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2 mos ago
Current Absolutely fucking not
4 likes
2 mos ago
Real
1 like
5 mos ago
Everything is AI because plagiarism is profitable and because people think we’re in a dark age where skills like art and writing haven’t been democratized to hell and back for decades already
4 likes
5 mos ago
Shoutout to all the gay mfs for being remembered by corporate America for a month
6 likes
5 mos ago
i forgot like half of you until you existed on my profile again lmao. you know what we have dms for this sorry mods
3 likes

Bio



I invented necromancy and the windmill. I beat the sun in a poker match during the summer of 1273 and God hasn't felt the same since.


Most Recent Posts

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First and foremost, every parahuman develops superpowers during a trigger event. This event is when they're brought to the lowest possible point they may ever experience when they can't take it anymore, and something finally gives. The specifics of this incident dictate the nature of the granted powers. All powers originate from entities referred to in canon as Passengers, Agents, or Shards.

Shards are fragments of incomprehensible, abstract lifeforms that exist in a separate layer of reality, disconnected from our own. This fact is entirely unnecessary for the working knowledge of Earth Drega, but the important takeaway from it is that the powers granted by them do not line up with our reality. The powers that parahumans receive are foreign, have their forms of logic that they play off of, and are rarely as simple as they appear. Most powers tend to have an "And" or a "But" associated with them, having a degree of depth and complexity that goes beyond the surface. An example of this would be a teleporting mover cape, someone who can go from point A to B in an instant with some effect connected to this power.

The teleporter may not have any issues appearing somewhere on the other side of the country, regardless of sight or distance. Still, the catch to their power is that they can only teleport so often, so many times in an hour before their power stops working, and they must wait again. Or, they may be strictly limited to extreme distances, only able to teleport a minimum distance of a mile.

These complexities are what set most powers apart and tend to play into the way they are applied and the way the PRT classifies them. The PRT has a system of 12 classifications they assign to any known powers, used to identify the broad expression, how it behaves, and the potential their users can get out of it. Powers can have multiple classifications and often have subratings derived from them. For example, if the teleporter produces an explosion upon arriving at their destination, they would be classified primarily as a Mover, with a shaker subtracting.



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Earth Drega is an AU roleplay set in the world of Parahumans, a web series written by John “Wildbow” McCrae. This roleplay is based on the canon universe and placed in the period of the first work in the Parahumans series but is not based on the canonical storyline. Prior knowledge of the story is, therefore, helpful but not explicitly mandatory. You will not be turned away for not having read the Parahumans series.

Discord - Parahuman Wiki

One year ago, a villain named Confessor unleashed an army of ghostly monsters on the city of Bridgewater. The incident lasted two weeks, with Confessor slowly growing into an S-class threat that resulted in the deaths of eighteen parahumans, five of whom were members of the city’s Ward team. The remaining survivors, only two teenage heroes, were transferred out of state once their injuries were healed.

Bridgewater grieved heavily, and most people spent the following months expecting the other shoe to drop when it would turn out that some of the phantoms hadn’t been killed and were simply replicating in the shadows. Some didn’t leave their home for weeks, still paranoid that they’d be met with monsters or a more ruined city than the day before. Known villains stepped up and took advantage, capitalizing on the chaos to grow their influence over the city. Some even left outright and haven’t been seen since. The city wasn’t the same after Confessor’s reign of terror ended. In the following months, damage to the city was repaired, families got back on their feet, and additional workforce was requested from nearby cities.

But most importantly, the people picked up the pieces and moved on, as they always do. The planet still turned, and time passed. There were scars, but they faded to the background.
Bridgewater has relaxed a little, and the PRT has determined that now is an excellent time to try and fill the gap left behind by the former Wards team. Bridgewater is the largest city in Maine, with roughly 800,000 people. It would be straightforward to miss another villain rising in the background. The Confessor disaster caused a lot of chaos across the city that could have easily resulted in trigger events, meaning there are young parahumans who can be recruited and turned into the city’s next generation of heroes. You are those heroes. The PRT and the Protectorate are starting from square one to rebuild their numbers and ensure Bridgewater has heroes to defend it in future years. Many people are afraid to throw children into the line of fire after so much loss, but a lot is riding on this. If the Wards aren’t reinstated in the city, then Bridgewater could suffer in the future.

That can’t happen again.



Welcome to Earth Drega. This is an RP set in the Parahumans series, as stated above, with our alternate lore. Our purpose in this story is to rebuild something important that the Confessor took from us- The Wards. In every city across America, the Protectorate oversees teenage heroes with their own vulnerabilities and troublesome backstories. These kids one day grow up to join the Protectorate while being trained and kept safe from a world full of monsters in human form. Their dissolvement in Bridgewater left a power vacuum, but we're here to change that. The lack of a Wards team is an unusual problem, meaning there isn't any precedent for building one from the ground up. But the good thing about not having a precedent is that we can make our own rules. A branch of the PRT or the Parahuman Response Team oversees every branch of the Protectorate. Their responsibilities include handling the "politics" of capes, preventing the good guys from going too far when stopping the bad guys, and working with heroes of all kinds to ensure evil doesn't win. The PRT's director has come up with his plans to set the Wards for success, plans that break half of the rules in the book and get him fired if these were normal circumstances.

Typically, Wards have to follow rules that their adult counterparts wouldn't, such as the number of hours they're permitted to be on duty. This was the first rule to go out the window for Bridgewater's new team, as they can't get up to speed if they're constantly taking mandated breaks. Wards are given a standard paycheck at the end of every month, which is docked if they break the rules. In canon, it is said to amount to $50,000 a year, but this money will be effectively tripled as an incentive. This money will be theirs to use how they see fit, within reasons. This additional budget also extends particularly to any tinker-class heroes who may join the team, along with absurdly lax limitations on what tech they are permitted to build and use on the job, provided it passes safety testing as usual. The wards will also receive special permission to access PRT information that would otherwise be classified for anyone in their position. This information includes schematics for high-level tinker-tech access to PRT records regarding villains, to name a few. They won't have complete access to the entire PRT database, but they are encouraged to use their available resources.

Lastly, arguably the most important to some is that the usual probationary measures for Wards with a criminal background will be nonexistent. Canon examples of these measures include an ankle bracelet used to track someone's locations for the first six months after they join, restraining orders, curfews, and specific limitations on what someone can use their powers for. None of these will be enacted on a Ward, regardless of their history, as long as they are honest with the PRT and take their new role seriously. This decision was made to encourage more would-be heroes to "come clean," knowing many people were pushed to desperation in the wake of Confessor's rampage. This is also meant to encourage players to write characters that are more rough around the edges, as no one ever gets superpowers in this world by being a well-adjusted individual. They can get away with this without being thrown into a jail cell, thanks to the circumstances.







With a population of 80,000, Bridgewater is the largest city in Maine. You can cross the border to Canada and reach Montreal in just 90 minutes by car or take a boat further up east. Bridgewater received its name for this reason, being a port city for ships going up to Canada. The city has a primarily defunct shipyard where cargo vessels used to come in bi-yearly, but they’ve stopped coming in after Confessor’s rampage. The city was hit pretty hard when the Confessor attempted to take over, and this shows in the less populated districts, now left to crumble to dust. These are typically the areas most likely to see villain activity.

PRT HQ: The main base of operations for the Parahuman Response Team. An ugly, utilitarian building with dozens of floors ran with the vigilance of a federal prison. Numerous sublevels of the PRT building are dedicated solely to holding nefarious parahumans for detainment and questioning.

Protectorate HQ: Partially inspired by the canon Protectorate base of Brockton Bay, the BPHQ is a large, heavily fortified complex with multiple buildings, surrounded by a specialized forcefield system and armed with tinker-made weapons. This is where the city’s heroes plan their day-to-day activities. Everything from public relations patrols and more is plotted here. This is also where the Wards will be when they aren’t off the clock, or on a mission.

The current lineup of heroes protecting the city are as follows:

Grandmaster: With a superhuman mastery of all melee weapons and a knack for strategy, Grandmaster leads the Bridgewater Protectorate by example.
Axiom: Axiom uses her custom exosuit to effortlessly warp the laws of physics. The universe yields to her intellect.
Nightstalker: One of the few Case 53s, and never letting his background get him down, Nightstalker prowls the darkest corners of Bridgewater. Under the cover of shadows, no villain is safe when he finds their trail.
Hellstar: This fiery striker leaves nothing but dust in his wake with a single punch. Anyone left standing is sure to be blown away by the force of solid matter going supernova when he throws a punch.
Gatecrasher: The villains won’t know where to look. Gatecrasher tears open doorways into an alternate reality where no one else can survive. She enters a partial breaker state to teleport across the battlefield and compromise even the most secure locations in a flash.
Revenant: ̷̰̗͉̈́͘͝ͅè̶̷̸̟̱͛͌̕ë̵̸̡́̈́͌F̸̘̟̐]̺̇͒ơ̶̸̷̵̸̷̸̴͇͎̰̤̳̥̤̫͓̯̭̳͉̬͙͒͋̇̾̎̀̑̽͂̕͝[̴̖f̸̧̳͖̲͎͆[̨̬͛e[̪̩̣̗͔̘͒̓e̷͇͇̚e͎̠̗̘̍̔ḑ̵̰̳̼̊̐̅̅̚͝[̵̧̬̪̔̒́ͅe͕̋͂͂̍̚h̵̵̢̩̭̝͚͖̹̱̦̋͛̓̃̀́̈̎̏̚͠t̴͙̪͍͒̂͐ő̘̉͠y̫ ̵̷̷̡̨̧͚͕̥̳̻̦̺̘̫̙̞̇͒͌̿͆̉͐͛͌͋̒͐̋n̵ ͈]̷̭͒r̵̢̼̮̫̹̠̖̭̅͗͊̀̋̒̒̀̕͠ͅi̷̸͊̈͗́̇̆͠[͓̗̺̀ [̷̵̨̨̹̬̦̬̳̫̔͂͗͒̽̔͋̚s̷̠̰̮͋̾̅]̡̘͈̯̭̳̈͑̉̿̐̍͝]̴̢̨̮̀̅̚͝į̵̸̸̲̞̠͓͚̰̞̞͇͙̝̰̙͈͔͋̉̑̉͛̑͌̋͌̐̀̓̔̚̚͝ ̸̧̢̣̞̺͋̐̓̓͑̈́̾͜]͖̆ȧ̧̯͉̈́̏[̵̨̖̹̣͐͝[͚ ̷̴͓̘̰͔̇̿́̈́me͕͍̮̳͒̕o̴̖͓̖̪̭͈̤͉̼͇͍͌̈̀͑̑̕]̱̮̭̀̚.̵̉̈ ̈́n̵̷̷̶̷̵̷̨̛͚̼̹̹̝̟̞̥̟͎̰̞̐̑̈́͂̌͆̎̈́̆̈̂̄̏͋̚͜͜͝P̵̶̡̬̗̝͚̤̭͇̻͚̺͙̽̇̄̔͊͊͋͒͆̂͜͠ą̷͕̬̩̦̪̖̫͒͌͘̚]̴̜̃̎m̷̡̛̻̦̩̲͈̲̝͙͇̦̦̃̈́͋̇̔̓̌͊̿̐̕͝͝͠]̸͆ ͍̲̤ ̶̰̠̌́͠]̤i̴͚͔̝̭̿̄͆̽͛̄̓̚͘͠r̴̴̛͓̝̘̹̪̲̜̀͜n[͔̰̥̖͍̞͔̙̋̐̅̎͂̑̈́́͘͜͝ḇ̍]̴͍̲̘͇̣̜̉[͑[ ̧̨͉̺͖̲̭̓̀́́́͜͝l͎͚̺̈̾͐o̮͎͕̩̻̼̮s̻̩̦̮͓͛̽.̷̷̺͍̙̪̩̤̰͔͖̓͂̈́[[̸͈̩̩̝͕̉̈̒͒͝ ̶̸̨̧̛̛̦͓͍̰̝̯̦̤̹̮̬̰͕̖̺̤͈̗͖̹̔͊̊̀͋̓̂̊̍̅̇͆̾͆̐̊͝ḯ̸̻̤̩͉̻͖̥̝̊̆̅̋̆͑͋]̵̵̢͈̯̻̣̗̦̪͍͈̤̞̞͈̼̞̹͕͖̞̬̌̃̿͒̄͋̍̐̏̋̂͊͒͊̍͛͝r̗f̖̠̼͈̹̂̕l̵͒͂͜v̵̶̷̫̱̣̇͂͑͛̌̓̄̕[̸̷̟̘͐͊͊]̟͖̬̗͕̲̆̔̇̈́̔́͠r̷̡̦̪̦̓͗͆ͅt̚]̶̷̴̡̡̞̼̝̥͂̊̉͆͋͝ͅŏ̴̬͑͠ò̢̨̆éf̩̖̫͎̰̈́̉͆͒͝[]̴̸̷̴̴̸̷̨̤̜͈͓̯̬̙͇͕͛̄̅͋̊͠͠m̨̲̭̣͔̹̟̑̏̈́͝]̓̏̓n̶̫̈̀ą̷̟͎̠̘͎̥̜̰̰͙̙͋̇̉̍͆́̇̏͘̕͝͝


Eastwood Park: It’s a half-mile-long park full of things to do. Have a picnic, ride bikes - and hope a villain doesn’t come out of the treeline and start setting things on fire, or just lay in the grass—your choice.

Bridgewater Harbor: Formerly just an industrial sector of the city, the harbor was renovated in the last few months to allow smaller ships and boats to come through. It was a mostly wasted project that made the city look nicer since most people don’t go out on the water in a city where the warmest day is 50 degrees.

Heroes Memorial: A monument of metal and stone in the heart of downtown, dedicated to the lives lost in the Confessor disaster. Dozens were killed in the attack, including a staggering 18 heroes: five Wards and thirteen Protectorate heroes across three cities.


  • 1) Be considerate of other players, above all else. No one is the main character. We will not be entertaining the idea of our characters dying, but our actions may have consequences if we aren't careful. If an issue comes up, I'll help solve it so we can prevent it in the future.
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  • 2) We will be using Discord as our primary method of communication for this RP, as most people do these days. Discord is excellent for contacting people for reminders, asking for extra time to post, or coordinating with one or multiple people for a collab post. I'll post a permanent link at the top of this thread if you don't see it when you're reading this.
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  • 3) When posting your character for approval, post them to the OOC first. If you post an in-progress sheet, do me a favor and state that in your post when you drop it. I'll be shooting for a maximum of 9 characters. Anything more, and it'll get hectic. You will be allowed to write multiple characters. But as a rule, I'm limiting people to a single Ward, with any additional characters being NPCs, members of the Protectorate or PRT, or possibly something else. Our primary focus is rebuilding Bridgewater's Ward team, so these characters won't typically be the center of attention.
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  • 4) Going back to rule one, there are certain things we'll avoid for this RP. This alternate universe is based on a world where people get superpowers from awful things happening to them. But for obvious reasons, some things are best left out. When in doubt, use your best judgment and fade to black.
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  • 5) I'm gently pushing for a post a week, but I know we live in the real world. Things happen: people get rushed to the hospital, your car stops working, and no one's manager is paying them to roleplay. Therefore, this rule will be very flexible. If it turns out that we don't have any issues or get into a rhythm where we post slowly but consistently, I'll probably redact this rule entirely. All I ask is you at least keep me informed so I can accommodate your absence in character as needed.


Interactions: Way Too Many Fucking People
Flowers and Canvases



Well, everyone seemed mostly fine with Kali staying. Unsurprisingly, Tayla left. Good for her, she didn't seem like she could handle this. The damn gun was an escalation that didn't need to happen. This other coven that the others seemed worried about was a surprise to Jack. "What unkillable horror from beyond this world are they trying to kill?" That was, obviously, a joke about them stepping on the Sycamore's toes, but he hoped it wasn't really why 8th Street existed. "If they'll test us, then we should just deal with them as they come. If we need, we can bait them into fighting this Greenwood coven to keep them both distracted." One old coven banding together to solve a murder mystery shouldn't intrigue what sounded like magic political wars.

He would've added more onto that, but the doors swung open. And Britney was there.

Jack and Britney were on... Odd terms after her secrets were revealed. Luca did not deserve what she did to him, but the others didn't seem to care that much up until the moment she showed up. Despite that, he had so many fond memories of that girl guiding him down the path he took.

"You're... Alive. I didn't think you would be." It's hypocritical coming from Jack fucking Hawthorne, but maybe that's the joke.

And of course, all hell broke loose as Luca lost his shit on the floor, and the tensions in the whole room flared. One thing stuck out in particular, to Jack, though. That would be dear old Greyson's magic. For a brief moment, there was resistance, and then the door fell through, as Jack willingly let him stumble into Jack's emotional field long enough clumsily feel confidence, stillness and a sense of superiority. One that was target at Greyson specifically. Jack's consciousness was like an old monument; Standing in spite of countless weathering that mere human beings were incompatible with, riddled with damage from exposure. By travelling in the Void as he had, Jack was... Different now. He had seen things that most would go mad from, and embraced them. Edict was a fly on the wall to him.

"I agree with Sloane. Do you want that time with the cactus to be the second worst thing to happen to you, Greyson?"



Interactions: The Group
Flowers and Canvases





Stormy tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. He always thought this day wasn't meant to come, that the coven was just a memory from a time with a dire situation. And yet, here he was a decade later, rolling down the streets of his old stomping grounds. St. Portwell held many mixed feelings for him. His father died in obscurity, but so did several of his friends. Who the hell could do that from so far across the world, at the same time as somewhere in another country? Another hemisphere entirely? How did you track someone like that? Stormy rolled up to a parking lot on the other end of town, and took the long way to Auri's place. It was getting late, and he really should've arrived sooner. He would have, but it took forever to set up his course for the online format. He answered six different emails while leaning against the driver door, and then took in a deep breath. This shouldn't have been making him feel jittery. Stormy had nothing to fear, he never had anything to fear.

Walking down the streets, Stormy kept a low profile as he flicked his eyes from one lane of buildings to another, looking for familiar faces. Anyone who might stand out, who might've been lagging behind. Stormy wondered, just how many of them were still alive right now? How did Father Wolf know which of them were from here or not? What if-

There.

In the corner of his eye, he saw it. Flowers and Canvases. A car or two were pulled up already, maybe there weren't that many people inside? There could be two people on the other side of that door, or 10. He wouldn't know until he opened it. And Stormy wished he hadn't opened it. Stormy walked in, quietly, with his head held up. Body language told everyone who looked at him, that he was confident in showing up. Looking around, he saw a lot of them. A lot of his old friends.

"I tried to get here sooner. It's great to see all of you, how much did-"

Britney.

His eyes fell on the woman who most of the coven cast out. The one none of them trusted, the one he wanted to snap in half for ruining lives.

And so, like any normal person would do, he got mad.

"YOU!"


A pair of glowing green shields manifested across Stormy's forearms, both laced with chain-like patterns of red energy to match her lux. This was the same spell that he used to hold back monsters summoned by the Stygian Snake years ago. If he started throwing these at a person right now... "What are you doing here?!" His voice went from that of a gentle giant, to a war horn that spoke English. Forget Kali, forget Judas. This was what he was fixating on now, in front of everyone.
Left. Ahead, fifteen paces.

Shirik stalked up the river, following the directions in their mind. Velhass climbed higher into the tree far on the other side. Hood down low, Shirik’s flames were all but nonexistent from the beast’s perspective. Especially since it did not know it was being hunted.

She is drinking, eyes to the sun. It was setting over the mountain, Shirik was behind the beast. It stood on six narrow legs, had coare fur that flared in hues of red and green, to ward off some animals. Two eyes like kaleidoscopes darted into a clearing and down to its feet while it lapped up water from the river.

Velhass recalled Shirik referring to the strange animal as a rakthir. They were solitary things, prone to running from conflict. Shirik also said that the more important thing about them was that they had more meat than most creatures in the area. More to be harvested with less killing. They taught him that this was how they respected the world and what it provided for them, and Velhass scouted this specific beast out with that in mind.

It will leave soon. You should-

Quiet.

It was strange, hearing Shirik’s voice in his mind. Even the fact that Velhass could hear it spoke volumes of how capable he was becoming, but Shirik’s voice felt like hot coals against his mind. It crackled, and it left smoke to linger with his thoughts.

Shirik gently raised their spear above their head, using their opposite hand to aim the tip directly at the heart of the rakthir. They wanted the beast to die as quickly as possible, lest it suffer in its last moments. Silence stretched out of the dim, dusky forest as the rakthir raised its head to the setting sun. Just as it turned to walk off into the trees, a thousand ancestors threw a spear into its heart, their wisdom and experience all working through one ever-burning descendent.

The rakthir fell silently to the ground. Shirik whispered words unheard by their son, who came clambering over stones in the water.

”How… Did you kill it so quickly? It didn’t even twitch.”

”It was not done by me, Velhass. It was done through me. We Iriad remember the deeds of our ancestors. All but the earliest of mine were hunters. The oldest ways of the hunt live through me, as they do in the Myriad.”

Velhass’ awe was written on his face. ”One day, I want to hunt like you.”

If Shirik could smile, they would have. ”One day, boy. One day.”




A bird with feathers darker than a Tekeri’s streaked across the sky, over trees and hills, through the countryside of the Ascendancy. Its eyes lazily scanned from side to side, from the pink hue of the sun to the rising greater moon. In this form, Tural was best equipped to patrol the widest area of his team. Every squad of Inquisitors had an expert for all forms of magic, even Stone, albeit not of the Sovereign variety. But every life mage Inquisitors was therefore naturally the best at recon, able to take forms that rogue thought mages wouldn’t expect.

This was the last known location of the child they chased. He ran like a fool from them, unaware he would’ve been spared if he simply surrendered. Salaketh had Tural patrolling this area constantly as of late. It had been almost a year now, and they were still looking for him. No other inquisitor in the Ascendancy, Sovereignty or Mythadia had even caught a glimpse of the boy, so he couldn’t have been moving much.

He needed to stop and rest from flying so long, so he perched himself in a tree and reverted back to his natural state. Still staring out at the forest, the idea that he could be here, of all places seemed all but-

There.

Down in the biggest forest in the area, something pricked against Tural’s senses. Thought magic was being used somewhere. It was too wide to pinpoint where, but he had a trail now. Somewhere, down below, there was a thought mage. And so, Tural turned his mind inwards, ringing a metaphorical bell.

I’ve found something…

Intrigue. Approval. Concern. Ideas were conveyed back to him like heat from a fire. Tural became a bird once again, circled back into a valley, shifting back into his Tekeri form upon landing, putting his mask on before anything else, and then his armor. There behind him was a Glen, two S’tor, and Driisu, all dressed in their Inquisitor armor. Not a word was said, but a conversation was held.








”Bridges do not collapse on their lonesome. It may be different on Earth, but our bridges stand for centuries. This… This was sabotage,” Shirik had likely crossed this exact bridge hundreds of times over the millennia. There were things older than them that were just as unbreakable, and someone broke this.

”Listen to the world. This place we are in, it is home to predators that would swallow a Glen whole. A warband is only rations for the cold to them. We are not alone. Silbermine, your scouts would be wise to spread thin,” they warned, just before Ixtaro started jumping across the ruined remains of the bridge. They laughed their usual horrific, demented laugh.

”She is right to press on. There is foul play here.”

But they began weaving a circle of flame into the air, first. Wisps of glowing heat became strange symbols in the air, forming something not unlike what Shirik used to communicate with the humans on the day of their arrival. It oriented itself perpendicular to the ground, and slowly spun in place. ”I am going with her. If you are ambushed, remain near this. I will use it to incinerate your assailants from afar,” Shirik instructed, before trudging forth and leaping off of the cliff.

And they floated up, rather than fell. Thick waves of distorted air shimmered underneath Shirik’s feet, allowing them to loosely remain at a steady elevation and push forward at a pace somewhat quicker than Ixtaro’s. They caught up with her a few seconds after taking off.

”I have seen the faces of gods, and left them weeping in their graves, and I fear your bravery!” They joked, clearly amused by Ixtaro, as the two scouted ahead.
Leah Jordan

Location: Training Room B
Gear: A hot ass dress
Skills: The insurmountable will to not lose her cool under any circumstances
Oh god oh fuck





Oh, good lord. They were both asking her to make a decision. April and Sabine, the ones who had actually planned on coming, were both asking Leah what she wanted to do. This was really her on the spot, like a deer in the headlights. It felt like a shitty thing to just say, “no, I don’t want to do anything” when this was supposed to be a fun night. Why even come if she was just going to sulk in the corner? Someone would eventually come over and talk to her, probably hit on her and she’d throw them through a window. She didn’t want to dance, she didn’t want to mingle… Honestly, she wanted to hide in her dorm and pretend tonight didn’t happen. But if she did, then Sabine and April would be upset.

”Screaming? Nah. We can do whatever you guys wanna do. You’re the dance-goer-people. A haunted house sounds fine to me. I’ll punch Nimue back into the… Whateverworld place she’s from if it’s really that bad in there.” She was trying to enjoy this, and honestly? Her girls made it a lot better. At least she didn’t have to dance, imagine trying to dance with two people at once. She knitted her fingers between both of their hands. ”So… Scary shit, and then we do something you two want?” She asked.


Jack Hawthorne

Location: Limbo
Skills:
Spells: Shadow Scythe
Outfit




Jack wanted to laugh at Klara's bitching. But he didn't. After all, she was only a child, and he was a grown adult. She had a right to be angry with him, anyway. So he shook his head in Runa's direction. "It is alright. Her anger towards me is warranted. I deserve it," He noted, bluntly. He looked over at the fucking dragon that Max had become, and had absolutely no idea what he was trying to convey. "I speak roughly a hundred extraterrestrial languages, and yet Draconic is not one of them. You know something, though, don't you?"

Annika seemed to have it covered. A telepathy spell, if his assumption was correct. So while she took care of that, Jack stepped across the room, picking up a half-empty goblet and sniffing it's contents. And then he chucked it through a door, on the off-chance that a stepping disc would open again. Which it didn't. "You plan does sound ideal, Madalyne. Though, are you certain you could manage that strain? It wouldn't be wise to put yourself in harm's way. Even then, one does not simply force the portals of Limbo to obey logic. I've made portals a few times since meeting you, and they've only taken me to the wrong places. We could find ourselves on the dead core of a star in the GN-z11 Galaxy, or we could find walk directly into the Astral Plane. Both outcomes are equally likely right now. Though, I suspect I am an outlier at the moment, since my magic comes from planar manipulation itself, and the Veil is blurring the lines between planes as we speak."

And then there was Witchfire. "Even if we could repair the Veil, there is still the matter of an important position not being filled. And the fact that there are so many of us-" He said "so many" and not "eight" to not touch on Ed's death, "-Must mean that something has gone wrong. Ordinarily, a Sorcerer Supreme chooses their successor, meaning this situation shouldn't be happening right now. If we return home now, we won't be able to sort this out, and the Veil will only erode further. The Veil isn't simply damaged, it requires maintenance. Constant, uninterrupted, regular maintenance like a machine. The Sorcerer Supreme is the one who performs that maintenance."

Looking back at Ed's body, Jack couldn't help but ask about... That. "...I know I am just a stranger, and that we only met hardly an hour ago, but losing someone isn't easy. I am here, if you need someone who will listen," he offered. Jack was an arrogant bastard, but he had a heart. "He seemed like a kind man."




Interactions: Way Too Many Fucking People
Flowers and Canvases



...Wow.

This got hectic faster than Jack expected. Everyone was, unsurprisingly, startled by him tearing open a portal from across realities. But he would've assumed dear old Drake had at least remembered that he was the one crazy enough to do something like that. He caught the note from Alizee as she stormed out, apparently someone recognized him. "Oh, Drake, you don't remember your old punching b-" Holy shit, Simone.

Drake got fucking blasted, sent into a wall just as quickly as he could flash a lightning halberd in Jack's face. This was an absolute mess already, Luca was nice enough to fill him in. "Kali, the one who was always skittish and solitary? An agent of the state? That is... Ironic." He never expected a guy like that to pick up anything so... Corporate and cold. He always seemed like the type of dude who would just run a bookstore or something.

"Clearly, some of you moved on more than I thought. It's me, Jack. The one who lost an arm to the Stygian Snake? The one who helped find the weapon we killed that monster with? I apologize for terrifying some of you, but I just happened to be an entire universe away, so I would be running even later, were I to simply walk in from elsewhere. Now- What is this about the FBI and our little town?" He asked, before turning his attention to everything as a whole. No one was too happy about Kali's sudden announcement of being a federal agent, which was understandable since most of them came from dubious backgrounds. Kali had his own points that were worth keeping in mind. The government of this country they were in could easily sweep in and put the whole town under lockdown from the shadows, and eventually they would be the ones under scrutiny, not Father Wolf, not the bikers that ran drugs, but the Adepts and Aberrants that could warp reality, make weapons out of lighting and freeze someone solid with a touch.

So, after hearing everyone out, Jack took a seat. And gave Kali a glare upon the gun's reveal.

Kill him, kick him our or let him stay.

"Everleigh is right. I remember the old days better than most, given the way I've experienced time lately. You were never this convicted on anything, Kali. You were always just... Skittish. You never had the nerve to do things that involved a badge. But replacing government oversight with yourself was the better decision, if you ask me. I can understand why you came instead of them. But surely you know that the FBI is worthless where the paranormal is concerned. We all put a demigod to sleep as children, why would we take them seriously? Moreover, how do we know you aren't the only agent involved? What response were you expecting from this group of people, if not distrust?" Jack, personally, did not feel threatened by Kali's badge, the gun, or his whole vibe right now. Not in any way, shape or form, but he was inclined to believe that trust was needed badly right now.

"Killing Kali will raise alarms, and sending him away will risk giving his... Handlers the impression that he has been compromised somehow. If everyone else is willing, then I vote we keep Kali here, on the condition that he continues to be honest about his intentions, and makes himself as harmless as possible to this group. The FBI is beneath me, so I have nothing to lose by being on their watchlists, but some people have very legitimate reasons for not wanting the government breathing down their necks. And very little stands in the way of us making their lives miserable if they threaten us, you included. So, if you want to stay, then earn it. And I hope you do, because the last thing I want to see is more of my old friends left to die."
"I do apologize. They are not mere words when I say I do not view you as the weapon Umbra seemed to fear, or prompt, you to be.“


So, they had some sort of idea as to what Umbra was doing. It should’ve reassured Ryder to some extent, made her feel a bit less ostracized in this new place- Especially when she technically got what she wanted. She was out of Umbra’s grip. But Xavier’s platitude didn’t feel like anything more than hollow. To Ryder, he made a blunder putting her in here and then trying to backpedal, by saying it was pointless when he did it himself.

And so, wordlessly, Ryder dragged the old man back out of her mind. The sensation felt unpleasant to say the least. It was like the psychic equivalent of cold water. Suddenly, they were back in the Danger Room again, and Ryder was on her feet. Despite her injuries, she seemed fine. She was undoubtedly not truly fine. She was in here for a reason after all, but Ryder crossed her arms and looked at Xavier with a deadpan expression.

”Anyone sticks me in here again, and I’ll turn this fancy “danger room” of yours inside out and trap them in it like a coffin. Start moving.” Quietly, she was peering through the nearest cameras expecting someone to be behind them. Ryder did not trust Charles yet. Trust wasn’t on the table for her.



Interactions: ???
Shadowzone, the Void





Time to go.

It felt like it was only a few weeks ago that they were all joined together under that tree to save the city from a monster. Staring out the windows, into the vast unknown from which no other person from St Portwell could ever hope to emerge, Jack had to wonder just how many of the old members had answered the call. Jack could've simply stayed in the Void until well after Father Wolf gave up, but how long would that be? No doubt it would be after every living remnant of his past was in a puddle of their own blood. The Void was home to him now, but no one could run from their past, not even in this place. From an unfathomable distance, Jack could see the shapes moving like mountains, writhing and contorting in countless ways. It took a certain kind of individual to see the beauty in it, and he could've watched for hours. But alas, Jack had a place to be, and he might've been running late already.

Shutting the blinds, Jack turned and walked up the stairs. He opened the door to a bedroom that would've made anyone else feel unsafe, like they were being watched. Everything in this house had that effect on someone, not that Jack was entertaining any guests lately. He grabbed his favorite coat, and went around checking that everything was in order. Channeler, check. Phone, check. Wallet, check. Personal belongings... Chest. Just thinking about going back home made Jack's shoulder ache, despite it not being there anymore. Back into a town where he might not be recognized, where he might be killed, or simply ignored. Would Britney actually be there? Or that joker Drake? What if he was the only one there?

Oh well, time to find out. Jack grabbed a snack for the road, and opened the front door out onto the false grass. He always felt like it was fake, since there was no sunlight here in the Void, similar to how the lights worked without electricity. It felt real, and sometimes Jack wondered if the time dilation had this effect on all things. He laid his channeler down on the grass, and took a step back before popping a cookie dough chip in his mouth. "I won't be back for some time, Child. So you can rest easy, until then," He said out loud, and only getting back silence. That was fine, he and the Child didn't really communicate much, but he considered it a polite gesture to at least notify the god, warden and alleged creator of the Void when he was creating doors in and out of it.

Jack's left arm, a construction made from shadows, began to emit smoke, as he reached for something in the air. His fingers caught something that took more than eyes to see, as he felt through the fabric of the All-Verse. Like flipping through pages in a book, he stopped when he found the proverbial page one: Shimmer.


̸͓̝̽̂̽ ̴̺̤̥͎̍̊̆͗͐̕͜͝ ̶̗͋̈́̏͒̐̇͝ ̴̡̟̮̘̳̀̀͝ ̶̢̬̮̬̩̫̘͙̀̓̄̚ ̵͙͋̀͂̍͗̕ ̷͈̊̄͐̓ ̷̬͈̠̝̖̮̆͆͋̀̕͝ ̴̙͈͚̜̖͆͋̿̊̂͛ ̸̜͓̒͂͐͌͌͌͝ ̶͚̲̄͆͌̍ ̷̡̔̂̇̾ ̵̟͋ ̷̡͓̩̩̈́̔ ̵̦̘͙̙͆̐̐ ̷̼͍̠͒̏͋̌̌͘̕͠ ̴̭̩̻͚̔̿́͛͝ ̷̧̲̐͛́ ̵̝̺̣̗̤̀̐̇̏ ̸̹̻͈͚͕́ ̴̢̛̥̺̱̠̦̰̓̒̿̌̾ ̶̜̽̌͌̂̚͠͝ ̵̣̥̆̅͛̔͜ ̵̛̱͈̜̪̩̥͕̱͗̌̌͊̈́͘͠ ̸͈̳͖̹̰͕̘͑͆ ̴̜̹̓̓͌͐̋̈ ̶̟̪̐̎̋̅ ̷̨̮̦̤͗͑͆̋͗̃ ̵̧̺̬̹̘͔͕̃̈́̑̂ͅ ̴̥̯̠̑͝ ̶̙̳̲̟̻̮͈̏͘͘͝ͅ ̷̡̪̹̜͖̙̘̿̆̍̍͆ ̶̮̻͆̈́̌̌̄ ̴̼̹͍̺̭̹͚̕͝ ̵̯̦̟̤̰̓ ̸̭̿͌ ̵̮̙͚̰͍̈́̏̂̿͑ ̶̫̻͕̣͖́͑̈́̾̈̉́̌ ̴̢̘͔͎͇͓͛͒͂͠ͅ ̸̧̫̤̲̅͛̔̃̀͜ ̷̘̼̖͗̈́͗͜ ̸̝͖͍̲͈͈̅̍͌̓ ̴̼̭̟̱̲̓̂ ̸̢̡̇ ̸̘͖͍̙̬̗̮̿̎̆ ̶̞̼͚̠̃͗͗̈́̀̚ ̸̲̦̼̪̟͍̬͎͗̀̄̑̒̄͆ ̵̨͖͕̳͓̺̅̽̔̒͐ ̵̗̬͙̩̇ ̸͖͌̈́͑͋ ̵̜̜̱̬̟̟̈̾̅̍ ̷̢̛̤̳͉̤̪̤̱̓̊̄͝ ̵͇̗̏̾̇͒̊͊̕ ̶̛̦͗͋̄̊ ̷̯͍̘̬̫̥͙̍͝ ̶̧̡̛̼̭̼̠̔ ̸̛̫̜̣̣̥̞̖̱̀̏͌͝ ̸̢̭̮͖̎̀̀͜͜͝ ̴̠̼̱͈͇̹͙̗̽́͊͑̊͌̕ ̵̨̠̳͕͍͕̣͔̑̑̉͂ ̴̦̬̺̠͆̐̀͛̽̍͝ ̸̟̭͙̝̽̈́́́ ̸̢͓͎̹̗̓̀͆̌͘ ̴͙͑͋̿́̄̕̕ ̷̢̡͎̮̪̖̦͐̈́͂͐͑͆̿ ̷̓̈́̃̚͘͜ ̵̨̢̛̻͕̟̮̀͛͗̓̕ ̶̡̙̪̘̊͑̏ ̷̗̘͈͆̀̇̑ ̸̡̖̟̹͚͎̊͛͜͜ ̶̛̺̺͔̣̠̥͌̀̑̅̐̆͝ ̵̛̓͌͊̀̕͝͝ͅ ̶̛̯͕͉͖̻̖̣͋̎̉̔̓͘͝ ̴̝̠͈̘̝̉́͝ ̴̢̢̛͚͕͔̝́̿̆̒̽͂͠ͅ ̵̫͔̥͔̹̝̈́͒̓̍͗͛͛̈́ ̸̡̮̘̋͌ ̴̨̢͈̠̇̓̒̂͐ͅ ̶̡͎͍̮̅̓̆̌̕͠ ̴̨̼̇̀̃͑̇̈́̍͝ ̸̧̛̗̹͓͈̪͐̆̋̑̓ ̴̠̪̋ ̷̬̯̺͎̭́̎͠ͅ ̸̡͍͉͎͖̏͆͛̈͐͒ ̶̛͎̺̈̽́̅̕ ̷̛̻̎ ̷̨̡͖̳̼̜̹̼̏ ̴͈̰̼̻̽̽̀̕͠ ̷͍̫̘̥̉͋͌̏̎ ̷̞̮̽̑̉̓͠ ̴̳̟̼̼̜̩̑̏̑̌͝ ̷̨̝̪̟̜̗̥͊̅̃͗̀͆̕ ̷͗͊͌ͅ ̴͍͚̟̒̉̉̊̌̈́̎ ̵̫̩̍̉̿̇̓̓̎͑ ̷̯͔̼̹̘̎̊̊͊̿̈͜͝ ̴̢̛̠̫̹̿̓̈̔̌ͅ ̸̨̢͈̥̘̹̤̂̀̉̀͜ ̸̢̳̠͉̣͚̫̼̽̎͌̈́ ̷̣̱̮͇̬̳̑̀̈́



Interactions: Everyone
Flowers and Canvases, Shimmer



A few feet above the ground, right in the middle of Auri's flower shop, a portal opened from beyond. It looked like drops of ink diluting a glass of crystal clear water- A black fog spread out, which revealed absolute nothingness. There was no sound, and there was no buildup. One minute everyone was talking about old blood, priests, the FBI and Father Wolf. The next, it was simply there, as if reality had been smashed in with a sledgehammer. The anomaly remained for a moment, silent and unreactive to anything, until someone fell out of it. A man dressed in a brown trench coat, wool pants and knee-length combat boots landed on his feet with an audible thump. The doorway he came through snapped inwards on itself almost instantly, with a small shift in the air that everyone in the building could feel through the floor. He looked around, through a frazzled mess of black hair, and wore a tired smile. There sat Drake Blackmore, the comical kid who could never keep himself quiet back in the day. And Alizee, Tayla, Edict, Linqian, Sloane, and Luca, but not Britney. She must've chose not to come.

Auri didn't appear to be here either. Strange...

"And I thought I'd be the only one that showed up. I had hoped to arrive sooner, but time gets away from you in the Void... It is good to see all of you again." He meant that, truly. He missed them, even if so many of them had their own mixed feelings about all this.

"What have I missed?"
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