Achronum

Talrae: Reborn

Still looking for players! We officially start Wednesday 5/22!

Of Blood and Magic

Interacting with: @Apoalo

Damien found himself listening with more attention than he usually did, even if he only started taking notes halfway through the lecture when he noticed everyone else doing so. He winced as he did, knowing full well that he was a terrible note taker; he’d probably be more confused later when he reread the pages. The information was interesting at least, if not a bit sobering when the pictures came out. They made him more nervous than he’d care to admit. Self discipline was definitely an area he struggled in and this whole magic thing seemed to demand quite a bit.

Damien packed it up, papers thrown haphazardly into his bag without a care, and he bolted. He wanted to get to Lucan before he got angry again and leave that memory far in the past―his parents would not let go of it! Accidently shatter all the windows in the house when you walk in on them being intimate and suddenly it’s a crime or something. No matter that you were cutting class; anyone would have freaked out! Damien skidded out of the hall in record time, looking around with a frown for his partner.

He practically screamed when someone grabbed him by the arm. A guard stared at him amused and jerked his head off in the direction of the Arena.

“Sir Lucan told me to escort his…” the guard considered his wording for a moment. “Partner to his next class. Apparently, you’ve got self defense next. My name is Leander.” Damien gave the man the flattest look but followed him anyways.

“Are you fucking with me? First, he insists on following me around like some babysitter and now he sends his goony to “escort” me.” Damien grumbled with air quotes. “I’m a damn adult. I can read the signs. I just need my shitty schedule. Man, I ran outside! I could have just walked, maybe asked another question! Not that I would have but now I can’t even if I wanted!” He stomped his feet a bit louder than he needed to but he felt justified. He felt like Lucan was just yanking him around for no reason and that didn’t sit well with Damien.

Leander just chuckled at him with raised eyebrows, a shake of the head, and that was that. The rest of the trip Damien’s muttered complaints were the only words spoken between them before Leander led him downstairs to the mage at the entrance. A brief nod and he was off to his patrol, leaving Damien leaning against the nearest wall irritably. He pulled out his phone and text Lucan “Dude, really? Not cool.” before snapping a few more pictures and then a video as the mage placed the wards and the mystery man just whipped sand around like it was nothing. He kept a running line of commentary as he recorded, turning around so they could see everything and his face while he signed with his free hand.

“Can you guys fu- believe this stuff?! How does this even work? The guy is making rocks and I think I’m the only one freaking out about how awesome this is!” Damien gushed, practically vibrating. “Was gettin’ kinda tired in that last class, totally snooze fest besides the whole you’re going to be consumed by your magic stuff―But only if you’re not careful and I’m super careful!―until I saw this!” Damien waved dramatically as the wards disappeared and he waved at the camera and slipped it away as one of the red robes glared at him.

Dracion’s little speech definitely made him nervous. As much bark as he had, fighting was an entirely different monster and frankly, he’d love his vehicle to be commandeered again if it meant he could get out of this. He bounced on his feet, eyes darting to Dracion and he opened his mouth to suggest they just not when he snapped it shut just as fast. Lucan was apparently a instructor and he quickly calculated the chance of getting away with it. Technically, his rank didn’t matter here so he could do it but he has a sneaking suspicion that as soon as he was off the sand, there would be hell to pay. Still, it could get him out of this whole class maybe so it was worth a try.

“So uh Dracion. Any chance we could just opt out of this?” Damien asked, eyes darting to Lucan and back, edging away from him a little. “I’d really just not fight if that’s an option?” He went for hopeful rather than snarky but he never quite managed to temper his tone. His vampire knew about eight thousand more ways to skewer a person and Damien has zero issues hiding behind him. He’d cannibalized his pride more than once; what was another notch in the bedpost?

Dracion sent him an unamused look and Damien groaned. Well if was worth a―Damien yelped and stumbled as the Arena Master smacked him upside the head. He opened his mouth to protest when Dracion shoved him towards the gear.

“My Sands, my rules. Get yer ass in gear punk.” Dracion barked. “Toe that line again and I’ll give ya another and I’ll tell yer partner.”

“Too fuckin’ late for that.” Damien muttered but immediately clamoured into his gear when the Arena Master turned back to him. He stood at his assigned spot, glaring at Dracion’s back.

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Interacting with: [N/A]

Varis stared in appalled disapproval everytime the vampiress spoke. He fought the urge to scoff but took notes despite his disbelief. He wouldn’t let his grades drop because this hag spouted drivel and nonsense. She was almost like a second Eris but without the aptitude; all his attitude and none of his determination. The Marivaldi’s question barely registered, probably just some sort of standard rebuke to Patel’s infantilizing of mages, and his mind wandered back to his newest responsibility. Hsi hand took notes as he let the information enter one ear, drop onto the page, and then promptly fly out the other ear.

He was loathe to offer financial compensation for the invitation to Eris’s pet couple. Varis found the man’s designs lacking his prefered traditionalism and the distasteful arrangement between the tailor and his master sickened him. But the tailor’s reputation preceded him and he came with a glowing recommendation from someone impossible to impress without the moon’s own radiance so Varis had little choice. His own desperation didn’t factor into this at all.

But it still left him with the issue of what to offer. Current was a mortal leash, forcing a vampire to measure part of their power in financial value, and Varis wouldn’t play that little game. And then it came to him. He sneered as an idea formed, one that could either result in that weak little vampiress owing him or destroying the two of them. Regardless of his position in the community, there was probably one thing that he had yet to achieve: a ten year contract with the head of a Noble House. It so happened Varis was just in the right position to offer that to the pair and even if it was his fickle Lady, it would be social suicide to refuse. Gaining his Lady’s attention for ten years would be exhausting but it would provide a certain degree of stability within the turbulent fashion industry. After all, the lucky little mortal would no longer be the captain of his ship but rather the very wind that drove it. Until he cracked under his Lady’s displeasure of course.

The bell chimed and he was out of the door in a flash, whipping around everyone with ease and he climbed the stairs to the VIP box overlooking the stadium.The attendants their startled,not expecting anyone, but nonetheless cleared the bos so Varis could work in peace. He didn’t look up until he saw the sand settle, eyes sharpening to get a clear look at Aaron as he prepared himself. This would be his first time watching the boy fight. Varis did hope the boy was as good as he bragged the first night otherwise Varis would have another thing on the rapidly growing this of problems with the boy.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

James Kingston

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Location: Banner Residence
Skills: N/A

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James gave Mistique a deadpan stare as she murmured about improvising. The whole damn operation had been improvising. He sntached the phone out of the air, irritated. This would have gone better with less people initially and ways to communicate but why plan. He held the phone up to his ear, putting on a much more pleasant voice than he felt capable of.

“Dr. Banner. It’s a pleasure to finally speak to you.” James spoke conversationally. “We need your help and Lance was polite enough to offer us a way to reach you. See, we have a problem only you can help us with and we can’t leave until its solved. I’m sure Lance, being your research assistant, could help us figure some parts of the puzzle out but I doubt he’d last as long when he eventually failed. Why don’t you come home and we can discuss this over a cup of coffee? I’d love to resolve this civilly if you allow it. Lance and his little friend will probably appreciate it too.”

The Gifted - Concluded

James Kingston

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Location: The Warehouse (I2 to K9)
Skills: N/A

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“Your… friend. Well, hopefully your friend can help us find my parts. Sooner we do, sooner we can bounce.” James pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally reviewing his previous examination. “I need a bag of wire nuts, they look like pen caps with ridges and plane wings sometimes, and a bag of crimp wire connectors, little blue, red, and yellow tubes about this long,” He held his fingers about three inches apart as he continued, “I need some heat shrink tubing to patch up the waterproof insulation, big box with lots of colors. They’re a bit longer than the crimp connectors. I need wire strippers, like thick pliers with lots of ridges in the tip, and a few rolls of electrical tape.”

“And for the really fun part, two new generators.” James grimaced at the thought. “Or at the very least, two alternators, two volt regulators, and sixteen field polls preferably with coils already. I can do without them but the corrosion inside is probably going to kill anything I fix so these will get you a few more months to hunt something down at best.” He looked around, noting the condition of the place. He was going to have to clean everything before he tried to install it. He sighed. The worst.

He made his way over to the computer, booting it up so he can find the warehouse’s manifest.

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Requiem

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Location: The Luxury
Skills: N/A

How convenient. Dumping the body somewhere it wouldn’t come up and then using the individual’s personal media would have made an excellent goose chase but either their quarry didn’t particularly care about a prospective investigation or was an optimistic idiot. He would love the latter―optimistics were idiots and easily dealt with―but a sneaking suspicion told him he’d have to prepare against the Black King by the end of this. He finished his drink with an easy smile. Requiem always loved a good game. He stood, exchanging the empty glass for the bracelet.

“Then I believe our time together must end.” Requiem said with a half bow. “We will report back once we’ve determined the identity of our quarry. Thank you for your hospitality. Come along Jinx.” Requiem picked up his cane and made his way steadily off the boat, Ms. Frost’s headquarters his next destination.

Of Blood and Magic

Mages

Onyx Hall: Dakota, Cassandra, Damien

“Excellent question! Yes, foci can assist in preventing Resonance. They help separate the mage from the magic, drawing some hard lines between their experiences so the mage doesn’t “chase” the magic down a rabbit hole!” Carina replied cheerily. “Unfortunately, Resonance research is… difficult. The subjects kept disappearing so the Council put its foot down on it. For good reason! So there may be one, and a focus always helps, but at the end of the day, it’s up to the mage to stay in control. External stuff can only help so much.”

“So how do Conditionals find out what they are?” Damien asked almost as soon as she finished talking, like he was holding in the question the entire time.

“Well, there are a few different ways but have you used your magic without meaning to or expecting it?” Damien slunk down in his seat with a little nod, his face totally red. “Oh, bad one huh? Well, probably a Primary but maybe a secondary. You’ll get a handle on it through Affinity classes or doing some research! Or a Diviner.” Carina rolled her eyes at the name but shook it off. She perked up at the next student to throw her a question.

“Another good question! Wands are popular since they are easily carried no matter what material they are made of but foci can take on basically any shape; gears, sticks, staffs, rings, a rock―as long as there is a significant enough emotional connection, it’ll work as an excellent focus! If you don’t really have anything that fits the bill, carry an item around with you that is sturdy and reliable for a week or so. It should pick up enough emotional residue that it’ll get you started.” As she finished her explanation, the bell rang and she waved everyone out with a cheery, “Have a fantastic night!”

Rose Hall: Aaron, Lilie

“Technically, anything can be a focus. They take a myriad of forms, from simple pins to grand blades. They are as varied as the mages who wield them and you’ll often find the focus is an accurate representation of themselves. We have a lightning mage who uses a worn gear from his first lab here at the Academy.” Hayes elaborated on Lilie’s question. “As for Resonance, foci do act as a sort of buffer but not nearly as much as with Dissonance. Foci force the magic to travel through a seperate object prior to the effect and creates emotional distance between the pair. Resonance can be controlled even without a focus but it is extremely difficult to do. Foci reduce the chance of Resonating. Only a mage can truly control themselves. A crutch will only help for so long.”

With that, the bell rang and Hayes shooed the class out, far too many of them practically gone before the sound stopped. The professor shook his head as he packed up his own things as he waited for the hall to clear.

Cerulean Hall: Maxwell, Salem

The bell rang loudly in the silence after Manuel’s lecture. He shrugged and offered a wave as people headed out the door. He glanced up at Max, waiting to see if he’d take him up on his offer. He’d have no problem excusing Max from his next class. Magic was what he was here to learn after all.

Vampires

Nightingale Hall: All purebloods

The Astorio’s entrance earned him a disapproving look from Dame Patel, but otherwise she made no comment.

There was a brief silence after his arrival before a voice piped up from the back, belonging to a bored-looking vampiress with her feet perched on the empty seat next to her, draped in an oversized hoodie and holding a pencil aloft. “Why do we want to… ‘cultivate dependence’ anyway?” She asked, making air quotes around the words. “I just want mine to behave when I feed from him, I don’t really care what else he does or who he hangs out with. Can mortals really not figure themselves out without us having to micromanage their whole lives?”

“A fair question. When left in their own environments away from the lifestyles of immortals, yes. However, their magic has disrupted their precious routines and rituals that make their short lives bearable and they are left in a limbo with little to cling to. It is the duty of the master, the duty of the parent, to make sure that transition is bearable by creating a standard they can cling to. Cultivating dependence makes us, the only constant in these chaotic times, their foundation, their center, their fall back. Even when the world around them crumbles apart, we stand firm and they will always use us to find their ways.” Dame Patel responded, the last part practically cooed into her mage’s hair as she petted it. She turned her attention back to the vampiress. “Furthermore, this dependence helps curtail problematic behavior because such behaviour is often the responsibility of the vampire in question. I don’t believe you’d care to have someone like me knock on your door and execute you because you didn’t train your pet and it found its way into the wrong bed now would you?” The bell interrupted Dame Patel’s question and she looked startled.

“Oh dear, is it that time already? Well, have fun my little Chickities! I’ll see you tomorrow for our next lesson on mage behaviors!” She blew a few kisses as her students left, more than a few groaning at all the work they may have to put into their mage.

Cardinal Hall: Joryldin

Ms. Talney sat down as the bell rung, obviously unimpressed with the lack of questions at the end. “My assigned reading is on blackboard. I recommend you start soon. All of the books can be found in our library and there are more than enough for all of you.”

Bright lights illuminated the Arena sands. The barrier periodically shimmered, blue and purple rippling across its surface before settling to its translucent state once again. The equipment once lining the Arena walls was absent, the various racks still bolted on but empty, and a few red robed older students grumbled about being on polishing duty as they left the sands. Several pairs of students could be seen beyond the barrier, many of them wearing red robes as well, eager to watch the newest class after hearing a few nobles, a promiscuous Starag, and the ill-tempered Royal Guardsman would all be in attendance.

The entrances onto the sands were blocked off by Arena guild members, pausing the students for a moment. Beyond them, a man easily brushing seven feet waited for the lagging students to clear the field. Built like a tree trunk, the man stared intently with just the hint of a hunch in his shoulders and wore simple clothes, nothing more than a well fitting short sleeved shirt, pants, and sensible boots. He showed signs of early balding and a handlebar mustache decorated his scarred face. A sturdy scabbard hung from his belt, a longsword with a large lavender stone in the hilt swaying as he fidgeted briefly. A piercing whistle caught his attention as the last of the grumbling students left the Arena.

The students at the sands entrances began incanting simultaneously, drawing a series of symbols in the air before them. As they spoke, faint blue lines scattered across the air until they covered the opening fully, flashed once, and vanished. Once the mages completed their spells, each one signalled the man in center and he gripped his weapon with one hand and made a grand sweeping gesture with the other. For a moment, nothing happened.

Until the sand exploded into the air, obscuring everything and rushing towards the entrances. Blue flared and the whirling sand scraped against the shining wards. It receded second by second, something dark visible in the center. As the sand thinned, the students could see the sand flowing around the man and solidifying into a stone pillar in the center. It tilted on its side, and with a sharp rap of his knuckles, thin rods of stone broke free and took position on the weapon racks while the remaining pieces piled themselves neatly around the edge. The red robed mages dismissed the wards with a wave of the hand, the blue lines dissapaiting like smoke, and bowed the students through.

“Let’s get a good look at ‘cha, why don’t we?” The man rumbled from deep in his chest, his voice booming across the Arena. “Not the best lookin’ bunch are ye? But ya don’t much need pretty when you run a man through now do ya? Step up, step up. I’m Arena Master Dracion though most just call me Dracion. Simple and quick. And ya better learn that quick; round here’s the only place in the world where your title means jack shit unless you’re the council. And aye, your skill can speak for ya here―and it will―but I expect respect amongst all ya little ingrates.” He looked over the group with a stern eye.

“Ground rules. One, no fighting without my or my team’s permission or I bury you in the ground. Literally. Two, your titles mean shit on these sands. Rank pulling results in getting buried. Three, no killing or breaking each other. Tensions run high during fights; you run outta control, bam you’re taking a dirt nap. And when I say bury, I mean under five feet of rock.” He gestured at the various stone rods around the room. “Now we got through the boring crap, let’s talk shop. This is Self Defense, the basic requirement you gotta take so you can defend yourself in the event of a formal duel or rabid dog attack. We will cover hand to hand combat, the basics of a longsword, and dagger fighting. We have plenty of equipment here for you but you are more than welcome to bring your own. Saves me on equipment costs when you inevitably break or lose something. This class and one more are required before you can join any of our three annual combat tournaments. One is for vampires, traditional format, and two are for mages, traditional and―by suicidal popular request― limited Titan format. For those who have sensible hobbies, that means no inner shields and only temporary outer shields but still mage only.”

“Now we got a bit of a change in pace here today. Normally, there’s some fancy footwork a guy’s gotta do to test outta this class but there’s a bit of an exception considering his expertise, and he’s done part of the heavy work already anyways so why not. Bordeleaux will be our secondary this semester and will work with our more experienced group.” Dracion pulled his phone back out, squinting at it. “Starag, Dionne, Astorio. You’ll be evaluated by Bordeleaux today on hand to hand skills. Over there.” He gestured towards one side of the arena where attendants were putting out sparring gear, cushioned for the mortals.

“The rest of you, other side. Let’s get you paired and geared up. Head protectors, chest guards, sparring gloves, and shin protectors. Come on, lets go. Hustle, hustle, hustle!” Dracion shouted as he walked towards the other side. All the gear was in Noila colors and came in a variety of sizes. “Once you’ve gotten yourself geared up, pair up where I point you.” As the students geared up, he checked them, adjusting here and there, and directing them to their group once he cleared them.

Inexperienced Pairings

Pairings:

• Cassandra Roth, Salem Spellman
• Maxwell Alderman, Damien Baker, Dakota Brookes
• Amaris, Eris, Joryldin - All Rotating

“Listen up. Take a few swings at your partner. Anything ya know, try it. Need to see how hopeless the lot of ya are.”

The Gifted - Concluded

James Kingston

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Location: Morlock Tunnels -> The Warehouse
Skills: N/A

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“Actually, I was talking about physically and no, I did want an actual answer. Can’t do much about other issues though; not much of a therapist.” James chuckled at the rambling but glanced at the space next to him as he continued speaking to this Ben. “Oh, Jack’s your brother? Guess that was pretty lucky you crossed paths then huh.” James commented absently as he continued to stare at the empty spot. “Sorry if it’s rude but who is Ben? If this was another telepath that he had to deal with, James was going to peace out as soon as he could.

Then Erg made the call for the warehouse and James jolted. He’d been so focused on… Casper, Jack called him, that he forgot about the supply run. “Whoops, sorry I gotta jump on that. Gotta get their electrical back up to modern day. We should pick this up when the run is over.” James suggested, smiling at Casper. Casper seemed like the kind of guy who could carry a conversation without a ton of input, a quality James liked because frankly five minutes into anything and he tended to run out of words. Plus, who is Ben?

Requiem

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Location: The Luxury
Skills: N/A

Requiem took another sip of his drink, ignoring the disgusting practices of the boy. Someone should teach him some manners. But someone stole a sentinel prototype from the Back King? He must admit, Requiem admired the confidence of whoever poor unfortunate took decisive action. And it had been missing for nine days? A long time to wait for such a dangerous issue.

“Where was the asset held? Do you have an investigation report from whoever was in charge of protecting it?” Requiem continued, pausing a moment to sip again as he consider. “Considering the time frame, its likely the sentlinal is in pieces or run through analytical processes already. Is the dissemination of information an issue or should we bother attempting to mitigate that issue? And, most importantly, what do you have that makes you suspect it is a traitor?”

Testing well everything!

Testing well everything!

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Ơ͙̳̥͙̪̮͇͇̮̙̭̭̘̖̫͖̠͍͈͗̓ͨͦ͗͑ͨͣ̅͢ṉ̴̡̲̟̖̖̔̒͆ͧ̀ͭl̸̨͖̯͔͙͉̭̩̯̰̘̮̠̬̹̖̲ͮͧ͑ͯ͌ͭ͆y̡ͣ͑̐ͧ͒͆ͮͭͩͧ͋̌ͩ̅̾ͧͥ̍́҉̛̣̯̻̱͇̞̼̥̘̻̻̯̣̤̟͍͎̕͠ ̡̧͇̬̤͉̫̩̳̬̥̰̥̺̽ͫ͐ͨͥ͂ͬ̌͊̓̀o̴̴̪̘͚̳̥ͤ̿́̕͘n̷̝̘̪̻̘̥͓̘̩̱̰͍̥̞͈͉̳͔͒ͥ̽̈́ͅ ̧̢̣͖̦͍͇̯͇̯̱̩̟̫͙͙̥͙̖̰̃͂̌̾̀̾̃̌ͮ͌̿t̴̶̛̘̞̙̠̳̖͇̪̟̥̭̠͉̏ͨͥ̐̿ͫ̽̂͑͌̍͂̾ͮ̈̀ḩ̵̛̫̞̣̣̠̯̙̙͈͈ͯ̃ͤ̍͋̓̀ͭ͂̉̇̓́̄̌̓ͧ͊̚͠ę̸̍͊͆ͧ͐̃ͨͥͭ̏̑ͤ̏̀͑͑̅̂ͩ͜҉͍͚̘̪ ̴̶͓̠̳̞̣̙̬͍́ͨ̐̑ͩͯ̔̒͒͘W͈͚̳̪̫̤̱͖͓̣̦͎̹̘̲̫̍̊̾͗͋̋͊̀̾ͭ͂͞ͅi̽͊ͨ͒ͯ͋ͩͤ̔̒͛̓̒҉̢͓͕̹̠̱n̵̸̨̡͖͉̤͙̰̺̠̳͍̠̻͗ͦ̇͂͑̀̈́̊ͩ͂ͪ̊ͯ͞dͯͤͧ͊ͭ̎҉҉̴̴̰͖̩̯͈̫̭̯̭̘̩ͅͅs͑̄̄̉̎ͨ͂͛̿̑͐̂ͨ̉ͭ̚̚҉̪̺͕̱̤̘͚̱̣̹͚ ̸̢̣̥̬̠̺͖̙ͯͪ̒̂̀̓̍͐̉ͩ̎͋̐͗͜ͅͅö̙̱̪̟̣͎̮̜͚͉̞̜̦́̂ͮ̊ͣ̂͛ͧ̓ͮ̍͒͡f̨̳̝̲̫͈̲̦̻͕̣͙̟̣͙̉̋̆ͬ̽ͫ̾ͣ͛̋͐̍̎ͫ͆͂̅ͧ́͘͝͞ ̶̧̛̥̖̟̱̣̘̼̠̙͍̦͔̰͌͂̊ͧ̾̈́ͭͮ͝Ḍ̡̯͎̻̦̮̳̤̘̦͇̀̒́ͪͥͫ͌ͭ̾̾̈́̈́͛̎́̐̈͠͝ị̶̧̡͎͔͇͓̠̦̲̗̳͈̻̼͖̻̊ͮͭ̾̉ͧ̇̔ͯ͂̀ͫ̌̈̃̇͋̀̚͜v̨̢͎͍̙̻͈̰̼̤̫͗̐̌ͨͭ̃͂̕͡ȋ̷͙̞̘̖̹̥̦̙͇̜̪̈́ͪ͂̋ͫ̏͛̾ͣ̌̆̊ͧ̇̾͜͝ṋ̨̟̬̲͇̙̙̺̣̼͇͑́͂ͭ̃́̉̕͜i̵̧̡̝̳̪͚̠̘̠̜̜͈͔̬̥̼ͬ̑̔̋̑̓͒̾ͤ͑̆ͪ͆t̤̬͖̩̫̫͕̳ͬ̑̾ͤ͐ͨ̂̇ͦ̀̚̚͡ͅy̵̵̥̜͖̮͙̘̗̱̠̝̣ͪ́̈́̅͐́͡ ̶̦͉̖̭̈́̊ͣ̅ͥ͆̈́̉͂ͭͮ̊̕͞
̢̛̯̮͈̖̫̩̻͈̩͍͖͌̽͐ͬ́̂ͤͭͦ̾̃ͤͮͤ̏ͤ̿̓́͜͢
̡̪̜̖͚̜̺̭̲͓̖̙̲̺̻̬̳̳̳̎ͤ̌̏ͨ̾́ͨ̈́̈ͦ͛̍͌̍̔́͞C̸̶͚̭̹̮̲͇̬͕̮̮̠̟͋̈́̽̋́͐̑̔ͨͭ́̽́́͠a̴̴̷͍͙̥̥̤͉͎͙ͮ̾̒ͩ̐͐ͤ̔̾͐̒̎ͥ̈͟n̴̤̬̩̗͎͓͎̰̘̺̬̻̆ͯ̽͆ͯͫ̍͑̄̈́̎ͯ̽̒ͮ́͡ͅ ̷̰̠͚̲͖͖̮͕̥̅͊̈ͧ̂̉͗ͯ̽͗̀͠͞o̿̔̒̑ͭ͋͡҉̯̗̖͍͕̭͜n͊͛ͭ͑̂̆̍ͬ̾͗͒͞͞͡҉̞̼͇̝̗̰̟̱̩e̶̢̬̜̤̠̖̯̻̥͙͂̾ͪͨ̔̍̌̌ͧ͛̕͟͝ ̶̧̡̔ͪ̋͗̽ͪ͑̆͐ͤ̀҉͉͍̼͚̟̠̘̗̳r̷̡ͥ̊ͪ̃͛̓̾͊͒ͨͩ͋̎͑͂̉͡͏̧̟̠̞͓͖͕̥̞̪eͧ͌͊ͥ̂̍́͘҉̡̞̦͖̜̤͉̺͇ͅa̳̦͔͚̘͕̞͔̣̖̫̤͎͐͌̓́͒̾̑̌͊ͭ̇̔̎͆̀̚̚͟c̥̫̘̟̹͉͙͙͍͓̳͕̘͍͕̪͉̀̌̄ͩ̆͌ͦͬ̋̐̄̿̐ͩͯ͛ͩ̚͘h̴̶̛͎͍̭͖̘͙̬̒ͤͫ̅̇̉ͦ̓ͦ̇͂͆ͦͧ̇͐̌̕ ̷ͬ̍̏ͣ̾͒ͧ҉̸҉̯̖̭͈̞͕̦̲͎͎̺̪̫̞̠̬͡ͅt̼̜̬̱͚̩͕͕̠̻ͫͧ̈ͧͨ̈́͑͋̾̓͊ͯ̂̉̒͋ͧ͌͜͠ͅh̴̶̗͖͈̯̤͎̩̞̗͕̭̤̥͎ͪ͊͐͆ͨͬͨ̽̔ͨ̌͐̕e̢̧̢̺̹͓̞̐̆̍́ͣ̄̽ͮͫ͐̋̄ͪ̓̄͌̉́͟ ̷̹̞̮͕̰̟̤̬͑̿ͭ͑̌͗͛̌ͪ̌͛͂̌̌͂͛̈͑̀͟͜S̺͈̗͔̤̼̙͍̐͐̎͛̇̚͘͠͝k̪̦̺̻̰̯̍̓̓ͪ̔ͧͪ̓͒̇ͥ͒̌́ý̢̡̻̘̹̼̻̥̥̜̬͉͈͍̬̼̮͙̣͕̅̾̈́̀͘͜
̰̮̺̜̖̙̺̮̊̒́̽̂ͮ̽͋̒ͪ̃ͬ̎̒ͭ̀͘
̸̢̢̫̞̞̻̬̼̞̋̒͗̇͌ͥ̿̀W̧͔̜͎̗̘͓̒̌ͣ͒ͣ̽͋̑ͣͥͪ̓ͬ͆̆́̀iͭ̍ͣͣ̿̋͆͒̓̆̃ͨͭͭͮ̄ͣ͗ͣ͟͝҉͚̻͈̙̼̜̠ẗ̷̴͙̟͚͙̯̹͚͔͕̟̘̱̜̙̦̘̦͒ͪ̓h̨͚̹̘̜͚̦̦͙̞ͨ̉̓̄̾͒̆̋͛ͦ̀͞͝ ̢͍̳̮͇̦͍̱̥̼͇̖̯̜̞̰͋ͪ̉̿ͧͭ͗̃̾̋̃͗̊͐́̐͊́͠͝͠ͅs̖͓͔͚̟͉͕̩͉̦̣͙͖̠̻ͫͣ͛̈́ͨ͆̃̿ͯ̈́̏͒̈́͢͞u̽ͧ̽̒̎̉̒͒ͩͧ̊͗ͩ͏̪̲̖͎̥̜̳̞̩͠c̢̯̞̘̹̣ͤ̓ͤͦ̈́̐́ͣ̉ͦ͌ͫ̊̀͆̅̆͂͢͞͝h̵̢̥͉͇̺̩͔̩̭͉̘̥̙̹̮͍ͭ̍͌́͑̂͗̅ͬ̐̅̍ͦͧͯ̑ͩ͌͘͟ ̡͙͚̗͇͖̤͕̙̲̟̥͗́̽ͩ͆͝Ş̷͇̗̙̮ͫ͊ͮ̑į̸̜̜̳̌̔̑ͤ̉̾̊̋ͩͨ̊̒͂n̴̷̘͖͕̜̐ͤ̃̆̽͑ͫ̿͒ͬ̔̉ͮ̅͊ͦ̀͟͝ ̸͔̲̖̙͕̠͉̙͖̻̳͎̱͎̻̰̯̑́̐ͫͤͤ̓̀͢͢t̡͙̦͙̘̼̲̣͕̗̲̬̪̭̩̎͆̆͒͗̈́̇̈́ͨ̓͊̎ͪ̃̊̄̑͜͝͡o̷ͦͯ͗̈́̓̈́̓ͭ̀̂̕͏͙̗̳̩̳̫̟͈͕̦̠͠ͅ ̨̻̫̹͚͉̮̘̭̜͈͍̳̯̱̟̟͋̾͆ͮ̒ͣ̄ͥ̅̉̾͌ͥͩ̉͆̓̄ͩ̀͢b̸̬̤͓̘̼̹̼͕̻̐̅̄̏̉ͯͥ͂̂̒̒̈́́ͦ̅͋͝ͅu̎͂̿́ͧͦ̍ͭ̀̑̔̎̀̕͟҉͚͇̹̠̟̹̖͙̠̭̣̞ŗ̥͚̺̮̊ͣ̊̐̿̓ͪ̒̅̒̕͢d̶̖̯̼̞̟̝̞̰̥̱͛̇͗͛͛̑ͪ̋͂ͪ̆̊̽̄̀ͣ̽ͦͭe̸̷͕̖̯̥̪̫̺̻̮̯̫̥̬̼̬̺̹̟͙͒̈͐̊͊̆͗̈̆ͯ̋͑͟n̨̧̡̡͖̲̻͓̹̭̱͇̥̤̙̹͎̹̘̪̔ͤ̑̉̄͆͌ͥ͌ ̡̥̬̬̼̜̘̜̳̲͎͓̗̮͒̿ͤ͑̅̉̈́̓ͪ̿̄ͨ̌͑ͥ͗̑͗͢͟ͅy̷̧̯͉̓̀ͥ̌͌̿͡ͅǫͧ͆͛͊́͐̃̀͜͡͏̼̗̰̲͓̺̠̻͕̱̜̪̠̱̺ͅu̡̡ͪ̅͐́ͧ̂̂ͣ̋ͮ̂̿͜҉͈͔̦͉̣͕̫̪̜̹̳̱͖͎̝̯̪ͅŕ̷̨̘̬̗͈̜̟̬̙̺͔͖͕̈́͛̄͋ͣͧ͊͋͛͐͌̈́͒̽͘͟͟ ̵̨̺͔͎̰̮̮̮̱͉̗̳̈̇̄ͯ͊̽̄̓̾͐̂͊̐ͪ̚͝͞͞f̨͙̭̠̣̻͍͚̦̭̗̭̩̃̈̃̈́̌͆ͩͦ̾͛ͦ̔ͦ̂͒͜ͅͅe̢̨̡̳̣̪͓̘̺͓͔͊̎̃̆́͢é̡̹̱̮̫̳̣̟̖̝ͪ̀̂̀ͦ́͟͟ț̤̱̬̗̱̫̝̹̺͆ͧ͑̓̍͋̂͑͐̕͠ͅ
̨̤̹̩̤̹̬̥̬̙̭͓̫͕̠͔̩̤̝̿̎͗̋͆ͮͣ͋̾͋̉̿͑̍̚̕
͖̖̘̞͓͚̪̜͉̜̻̬̺̺̩̱̻̼̥̇̃̅͐͐̈́̍͗̍̉̋̈́̀̅̆̏ͧ̕͟H͚͕̖̪͚̣͉̬͙̬̯̺͎͉͂ͤ̋̿̓̒ͯ͛͒̕͠ǫ̛̠̰̭̱͔̖̼̱͇̭̹̹̥̬͎͈͗ͧ̑̂̎̇̃̒̂ͮͭ̌͛ͅͅw̡̲̩̣̙̼̟̥͔̣̖͙͚̑ͥͩ͢ͅ ̉̋̀̌ͪ͐͏̙͈̺̀w̷̵͈̼̼̥̩̫̠̯̙̯̤̙͉͖͚̼̣̳̦̒̉̈́̄̊͌̃͐ͪ̄͂ͤͥ́͊ͯͯͩ̔͟i̶͉̯̹ͨ̐̐ͬ́́͢ͅl̞̟̳̟͖͎͕̰͙͕̺̙̝̖̑̐̃̎ͩ͂͋ͧ̋̔̈ͩ͜͡͠l̵̸̹͓͓̼̝͉͖̟̮̟͈̤̗͖̗̞ͥ͑͌ͤ̎ͥ̑̋ͬ̈̾͋̋̐̚͠͡ͅͅͅ ̢̢͍̼̼̞͉̬͍̜͚̜̬̳̝̭̳̣͓͆̆ͨ̑ͦ̚y̡ͣ͒̽̄ͩ̉͒͊̂̿̒ͪͬ҉̵̵̤̺͓͓͎͉̭̬̣͎̝̱͕̤̟̟̗̖̘͟ȏ̷̧̡͍͎̤̺̟̞̺̳̺̹̠͓̠̆͒͒̐ͧͭ̆ͩ͗ͥ͟û̷͙̟͉̙̠̭̮̖̺͚̘͕̜͕̗̯ͦͪ͋͗̒̆ͭ̒ ̨̹̩̣͓̻̗̭̻̟͕̣̭̎ͨ͒̔͆̿͝ͅĕ̵̵̗̟͈̼͇̹̳̼͖̹͈̤̳̭̭̞̱͐͛͒̈́̌ͩ̈́ͅv̵̥̙̤͙͕̹̤̘̗̫̘̞̞̯ͬͩ̓̂̅͢e̙̫̠͓̹̠͍̩̳̜̹̞ͬ̈̾͆̉͂ͭ̂̂̿͘͝r̴̢ͯ̈́ͫͥͭ̀ͩ͢͏͉̲̠͉̦͈̟̝̳̦̬ ̶̢͕̫̳ͮ͛͌̊͆̽̽͛͆̀ͧͦͪ̐̉̃͌̽̕͝͡ͅs̩̺̞͕͕̹ͣͩ͂̈ͧͯ̊ͮ̌͐̊ͧͥ́̀͡͠͠ů̋̉ͭ̆̑̂ͭͪ̏̚͟͏̕͏̜̦̜͚̤̲͔͍͇̺̩͎͍͇͖̣c̵̭̙̭͇̖͕̞̪̦̪͖̣̠͔ͦͫ̀̊ͭ͗ͬ̍̓̉̏̆̈̇͂̓͌̚̕̕̕͡c̛̟̮̼͕̲̮͈͙͇̭̩͙̳̱̪͎͋̌̓͊͛̋̈̒ͣ̀̃̉̿͒ḙ̢̢̯͓̹̖͑͂͒̒̎̔̐ͬ̓͊̾͋̃̋͟e̬͕̗͎̦̣̻͕̘̙̲̼̼̯̝̘͐̈̄̌̉ͧͩ̓̍̚̕͞ͅd̴̃ͦ̑ͨ͆҉͖̙̮̹͍͓͓̙̜̻̭̫̤ͅͅ

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Ả̴̠̱̼̖̖̥̠̱̩̩̹̮͔͔͔̿ͨͦͬ̂̉ͧͪ̓͢͠ͅn̶̗̱̯̞̺̠̺̩̲̺͚̱͈̳̙̫̒͑͂͊͐͛̐̍̈́ͯ̋ͣͫ͌ͧͭ͗͞d̂̿̍ͮ̂͐ͣͩ̐͏̵̧͓̲͖̝̝͘ͅ ̸̢̲̯̦͖͇̠͕̱͓̿ͦ̓̌̈́ͩ͌ͥ̽ͫ͒̊̑̉ͅw̡̖̲̬͉ͥ̓ͮͨ͂̈́͗́͛ͪ́h̴̡̨̡̦̦̥͎̩̖͓̩̟̳͕̘̭͍͖̙̫ͭ͂ͩ̓ͩ̃̑̀ͣe̢̨̤̩̠̳̞̥͓̳̬̯͉̞̥̲ͭ́̇͛̀ͩ̇ͥ̓̒͛́̕ͅn̛͂ͧͥ̊͊ͣ͋͐̑͊҉̩̹̠̠̼͈̘̰ ̷̍̈́̊̾̓ͪ͏̶̱̥͎͠͡ţ̵̮̝̥͍̝̤̬̰͍̪̊ͦ͒͐ͦͤ̇ͥ̎ͣ͆ͯ͑͟ͅh̷̢́̇ͧ̐͏͎̱̦̙̟̖̺͠ͅe̵̴̤̺͍͎̝͇̠̱ͭ͛ͣͩ̊̎͐̉̍̆̚ ̵̨̛͓͖̻̤̖̩̰̬̦̱̱̭̭̄̅͑̀̆̉ͬͧ͐͊̌̚̕͡ͅS̙̜̫̖̭̫̲̳̮̉͆̔̑ͪͬͪ̄̌͂ͤ̈ͧ̇̈̔͛͂͜ͅͅk̂̓̽́̏̂̈́ͪ̈́̑̏҉҉̴̲͓̜̟̤̀͡ͅy̶̧̤̝̭͍̣ͩ̽̿̀͗̃͆̇ͭͦ̃͘͘ ̧̼̼̻̫̳̠͔͓̞̰̔ͧ̎ͦͦ̾͊͋ͭ̊̔̄͆͆̚̚̕͜ͅc̪̭͔͎̗̤̞̣̰͉̤͑̂̊̃͊͑̎̋͋̿͋ͩ̓ͥ͂ͤ̋ͬ͢͠͞r̵̪͕̮̞̲͓͔̠͈̘̈̾͒̿ͬ͊͋̈͗̆ͪ̓̕͜ͅã̴̵̫̼̪̰̭̂ͯ̓ͧ͆ͅs̓̌ͣ͑̈ͣ̋͌̿͋̽̓ͨ̀ͧͥ̌͌̚͘͏͏̙̠͓̭̺̦̭͎̮̜̘̝̤͙͓h̴̸̨͈̳̝͙̙̝ͯ̒̇̄̍̀̈̾̅̆̊ͯ͘e̙̠̝͓͔͇͇̰̦̗̒͛ͦ̀̚͢͠sͥ̇̊͛ͤ͋̀͟҉̭̤̝̬̫͖̦̰̰͍̠ͅ ̛̟͇̱͎̘̲͔̼̹͍͉̲̠̹ͮ̈̈ͥ͊͑ͩͨ́ȁ̷̶̗͙̮̯͇̗̒̓ͫ̏̃̚͝r̷̨̛̰̰̼͔͖̟̬̖͎͙̖̭͕̦̱̫ͩ̽̑ͮ̇ͤͧ̊ͣͯͨͭ̀̈́͗̽͌̌͒͜͟ͅo̸̵̴͈̗̣̹̘͚̖̳͋̅͆ͧ͌ͤͮͩ͒͐͌̓͊̀͝ų̸̧̲̦́͆ͪ̀͑͗̾͌͐͂ͧ̃ͦͨ̂̕ͅn̞̦̣̐̄̅̿ͤ͂̇̿̀ḓ͕̖͍̓ͩͩ̅̿̓̓ͥ͐̒́̕ͅͅ ͩͩ̎ͨ̆ͮͧ̐̈́͂̒ͮ͒ͮ̓̎ͤ̍͏̴̸̗͍̩̬̺̗̺̭̜̗͖͈̺͝ͅͅy̧̧̼͇̝̮͚̣̺͓̒ͥ̌̍ͭͪ̏̃̈́ͦ̽̍̈́ͧ̂̑̚͟͞o͙͇̠̹͕͍̝͍̜͔͔͂̃̂͗̂ͨͩͪ͋́̚͜ͅͅu͑̈́ͫ̅͗́͊ͩͧͧ̆̿ͭ̋ͭ̈͋̽҉̴̢͓̘̥͚̫̳̘̩͙̘̜͉͖̳̞̙̹̯͡ͅ
̵͓̤̭̳͎̦͒̉ͮͫ͘
͔̺̘̰̫̖̝̲̦ͩ̑̍ͬͬ̀̇̃͆̍̿̕B̲̗̩̦̱̼͖̩͈̻͍̭̺̼̘̱̬̥́͂̾̌͝͝͠uͫ͐̑̐̾́̃͏̴̦̦͍̭̼̹͈͎̩͎̳͢͢r̵̡̧̪̞̭̝̘̻͙̙͖̖ͦ̔̄̈́̋̊ͫ̑̑̽̊̅̊̓̊̓̔̒̐́͡nͦ̆̏͗̇ͤ̿̈͗͂̇ͭ̅͒͐̒̕͏̖̜̬̯̜̼̖͘̕i̢̯̞̤̮ͣͦ̿͌̀̽̈́ͨ̇̔̒ͩ͐̀͜n̴̢̺̘͉̫͂͑͌ͪ́̕͟g̴̗̦̹͍̥̗͉̯̝̗͉̝̥̺ͧ̔͆͊͐̔ͭ̒̓̇͋̈́̌ͥ͟ͅ ̤͚̤̬͍̣̙̹̘̝̙̥͔̞̱̰͙̗̘ͬ̉ͣ͑̄̓̓ͧ̏̒̆̉̌̚̕͜͝a̢ͭ̊ͫ̓̔͆҉̗̣͎̖̪̩͎̙͙͚͍̼͘͢ͅṡ̴̷̛̙͓͈̝̭̬̜͓̜͍̮̳̞͕̰̪͕͖̂͊ͩ̄̀̚ͅ ̢͔̞̮͈̭̰̻̞̹͉͉̈̎ͥ̄̾ͯͪͯͫ͑̒ͥͪ͢i̺̻̠̬̬̭̪͓͓̲̙̪̮̩̯͍̒̋̐ͧͭ̀̉̓̕͢͝͡t̓̐͑ͭͨͩ͝͏̠̣͚̤̣̺̙͓̫̝͓̼͕͝ ͉̠̭̬̭ͥ̾͛̀̕S̶̹͚̺̣͉͈̪͙̼͙̟̯̞̎͒̇̅ͩͨͣͨ͐͒ͫ͆w̴̡͙̖̻̘̪̯͓̥̖̝̝͈̏̈́͌͊͒ͤ͠͝a̸̶̷̮̙̠̳̱̖̼͇̭̲͎̻̪͕̿̃ͣ͒̊̚͟͞l̍͛͌̅ͨ͋͏̢͏͉͖̺̮̮̮̯̞͈ͅl̷̸̵͇̤̞͍͕͇̳̼̣̫̳͓ͧ͆̓ͥ̈͊ͦ̀̎ͨ̉ͣ̚̚͢o̠͚̺̪̣̤͚̱͚̲̰̘͇̻̝̜̺ͦ̇́ͯ̿͑͛͒̓͗ͯ̂̉̇͠͞͝w̶̧̛̳͓̻̯͍͈̱͕̖̭̲̰̓͊ͪͪͣ̂͗͊̽ͥ́ͧ̑ͯͭ̚͘s̵̨̱͎͓̝̻̭͕̜̘ͯ͐ͦ̾̌ͩ̐ͥ͜ ͮ̌ͨͫ͌͗̄̿͐͗̆ͫ̂ͯ͊̇̔͆͏̡̟̥̜̙͇̣̦͓͖̙̺̗̳͙͖͖̟͟
̢͕̮̼̖̳ͩ̽ͤͫ̓̋ͯ̑ͬ̔͆ͩͥͬ̈̍̚
̛̼̣͎̻̖̦̫͇̋ͫͮͪ̽͋̇̓̃͢͝͝W̛̦̥̪̜̔͌ͬ̿̍͗̎͒̋ͮ̓̎̔́ĥ̨̳̬̣̞̜̦̬̐̊̆̈́͆ͣ̓̈́ͭ̀̀ͩͯ̿͐͗̚͢è̴̸̫͉̳͕̲̮͖̗̱̜̭ͩ̂͐̉ͩ̈̈̊͊͑̀̍ŗ̶̡̠̩͎͕̹̻̙̹̤̪̳͍͂ͤͦ̈ͯ̆ͪę̴̨̧̲̣͖̰̗̭̭͔͇ͫ̓̔ͥ͊͛͆̓̇ͮ̐̍̚̚͝ ̴̸̶̛̜͇̜̟͖̣̱͕̤͎̝̀̐̃̿ͩ̓ͫ̓̔ͫͪͬ̋̄̓ͫ̅ͦ͢s̡̛̩̪̭̄͂̈͑̉̽ͨ͝͡h̵̢̨̰̦̰͔̠͈̫̟̯͓̳̪̰̤̠͎̞̽̂̆̈́̍ͬ̄̅̍̒͡a̷̓̐̉̉̋̾̓̆ͮ͗̉ͨͩ̄͑͊҉͘҉̴̰̹̝̥̘̮̙̗̘͚̫̤̻̫̪͙l̶̥̠̯̺͓̙̤͚͖͍ͫͥ̍͌ͩͮ͂ͨͧ͌́̚͝͡ͅͅl̷̤͉̫̗̻̳̉ͧͫ̑͆ͮͥͬ́ ̢̧̛͊̽ͧ̽̏̿̂̒̔ͪ͑ͬ͘͏̘͈͔̬̞̭̹̺̳̭̝̗̯͓̩ͅy̷̴̨̺̘̲͍̜̦̼͕̠̮͔̗̭̎̃ͩͧ̇̈͛̆ͭ̔͂ͨͮ͐̽̀̚ͅo̙͍̰͕͚̝̮͕̰̭̟͎̹̝͎̯̯ͣ̾ͧͩ͊͆͛̈́ͣ͘͜͠ȗ̶̱̻͚̟̲̦̪ͯ͛ͦ̇̋̀͜͢ ̛̳̝̪̪̱̩̭͖̹̳̈͐̏̿̍̓ͣ͛̽͆̆̊̀f̴̧̝̙̖̮̘̣̟ͭͭ́͐͛̈̓̋̇̀ͮ́͠a̙̭̭̹̺̠͎͖͚ͯͫ̿̅̂̕͞͝l̵̛̩̟̱̰̲̳̳͉̉ͦ͋ͣ́͘ͅl̛̐͆͂̅̓̓̓͛̅̆̈́ͭͨ̑͂ͪ̈́̍͂͢͝͏͖̭͙̘̙͠
̷̶̡̞̞̻͙͕̅ͦͬ
̛̲̞̫̤̺̫̝̞̮̤͙̣̠̺̪̝͚͗ͩͥͤ̈̈́ͧͯ̿̄̇ͬ̚B̎̔̍͊ͯ͆́́̚͢͏͔̫̮͓ų̐̑ͦͩ̓ͩͭͨ̀͏͙̲̹͖̱̟̦̗͚͞͡ţ̫͖̳̦͖̣̥̯͂ͣ̉̆̆̍ͨ̈́͋̐͛̎͌ͩͮ̿̎͂̚̕ ̮̠̤̳͕͓̺͙̹͕̪̰͓͙̯̄̅̿̅ͬͧ̀͢t̶͕̺͚̺̦̜̎́ͭ̓ͯͯ͜͠͡o̴̡̜̬̘͍͖̖̻͓͇̹̯̞̅̌ͥ̿ͪͮ͞ ̴̢̂ͪ͒̾ͦ͑͑̓̃ͤ̎͞҉̴̳̩͉͉̹̹̘̜̝̙ť̶̸̝̠̟̯̦̼̽ͫ̔͌̌h̛͉̺͍̖̞͕͙̜͙͍͇̘͂ͯ̓̂͂̌͟͝a̷̛̜̤͙͔̹͉̪̘̝͔̾͌͂̒͗ͩ͘̕ͅt̷̨̡̰̘̞̘͖̙̂̎̄ͮ̅́͞ ̢̈ͪ͑ͤ͊̌̎ͩ̈́̑ͧͫͤ̇҉̪͈̪̤̯͈̟ͅͅs̶̷̶̡̯̘̭͓̱̜̗͉̻̒̊̈ͫ͂ͪ̊̍ͦͪͧͥ͂̀̈́̉̀a̛͎͕̮̲͈̼̜͋͆̊ͯ̉͊̃ͪ͑̽ͫ͐̄ͭ͑̃́͢ͅṃ̨̩̭̮͎̺͙̗̼͇̪̪̈́ͮ̇̅ͩ͆̂ͩ̉ͮ̏͒ͤ̀͠ě̋́̽̉̎ͨ̔̃̃͋͑ͧ͂͒̆̉͜҉̣̯̞̩͚͈̩̙̼̠̙̻̘͢ ̡̯̬͙̫̘̜̹̱̙̝̱̜͍̯̤ͯͯ̑ͣ̑̌̌̉̈̂̋̉ͭ͂́̾̔̅ͬ͘͢͝͡Ŝͤͫ̚͏̶̧̠͔̲̟̰̪̗̲̣̣͙̩̟͚͕̤̳͝i̶̵̵̜̗̙͇̬̙̳͍̺̖̪̹ͩ̀ͬ͗͊͋͊̋̎n̸̷̨̦̟̼̺̝͔̩̥̭̫̞͍͔̬͂̒ͪ͒̽̄̂͆̒̐̽̾͗ͅ ̴̧̨̰͉͈͉͕̻̠̥͓͖̪͔̣̹̯̻͚ͭ̿͂̈́̊ͯͨ͐̉͋ͧ͗͟ȳ̸̫̝̘͇͔̪͔̤͋ͣͭ͛̈́̒̀͛͊͌̒̉͑̃̋̇̓͑̀͘o̵̲̖̝̔̃͐̋̈̓ͧ̏̂͊͊͘ͅͅu̵̵̢̞̙̯̙͔͖͚͙͒̈́̂̓͐̒ͨ̅̍ ̡̟̳͚̭̮͍͔̳̱̭̗̜̼̯͔͍ͧ̀̒ͩ͆ͩͦ̉ͫ̑̋ͩͧͨ̔͒ͦ́ơ̵̧̝̤̘͔͓̲̣̪͚͍̟̘̳͚̔̇̃ͯͨ̊̋ͪ͑̄̉ͥ͆ͧͦ̿ͧ̀͞n͕̖̬̩͕̱̫͑̄ͣ̌̓̋͋̈ͬͬ̓͐̑ͭ͂̔͝c̴̸̴̦̬̙̫̫̖̲͈͕̖̥̼͌̽ͭͭ͝ͅe̴̸̲͇͙͔̦̼̺̯̼̝̗̿̏͒̓͌̇͛̿͌ͬ̔ͨ͂́͐͢͜͠ͅ ͪ̉̃͛̇͛̚͢҉̵̬̰̘̘̫̭̩͝s̴̢̛̳͚͎̫̩̳̮̞͚̗̓̏̋̀̈̆̔ͪ͌̈͆̓̊ͩ͢ļ̶̡͖̬̤̗̰͚̯̟̣͈͒͌ͯ̃̈̑ͯͩ͘͜o̡̐̏̃̎̎͏̷̧̡̩͇̻̟̣̮̤̥͚̻͔̫̼͍̤̟͈ư̷̧̭̩̱̹̘̭̹͍͖̟͌ͥͫ͊͐͒ͬͩ̈́̋̅̐ͨ̽̀̚ͅg̅̀̊ͭ͒̿̍̏ͨ̏͊҉̸̢̙͇̖͓͙̳̠̺͘h̨̪̹̞̬̹̳̹̰̘͉̯̣̟̟̫̀̂̈̉̐ͣ̀ͪͯͣ̀͗̕͝ͅę̶͕̝̝̭͍̪̺̤͓͂ͨ́ͥͩ̑̓ͯͯ͘d͛ͬ͗̎ͮ̀͠҉̻̹̗̳̜̩̦̣̰̖̗̞̥̻̩?̨̧̠̺̮̠̿͗͂͊̅̊̃̚͜͝

Talrae: Reborn

Three weeks ago, 10,000 gamers fell into a sudden coma after the release of Talrae, an MMO breaking headlines all over the world for its one of the kind full immersion system. Players were transported into a magnificent world full of daring adventures, thrilling challenges,magic and swordplay, and countless hours of gameplay. It was meant to be the dawn of a new era in gaming history.

Instead, players trapped within the game died without knowing until the game’s designer and final boss, an admin only known as “Malgoth”, revealed the truth of these player’s prison and vanished with chaos in his wake. By the time all 10,000 players were successfully transferred to medical facilities and emergency care stations, almost two hundred died at the system’s hands.

Now if these players want to escape, they’ll have to challenge the game head on and do what they intended to when they first stepped into the magnificent world of Talrae: Become the Heros who define their own destiny. Will you answer the call?

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Talrae has had a few iterations but with shiny new updates, Talrae has come back with a fresh new system. Although heavy with numbers, the vast majority of the system is handled by the me, the GM, and unless you plan on delving into the system meta, you only have to worry about what is on your sheet which the GM is more than happy to assist with! Take a moment and check us out! We’re always looking for new victi- Players!

Link to our OoC

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

James Kingston

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Location: Inside the Banner House
Skills: N/A

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James followed along, pulling the taser gun out just in case. He didn’t know what the file meant by “Magic” but it likely meant she could weaponize it against them. In his experience, two thousand volts usual solved that problem.

That’s when her heard Novikova. He rolled his eyes. Of course this was her fucking plan. Another betray the team to establish rapport and leave the heavy lifting to the rest of them. Complete bullshit frankly if he didn’t admire the tactic so much. It was just becoming predictable. She’d take the jet, they’d track her, surround the victim, tag and bag.

“She’s doing her betrayal act again.” James murmured to Mystique, holding the taser up at Runa. If he saw her twitch as much as a muscle, James wouldn’t hesitate to light the girl up. Should help with Novikova’s charade at least.