary sacrifice. The blood was pooling on the wood beneath them, and she let herself cry as she fell upon him. She could still hear his heart beating. He was still breathing. The shock of the pain must have knocked him out. Perfect.

    The Doctor chose to ignore her, thinking she was too overcome with emotion to be a threat. His mistake. His back was turned, and Seren continued to make those pitiful sounds as she lifted her guard’s gun and shot the man in the back just as he picked up another syringe. He let out a cry, his hands connecting with the desk as he tried to hold himself up.


    “Stay there!”
    She growled. She cast a look around the room before realizing it was unnecessary to get up and fetch a book. She had what she needed memorized, not because she’d ever planned to use it, but because she needed to know the dangerous magic if it was ever used before her.

    ‘Do not use them, Seren. The cost is never worth it.’


    Desperate times, desperate measures. She was not letting this simply slide by. She was not going to simply escape again. She pressed her hand over the wound on Emil’s chest, and began to speak. The rhythm of the words was poetic, the language itself not English. The blood moved underneath the two, pulled by the words that escaped her lips, pulled by the violence she’d committed. Her hip burned, not for the last time, as more blood was pulled out. She spoke through it, spoke through the emotions that threatened to silence the spell with incoherent weeping instead.


    ‘Never again.’


    Underneath the cloth, two circles of blood encircled the bullet wound, trapping the soul in the body. The Doctor moved, reaching for his suitcase. It spilled to the floor with him as he tried to grasp something, anything, to stop what Seren was doing.


    ‘Stay, then, till Sorrow dies.’

    26
    Writing Prompts & Challenges / Week Ten [Weekly Writing Challenges]
    « on: October 05, 2014, 05:44:18 pm »
    I just have a feeling I'll forget on Monday...

    ~***~

    Theme of themes: Urban Legend/Local Horror (It'd be awesome if it were actually something from your part of the world)

    Words to use: Superstitious, Glow, Myrrh.

    Other: Keep it more "modern" (loosely 1900s-present)

    27
    Writing Prompts & Challenges / Week Nine [Weekly Writing Challenges]
    « on: September 29, 2014, 02:26:37 pm »
    It is October, lovelies! That means themes more along the horror genre (though you need not make them horror, it is your creative opportunity to make them romances or comedies if you see fit!).

    ~***~

    Theme of themes: Zombie Apocalypse

    Words to use: Week(s), Memory(ies), Bible.

    Other: No other requirements ^-^

    28
    Writing Prompts & Challenges / Week Eight [Weekly Writing Challenges]
    « on: September 23, 2014, 05:00:11 pm »
    Sorry it is late!

    Theme of themes: Deadline

    Words to use: Tomato(es), Daniel, Win(ners)

    Length: No length, but include a list.

    29
    Fantasy Roleplay / Uncivil War [Closed]
    « on: September 16, 2014, 10:37:26 pm »
    The town had been fortified just before the rain started to fall. The mages wove their magic into the barriers that could not be seen, and the others added to structures already in place. The army of Belfast had advanced further into its own kingdom, to the outskirts where the rebels had gone, playing on the border.

    The rebels were smart to utilize the border to their advantage. His Majesty did not wish to start a war with the neighboring kingdom, so it made striking at the rebels difficult. Fortunately, an emissary had at last been sent over into the Kingdom of Dalmasc and an ambassador was coming over to speak about this issue.

    It was the reason this town of Greensville had been fortified. The ambassador had to be kept safe during these talks, as did their own diplomat.

    The rain began as the man lifted his arms skyward and stretched, one of the few humans among this portion of the army. He let out a contented sigh as his arms fell back to his side, and he pushed his black bangs out of his gray eyes and smiled at the impromptu wooden wall that had been created.
    “Well, that ought to do,” he said as he cast a glance to one of the other humans, this one female.

    She gave a nod.
    “C’mon, let’s go report and see what Zander wants us to do.” He motioned with his arm back towards the town, and she fell in step with him. They were both in uniform, though their uniforms differed. His was more plate-armor, with a few glyphs carved into it. He was not magical at all, but there were few who could wield a sword better than him.

    His companion, the blonde woman, wore lighter armor, and it was all black. She was never seen on the frontlines, though she was certainly there, a speed demon with small blades and shadow magic.
    “Have you seen the diplomat?” He asked.

    She shook her head.
    “Is it the parent or the child?” The diplomats were nobles of a rather prestigious family. She shrugged. “I hope it’s the parent.” The child worried him. The child seemed overly ambitious, and in truth, frightened the human. Of course, the child wasn’t a child anymore, but considered an adult. ‘Though they age so slow anyway….’

    The man shook that thought off as both of them walked into the tavern that Zander had made home base for this event. It had been cleared out, and rooms were made for the ambassadors to rest in, and one was turned into a meeting room. Zander sat near the fireplace, a cup of honeyed wine in his hand, angular features casting shadows on his face.

    The elf turned his attention as his ears caught the footsteps coming closer. Most of those in the army were elves, for humans were looked at with doubt in this time. A war had started, and the leaders were mostly unsatisfied humans who saw corruption and abuse going on under their Elven monarch. These two, Dorian and Ruby, had been raised from their youth in Elfish households, taken as tributes from the last war, from once-noble human houses.
    “Yes?” Zander asked, moving one hand from his goblet to remove offending strands of platinum hair from his line of sight.

    “The preparations are done. The walls are built, and have been reinforced with magic,”
    Dorian reported, standing still and straight.

    Zander nodded.
    “What would you have us do now, sir?”

    Dorian expected to hear him ordered to guard one of the gates, and Ruby set to watch duty, but Zander actually took a moment to consider. Dorian tried not to tap his foot. He did not have the patience of elves, after all.

    30
    Hype / NaNoWriMo?
    « on: September 16, 2014, 06:18:16 pm »
    Hello everyone!

    I was curious if anyone was plotting to do NaNo this year? I am considering it and thought I'd build conversation on it. I'm considering doing it a bit...unorthodoxly, since I want to work on the story I'm posting here. I may "start" NaNo by rewriting it from the start, or continuing from wherever I leave off. Haven't decided.

    For those who don't know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, which is in November. There is a 30-day challenge to write 50,000 words during that month, and it's helped me before get a lot of writing done on novel projects. There's no prize, just...doing it.

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