Blizz

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

RPG is a buggy disaster so ignore this

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: Oh, you know.

Cracker Barrel

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It was not lost on Jack that Sloane wanted to quickly swerve away from the subject of her dating success. He kept quiet as Sloane deflected to Anya’s success with relationships, and of course that wasn’t going to happen. Anya wasn’t the type to enjoy dating. Which was fair, it was something too many people felt obligated to entertain the notion that oneself must be completed by another. That to be fulfilled was to intertwine with another person for life, and only then could one be considered “whole,” lest they die alone. Maybe it was because of Jack’s inter-dimensional antics, but he didn’t see the point in obsessing over such a thing.

Then again, he obsessed over something different for a decade.

But now, both of them seemed to have an interest in his love life. Which, admittedly, did not exist. Anya and Sloane might have had their own journeys through the pool, but Jack simply always stayed on shore. He had been single most of his life, and never met anyone who he felt he could enter a relationship with since Reza’s death. Anya was right, there weren’t many options in the void. But that was fine.

Jack laughed, weakly at that notion. ”Another time, perhaps,” he answered. ”I’m not concerned with that currently. Between traveling out of Shimmer as I do, and the fact that I’ve been gone so long, it would not be feasible.” Jack lived a life that made relationships somewhat difficult. He could maintain contact with friends no matter where he was in the All-Verse, with a bit of effort and magic work. He could always show up on time to a night out of drinks and Jack could always tell an interesting story at a gathering to keep boredom at bay. But traveling constantly didn’t allow for time to build up a romantic relationship. He wasn’t prone to staying in one place, where most people eventually decided to settle down and made their nest.

And there was also the fact that Jack hadn’t been here in a decade. He didn’t know anyone outside the coven’s remnants anymore, meaning he was nothing more than a stranger to St. Portwell’s current magic scene. ”I wouldn’t want to trouble you two with that. And besides, Father Wolf is more important to me right now. I am not in a good position to pursue a relationship.” _{And I find it hard to imagine anyone would be interested regardless.}

”If it is meant to happen, then it will happen,” he said, cryptically. ”I’m in no hurry.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

This gives me an idea where Jack and Layla try and mix their abstractions some how, ngl

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: Oh, you know.

Cracker Barrel

---

Jack teleported the three of them to the resort bar, led there by Sloane's recommendation. It was nice, Jack appreciated the location as they walked in and found a seat overlooking the rocky shore of the beach. To absolutely no one's surprise, Jack got himself a dark rum. He took a seat across from Anya at the table and stared out at the dark beach. It was like the Void, in some aspect. A place of nothingness that he could stare into for hours, and find but scarce traces of life until he came back to reality. Here, there was only the friends he made a lifetime ago, and for that he could only feel grateful. Jack often felt that he should've done this more, as a kid. If the old coven wasn't coming up with ways to deal with the Stygian Snake, they were being children and partying; Friendships were cemented and bad choices were made, but the coven's members lived by them knowing that if they died the next day, they also truly lived. Meanwhile, Jack hopped from the Temple's library to coven hideouts with clockwork predictability, on an eternal quest to further the coven's interests.

He had given up valuable connections in favor of making it easier on others to live another day. It may have left little room for some bridges to be built, but more of them made it out alive than not. So now, it was time to make amends for that.

Sloane wasn't much for casual conversation, clearly. So when Anya decided to spill the details of her """date,""" Jack leaned in and listened intently with a sip of his rum.

Hearing the details was like hearing nails drag across a chalkboard. The PRA had a literal neo-Nazi calling the shots before now. Jack already firmly decided that the PRA was beneath him, like sheep to a lion, but to hear that promoted them from sheep to ants. Anya's pseudo-paramour survived their purge, which meant he was still around for a reason. There was more to him than he let on, and those were the dangerous types. Jack would know, he had a knack for deception himself, after all.

At the mention of fisting the fucking demigod of sin and darkness, Jack lowered his head. He could feel himself age at a rate completely offsetting the time he spent displaced in the Void, and his sympathy for Anya multiplied into infinity. "If I had known it would be that agonizing to occupy the same space as him, I would have sacrificed myself to spare you..." He took a sizeable drink from his glass.

"God in Heaven... Men." Jack was glad he had offered to be on speed dial for Anya before that. "The next time we have the misfortune of interacting with... Him, let me do it," He finally said. "I have a feeling he only pretends to be so disgustingly stupid, and I'm well-versed in the art of lying to someone's face." Back in the old days, any time someone brought out a deck of cards, Jack was a menace.

"But, your sacrifice will not be forgotten," he joked.

Interactions: A Gaggle of Dipshits, and his Friends

Isle of Cracks

---

All according to plan.

That was what, seven? Eight drinks he volunteered to pay for? Honestly, he fully expected the rest of the PRA to show up. Not only half of them. But he wasn't going to be drank into poverty by this. After all, he wouldn't have offered if he wasn't sincere. A couple of them weren't exactly up for getting drinks, but they didn't need to be, it was totally fine. Out of all of them, Lila seemed to be the only one with an actual objection. She had every right to protest, but he would've talked about it if Britney didn't show up and ask about everything happening. He could tell Lila wasn't happy about that, so he stepped closer to her side, both to stop another outbreak of tempers and to give the Maiden less of a chance to capitalize on her discomfort.

"Nothing happened, Britney. Everything's alright," he assured her. Technically a lie, but nothing happened that couldn't be prevented by his magic and a bit of quick thinking. "Text us if you need anything, we'll be around." That was the polite was for him to say, "They won't be happy about you sticking around, so don't." Stormy wanted to keep things polite and mature, while making sure everyone was respected.

He waited until everyone was paying attention to something else to say something to Lila, quietly. "You have a right to be unhappy with this. I just want them to admit they were wrong to attack us, before anything else. I'll come to a conclusion about if they can be forgiven or not after that. If you don't want to come with us, I can put an aura in something for you to hold onto." Surely, the others would like to hear the cops take accountability for their own actions, but someone had to extend the olive branch first. It was unlikely the PRA would, so he wanted to be the better man.

And then, he focused back on the two groups that had come together. "Alright. Let’s find a table or two away from any Blinds. Then we can talk."

This must be how ambassadors felt, negotiating peace treaties between warring nations. At least if anyone started throwing stones, he could step in again. But for now, Stormy had a feeling that wouldn't be too necessary.

Stormy took off. Presumably, the others followed. He led everyone to an outdoor bar with a nice view of the rocky ocean off to the side. He grabbed an open table big enough for everyone to sit at, and started ordering a couple drinks. It was quiet, since most people were on the other end of the island drinking and doing festive things there, rather than here.

He let the others get their orders taken care of, and once everyone had a glass who wanted one, he started the conversation.

”Now, let’s talk about what happened at the church,” he said, calmly. ”I wasn’t there, so why don’t you tell me what happened?”

He already knew what happened, having heard it from the coven members. But he wanted to hear it from the PRA, and how they would try to justify it. If they would try to justify it.

X-Men: GenetiX

Why was she saying this? Jean’s attempt at a conversation wasn’t making a lot of coherent sense, Ryder couldn’t tell where she was going with this. True, she currently saw every hallway and corner of the school, and had not slept once since the time she faked being in a coma. But why did Jean feel tne need to bring it up? What was the point of this?

”The hell are you talking about?” Peace didn’t exist in Ryder’s world. It had no analog, no comparison, or equivalent. Ryder blinked slowly, not of a sound enough mind to verbally rip the woman’s head off. She didn’t have refuge or safety in her own mind, impenetrable as it was. ”Are you following me, or something?” She asked, audibly less aggressive or outwardly hostile than normal.

She couldn’t let herself fall asleep. It was dangerous here. She needed to treat them like they were dangerous in the same way a wounded animal needed to treat every sound like a threat. It was just natural, even in weakness.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

<Snipped quote by silvermist1116>

You know good and damn well this tall stoic mysterious man is going to doodle with da baby

@Punished GN

when tf did he get here

SPIRITUM

---

In the very back of the truck, tucked away in a corner like a rock, slept a man who could move mountains and hold up the sky. During most of the trip, from the time they left home, he had been out cold in spite of all the commotion his comrades had made. The explosions, the beer being flung out of the windows, the radio, even Silje being Silje could not wake the slumbering giant known as Morden Garrus. He was detached from the world as he knew it, asleep like a century old corpse. The rickety, beaten-up truck would fall apart at last before he woke up. At least, it would have until something finally stirred the man up from his rest against all conceivable odds. The constant hum of the truck riding down a worn road had lulled him into slumber, but now, every little sound put him on high alert, meaning his was up on his feet the moment his eyes opened. Like a machine, Morden was ready to do... Whatever he was doing on vacation. In one swift motion, he rolled out of his seat and into the warm, dry air of Sapple Springs. Dressed in nothing more than a red tank top, exercise pants and old casual shoes, he looked around.

This place... Was a ghost town. Why did they stop here? And where was everyone?

He swayed his neck left and right, eliciting a deep crack or two and listened to the wind. Sapple Springs was clearly a sleepy place, with damn near nothing happening. Morden looked into the sky and saw the sun was notable lower than when he fell asleep, so they had clearly been driving for a while... There they are.

He heard the voices Gerard and someone else, and followed until he met up with them, walking up behind his comrades in full view of an authority figure.

"Hopefully I'm not offendin' ya'll when I say this, but what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?"

"We're on a road trip," Morden cut in with an imposing voice, heavy with iron yet smooth as a deep river. "Before we officially join the fight. What did you do, this soon after we stopped, Gerard?"

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Leah Jordan

---

Location: Hedge Maze > AA
Gear: A bloodstained dress and a sword
Skills:
Oh god oh fuck

---

---

It was undeniably impressive that Sabine was able to completely shut Marrok’s behavior. In another time and place he would’ve been a compelling ally to have knowing how fucked up things could get around the school. But Sabine’s words fell on deaf ears, because Leah had already left the ground by the time Sabine made her move. And in the time she took to tell Leah not to harm Marrok, she descended upon him like a landslide, burying her sword in his skull and killing him on the spot. The sword was one with her in that moment, as if she had always been a master of the blade. It was simply too fast for her to be stopped.

Marrok went up in smoke, but at least he died at peace.

Their surroundings changed, and they were back in AA. But it wasn’t quite as victorious as she thought, because the beast was right there, his body laid out on the ground cold and dead. They did what they came to do, but it could’ve been different.

Leah looked at the corpse, a twinge of guilt fixed on her face. Leah just killed what was basically a dog. Did werewolves count as dogs? ”…Sabine? Are you alright?” It wasn’t the first time she had killed, or rather, wasn’t the first time she thought she had killed. But still… It didn’t feel right. It was too easy, and not quite the same as killing an abuser.

”Are you hurt?”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: A The Fuckwit Brigade and the Cops

Isle of Cracks

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8th Street left. Luca was in control again. Babylon didn't try anything, and neither did the Maiden. That was enough for Stormy to consider the situation dealt with. Jasper was taking care of Luca now, so Stormy let him go gently, just in time for none other than the PRA to appear. Bianca- he finally put a name to her face- waved but he didn't react immediately. Lila and Lynn were choking up at the sight of their French maid costumes, but Stormy, stone cold and stoic like a rock, didn't give anything away. That didn't mean he didn't appreciate the art on display, but Stormy was a bit more composed than the others present.

And, of course, Bianca called out exactly why everyone was giving Meifeng and Cindy that look. "Everything is fine, now. 8th Street crossed a line that no one with a sense of common decency would cross," He explained. "But then again, Emily Reed doesn't fit that description, now does she?" He wasn't giving anything away about it, about how the whole thing started when she started deadnaming Lila. If he did, he'd basically be outing Lila around strangers, and that would put him on Emily's level. And Stormy was, in every sense of the word, leagues and bounds above her level.

"And if she tries that with any of you again, let me know," He said to the friends Emily tried to antagonize. "I'll rough up her and her henchmen until they take a hint." Not a threat, but a promise. Not a plot to kill, just to teach a lesson.

"Now!" Time to shift gears. "How many drinks do I need to buy everyone for this to be put behind us? And I do mean everyone," including the PRA agents that gassed them.

"If you two are going to stick around, I think all have a few things to talk about, and I'm in a generous mood," he added.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Amara King

"We lived, bitch."

_______________________________________________ Amara Talia King She/Her | 26 | Black | 5'7" | 180lbs _______________________________________________ ass _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "When you’ve got an army in your head, you pick up a few tricks." ___________________________________ [+] PRA Background ⫻ Back when Amara was a senior agent going by the callsign Legion, she often occupied multiple roles on and off the battlefield. Amara developed a diverse range of operative skills including recon, CQC, small and long arm combat, and field leadership. Strategy ⫻ Amara could outsmart damn near anybody in a chess game, and also come up with some clever tricks in a more practical situation. She can look at evidence of past actions taken by someone, and use those to predict how they’ll act in the future. Slippery ⫻ Go ahead, just try and keep her contained. Even without her phantoms, Amara has a knack for getting out of places she’s not meant to get out of. If you tie her wrists with a bunch of rope, she’ll just dislocate her wrists to slip them free. Multilingual ⫻ Amara can speak French, Spanish, Korean, and a bit of Russian. She’s working on that last one. Handy ⫻ Amara happens to know how to fix a lot of things, which comes naturally since she owns her own place. Busted light switch? Easy. Busted floorboards? Sure. Busted sink pipes? Bitch, please.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Ladies." Amara typically dresses for comfort, wearing wool cardigans and sweatpants 24/7 and keeping her hair permanently buzzed down short. All of her clothes are usually old, as she doesn’t like to throw anything out unless it doesn’t fit her anymore. Amara has a slim and athletic build, thanks to her years as an active agent of the PRA. She only shows off when she has something to gain, but she has plenty of visible muscle under those clothes, enough to imply that she occasionally hits the gym. She also usually wears a pair of gold earrings when not “on the job,” which doesn’t mean much these days.

_{Psychology
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"Get over here, so I can kick your ass."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Amara doesn’t have a goal, currently. She’s at a point in her life where she’s not sure what she should be doing, let alone what she wants to be doing. What she wants out of life itself, however, is to have a purpose that fulfills her. So far, she hasn’t found it.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Take it a day at a time, get through it and look out for one another. Amara believes in toughing things out and that nothing worth doing is ever easy. Amara wholeheartedly believes in punching up when it counts, on behalf of the ones who can’t. As far as she’s aware, every other Amara shares her outlook on life to some extent.

SECRETS ⫻ There are some things Amara takes pride in, and others she does not. Most of the things she isn’t proud of were done during her PRA days. She did good as an agent, but some things keep her up at night. Amara doesn’t like to talk about just how high up the chain she found herself before quitting. Of course, anyone with the badge and a bit of clearance could easily dig it all up.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Lesbian

FEARS ⫻ Amara is afraid of dying in obscurity. Dying itself doesn’t scare her, but she wants to die in peace, when people would miss her.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ Amara was fun to be around. She knew when to get serious, and knew when to be easygoing and enjoy life. From time to time, she may have been a bit too tough for others to tolerate, but she always made it up to them in the end. Her chill demeanor certainly helped others keep their spirits reasonably high, especially when the death toll got worse.

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ Back in the day, Amara was a mix of the commander and the general. She’d spend two or three days plotting out battle plans like a chess grandmaster with the other intellectual members. And then she’d spend the next week executing them and being a powerhouse on the battlefield. Her phantoms protected the injured and got them to safety, shot up apparitions like it was open season and took blows for others that would kill the living.

FLAWS ⫻ Everyone has their reasons for fighting. Some take up arms for an idea, others fight and die for the people they love. But Amara is the exception. She doesn't have anything grounding her, nothing to feel conviction for. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing anymore, and it's not easy to change that.

_{Backstory
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"They don’t call me Legion anymore, let’s keep it that way"

The earliest memories Amara has are not bonding with her mother and father, learning to walk for the first time, or even learning to speak her first words. Though she has those memories just like anyone else, Amara first remembers seeing herself. All of the countless trillion versions of herself, stretching across a boundless field overlooked by a castle. Its presence was like the bedrock of everything in the scope of existence to her young mind, and she saw it every single night, long before she had the words to even understand it. By the time she was 12, she began to really grasp this. Her parents never understood it to be anything more than just a child's active imagination whenever she'd bring it up, but the paranormal opened itself up to her at a time before most Adepts were taught about what magic itself even is. At an age where the children of paranormal families were learning how Lux and individuals spells behaved, Amara was learning about the Army of One and the All-Verse's strange nature. At an age where paranormal teenagers were learning the fine nuances of magic, Amara was being trained, in secret, by her long-dead counterparts to fight. In her dreams, she saw the counterparts of herself that had lived longer and would tell her of the things they all faced. Amara was essentially raised by an Apparition to be a soldier, behind the backs of the Blind, and fight for the causes that she considered worth her efforts.

And then, the Snake happened.

Amara met a girl at school named Bianca, who happened to rope her into the antics of the Sycamore Tree Coven, along with a few other antics between her and her girlfriend. (Sometimes literally between them.) Everyone has their own story to tell about how the battle went down, and their own personal traumas. But Amara? She endured it all, never allowing herself to feel the pain because it wasn't what she was trained to do. On the battlefield, her phantoms stepped through reality by the dozens, enough to match to tide of apparitions summoned by the world-ending threat. She took up the responsibility to make battle plans when others wouldn't, and personally oversaw the rescue of many friends. It wasn't all perfect, even if she got to relax sometimes like the others, but they all pulled through.

To many of the Coven's members, it was all just temporary. They came together to fight, but not to last. Everyone fell apart, and Amara's role in that was more to keep the peace and help everyone fall apart gently. It wasn't long until everyone packed up and left. Amara made sure to keep contact with the friends she made, and told them to call her if something crazy happened again. She left to get her life in order, and to decide what she wanted out of it. She didn’t go to college or find a girl to settle down with, but the next few years of her life were still the most eventful ever. Amara never swore off her magic, she would use it occasionally when it was convenient. A phantom would hold a wrench while she fixed her car on the side of the road, or help her carry things indoors when no one was looking. Or at least, no one she noticed.

She found herself crossing paths with the PRA, an agency dedicated to keeping the peace and protecting the Blind from magic. This resonated with Amara, and so she sought them out more intensely, eventually getting a chance to have a proper conversation with them. She explained how she had a desire to protect others from the dangers of magic and had her own experience in doing that very thing. So she trained, and trained, and trained some more, until she became a full agent. Thanks to Amara’s particular brand of magic, she was put on dozens of missions in multiple roles. She would run overwatch during stakeouts while her phantoms did ground patrol, direct gunfight in eliminations, and evacuations when no one else was available. It was rough, but Amara found it fulfilling, so she kept climbing.

Eight years in the PRA turned her into a senior agent. But after climbing the ladder so long, after getting involved in so much of the broader operations, Amara’s appreciation for her line of work had faded. At a higher level, the PRA were just like mundane cops, more concerned for stamping everything out and disregarding others to make ends meet. All too often she’d argue with her superiors about the right course of action, about whether or not a cursed Blind should be killed for everyone’s sake or whether or not an adept who was just defending themselves should be put away for life. Little things added up, and the PRA’s absolute lack of accountability meant she could only take things up with internal affairs, who never gave a shit.

Amara found herself at a fork in the road. The PRA weren’t the good guys to her anymore, just a bunch of heartless pricks. So one day, after her missions became shittier and shittier, she tossed her badge in her boss’s face. Amara walked out and quit, but she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore. Just like years ago, she was winless again. Amara settled down somewhere, bought a house and decided to take a break from things while she got her life together. Months later, she got a call from Auri, telling her about the murders. Amara was hesitant at first, and only told Auri she would consider coming back. But after a week or two to think about it and get her things into a suitcase, she’s coming home.

_{Abstraction
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"We never fight alone."

TYPE ⫻ Aberration, Adjoined

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Army of One

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ The All-Verse is a theoretically infinite place, with counterparts of every single person spanning across them. In one of these universes, a counterpart of Amara died, and became the progenitor of the Army of One. Amara bonds with other version of herself from across realities, allowing all of them to work together. The Army of One consists of every single dead counterpart of Amara in all of existence, and has the ability to bond with the living, who will then join the collective in death themselves. Every Amara across the All-Verse shares a few universal constants: They protect others, show no fear in the face of disaster, and die for what they believe in.

Living and dead Amaras are separated into two categories for convenience, soldiers and phantoms respectively. This distinction is important to make, since there are quite literally billions of each. As one of the soldiers, the Amara King who occupies Shimmer is connected to the Army of One, and can call on the phantoms to assist her however she may need it. This includes summoning them in a fight, having extra hands for moving things, or managing information. Phantoms can appear at her location the moment they think she needs assistance, and will defer to the living soldiers for direction if they aren't sure what to do. Amara has a numbers advantage up her sleeve at every opportunity, and can always outsource her problem to someone else if she can't solve it herself.

Phantoms are essentially magical foot soldiers. They are fully sentient and sapient, and follow Amara’s orders to the best of their ability. Their strengths lie in using numbers and strategy to solve problems. Where some can throw giant fireballs at their enemies or teleport across the country in seconds, Amara and her phantoms work to execute strategies and methodically come out ahead like a game of chess. Her phantoms are capable of using guns, and fighting with all the other skills that Amara herself has, since they are quite literally her.

Limits ⫻ The Army of One is numerous beyond comprehension, but so is the All-Verse itself. So, to avoid leaving any one universe without backup, every living soldier is only able to call on up to five phantoms at a time. This isn’t a matter of the abstraction’s strength, but is a deliberate decision made by the collective. Therefore, power-boosting abstractions can’t make more phantoms appear. It would take a particularly extreme crisis for an exception to be made, such as the Stygian Snake waking up again.

Also, the phantoms being technically undead doesn’t do anything for their toughness. A solid shot from a gun would be enough to phase a phantom out of reality for a while. This doesn’t kill them, but it does take them out of consideration. Phantoms always emerge from a short distance around Amara, which is important because if one is sent deep into enemy territory, another can’t simply take its place right on the spot after someone shoots them.

WEAKNESSES ⫻

^{Other
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"I’ve seen some crazy shit, but I’ve never seen shit like this before. A serial killer? I got this.."

Anyyyything else?