BurningCold

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Is this RP still looking for players or have you found your group? On top of the media you compare it to, this has very strong Call of Cthulhu vibes to me (even if its not Mythos related at all) and it seems very fun!

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

^{Location: Imperial City Prisons Interaction(s):@Alfhedil@Kazemitsu}

---

Looking down at the hand extended before him, Veeza grasped it by way of greeting, eclipsing the young woman’s hand within his own. As Khaliya pointed out her brother, Veeza gave him a slow nod in acknowledgement. Then, he took a moment to size up the other Argonian, Kharne. He was certainly impressive. With both of them seated, Veeza couldn’t even tell which was the larger of the two of them. Addressing both the Redguard and the Argonian in unison, he said, “My name is Veeza. I am a gladiator of Kvatch. Though sometimes, like today, I also do combat in the capital. Usually that's limited to just inside the arena.” His voice was stone scraping against stone, less of a rasp at the edges of his words than a low grating that gave each syllable an earthy, sturdy quality. Flicking his eyes to focus on Kharne in particular, he hazarded, “Well met, beeko.” His grasp of Jel was passable, but he had few speaking partners in Kvatch to hone his usage of it.

Kharne could be from anywhere; have any outlook. Still, there was nothing wrong with seeking a little solidarity. Argonians weren’t always looked kindly upon.

“These are poor circumstances to meet under,” He continued, once more speaking to the both of them. “Sharing a round together would have been better.”

He stiffened suddenly as the woman- no, as the madwoman began her sudden outburst. Did he hear her say her name was Deia? He wasn’t sure. His tail stopped its agitated flicking, instead coming to be poised perfectly still as his fingers clenched into fists. It was likely she was just addled, not necessarily dangerous. Even so. He wouldn’t tolerate any further violence in his presence tonight.

His pale, yellow eyes focused on her warily while he addressed Khaliya and Kharne in a low voice, “This cell is full of colorful characters, it seems.”

That was when the flamboyant man began to speak. He… did make sense, even if the language was particularly grandiloquent for Veeza’s tastes. He seemed smarter than he acted at any rate. Whether the charlatan’s persona he exuded was done so with intent or not was another matter entirely.

He nodded in self-confirmation, echoing himself, “Colorful indeed.”

The man’s words did get him thinking though. How long would the guards see fit to keep him in here? Ildrani was going to be worried about him if his arena earnings weren’t enough to pay off whatever fine they saddled him with. He would pay it happily too, to get out of here. The smell of alcohol never bothered Veeza, but it reeked here.

It smelled like his father. That scent: the sickly smell of sweat and alcohol, fermented into a foul odor that brought with it nothing but unpleasant memories. Was he even still alive? Veeza wasn't confident. It didn't matter either way. He was wise enough to know that such a reunion would bring nothing of value with it. Now he had a home. A career. Someone that he loved. And, for all that Mush-La was a mean old bastard, thanks to him he had the tools he needed to keep all three.

Gradually his tense muscles relaxed.

Trusting- or perhaps hoping that the wild woman, Deia, would look upon the flamboyant man’s words with as much agreeance as he himself did, he resolved to continue the conversation with Khaliya and Kharne. Still, he flicked an eye back in their direction often enough.

“So- what exactly brings the both of you to the city?”

Primality

Smoke on the Wind

P A I G E & M A R K O

^{Location: Merryweather Institute Grounds}

---

One moment Paige was standing there with a quirked eyebrow, entertaining herself by pushing the buttons of this stranger and the next she had her arms hovering, out reached as she worriedly hesitated on some way to help the choking man.

Oh god, don't die on me!

When he finally looked back up at her, seemingly done with dying, Paige relaxed slightly standing back up straight. That was until he mentioned how 'purple' she was. Staring down at him for a second that seemed to stand still for much too long, she suddenly burst out into loud rambunctious laughter.

Marko stared back blankly, eyes shifting between her and his outstretched hand. Was it something he said?

"Um..." He coughed. Is she laughing at me?

Laughter petering off, Paige honestly couldn't remember the last time she had laughed that hard. It was about then she heard the awkward hesitation and saw the outstretched hand.

Chuckling dryly, she stretched out her hand to his, "Paige."

However, instead of shaking his hand, she attempted to pull him up to her level. It was only then she let go of his hand, a mischievous twinkle gaining in her eye as she commented, "Though it seems like you can just call me 'Purple'." She chuckled to herself once again. Oh, she was definitely making fun of him.

"I... If that's what you want," He mumbled his response, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyways." He shrugged his shoulders back, trying to straighten his features and gain back some feeling of control in the situation. Initial embarrassment aside, so far the interaction wasn't a complete failure. Maybe this Paige was a little snarky, but that was fine. He could deal with snarky. "So," Marko began, feeling the words out carefully. "We should probably head to the assembly. Before we end up being late." He spoke in a stiltedly matter of fact tone, his words still laced throughout with fatigue and general malaise. His expression, now recovered from his initial embarrassment, was similarly dry.

Looking down at the significantly smaller girl before him, he beckoned in the direction the other straggling students were heading. "We can walk together..." He said slowly, almost carefully. "If you'd like?"

Groaning, she rolled her eyes at his suggestion of them actually doing what they were supposed to be doing. She had truly hoped she could have found some kind of excuse to miss out on the whole thing.

"I guess I have nothing better to do," She said resigning herself to the fact that she did in fact have to go to this stupid ceremony opening. Not waiting for Marko, she started to walk forward before calling back, "Come on, Crispy."

At that remark, a mix of emotions washed across Marko's face. Primarily surprise, indignation, and then something resembling relief? The same dry, unimpressed expression won out in the end, however. "I..." He sighed, willing his broad-shouldered body forward. "Okay." He took a few large strides to hurry next to her before slowing his pace.

She looked up at him with a playful smirk and asked, "What? Not a fan of the nickname?"

Marko glanced sidelong at her, the corner of his mouth tugging into an indeterminate shape. "It's... better than you thinking it without saying it at all. I think." His sturdy shoulders shrugged. "I'd rather be teased than stared at. It's not like I'm clueless. It's literally all over my face, after all." He spoke in a wry, slightly bitter tone, the corner of his good eye creasing as an almost-smile rose and fell across his face. "I don't suppose you're also an accidental pyromaniac?"

"It's just payback for the purple comment, don't take it all too seriously," She said waving it off like it was all just a silly joke. She had really not put much thought in her comments, if anything her giving someone a nickname was a sign that she got along with them. If they could withstand her snarky comments and terribly chosen nicknames was a whole different question though.

Seeing his half smile made her instantly thinking she was in the good though and smiled brightly back before replying, "No, not me. I'm just an accidental mall destroyer."

The way she playfully made the remark made it hard to tell if she was telling the truth or just poking fun at Marko once again.

Despite himself, he let out a light chuckle. "The whole mall?" He queried, eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

Paige had really put her foot in her mouth, she had no plans to ever tell anyone about Riverside mall and yet here she was making fun of it.

"No, just the food court," She said in an embarrassed huff, before quickly trying to get him off her scent by rolling her eyes and adding, "What do you think?"

"I think," Marko said, in his careful way. "That I should stay on your good side. Especially in the cafeteria." He smiled at Paige, halfway between warm and teasing. This wasn't going too badly at all. Sure. It's just one interaction. Sure. He had, in theory, limitless chances to do something stupid. Sure. But, hey, whatever. At least nobody here knew his reputation back home. It was a fresh start. He didn't have to be the reclusive, delinquent tagalong anymore.

"Smart man," She said with a playful smirk decorating her face. Her bright purple eyes flicked back to him for a moment as if she was for the first time actually assessing the person in front of her before she asked, "So why are you in such a rush for this stupid ceremony anyway?"

Briefly, he bit in the inside of his cheek in thought. "I wouldn't say I'm in a hurry. I just don't want to miss it. On the other side of things, why do you seem so loathe to attend?" She seemed like she had a chip on her should about being at this school. He was sure that was the reason. Still, it was better to ask.

"Once you've done one school assembly, you've done them all." She said dismissively before adding, "All they're probably going to do is go on about how good people they are to imprison us in this supposed school and then if we're really lucky some asshole will come down the lines and pick on our outfits."

With that last comment, she picked at the fancy lapel of Marko's large and decidedly not school approved jacket as to make her point.

He tugged his jacket tighter around himself in response, simply mumbling, "It's cold." He paused before suggesting, "It is good that a place for people like us exists though, right?"

"I mean I haven't been executed yet if that is what you mean," She said dryly. Then as she saw they were about at the Wolkwitz Auditorium, she added, "Guess you'll have to tell me."

Marko surveyed the other students pouring into the auditorium with a frown, the corners of his mouth deepening into their expression the longer he quietly studied the people around him. At last, in a low, thoughtful voice, he said, "Yes, Paige. If every single one of them is half as dangerous as you or me, us being here is a good thing. I'm lucky that what happened to me-" He cut himself off, swallowing. "Well, I'm just lucky that it happened to me." He could have burnt his house down, and turned his grandparents to cinders along with it. What if he lost his cool in a fistfight and blew the other kid's head off? This is definitely where he belonged. Most likely where they all belonged.

He looked down at Paige with a morose bearing. "You can sit with me if you like. But I think it's important to attend this assembly, whether someone gets on my case about my coat or not."

Paige let out a large sigh, as much as she hated to admit it he might have actually had a point. After all, it had been lucky no one had actually died during the hurricane that took down the most popular place in town.

That didn't stop the large hmph that came from her as she sat down in one of the back seats though. Nor did it change the fact that she stretched out her legs and rested them in the nook between the seats in front of her as she snarkily said, "Well I'm not so sure about 'dangerous'. I heard some unlucky fuckers just have the ability to ruin meals."

As the pair descended into general chatter, waiting for the assembly to begin, Marko pondered that it wasn't such a bad start here, all in all. Paige was definitely... very different from him, which was likely a good thing. He imagined that he would struggle to hold a conversation with himself at the best of times.

It's only a first impression, but it's a start. Hopefully things go as smoothly with everyone else I meet, too.

A breeze whisked through the auditorium, and Marko pulled his coat around himself tighter still.

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

I really hate to do this, but I have to pull out from the RP. It sucks but I feel like with a player cast this large, people are on wildly different wavelengths and it makes me unsure how I'd be able to easily slot my character into future scenarios.

I had a lot of fun and a lot of the players are very cool, so if anything like this gets attempted with a smaller cast let me know and I'll be there.

Thanks for having me though.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

It's Ele-Marty, My Dear Barbatos' Son

^{Location: Saniwa Family Estate}

---

Marty maintained a gruff expression as he and his team combed through the house. Well, it was Armand’s team if you wanted to get technical, but, look- the guy was likely to keel over from a heart attack or suffer a manic break at any moment. Look at him. Point being, someone else was gonna be chief eventually, right? And that someone was Marty. You know, maybe. Probably. Just needed to earn this poor fucker’s respect before he turned into worm chow or retired. That should be easy though. He’d stuck to this job like a fly to shit for the past three years and if he knew anything, it was that excellence beat experience every time.

This whole Section was full of unrepentant criminals and lazy jackasses anyways. Marty actually wanted to be here. He was the son of the Beelzebub. No freaking yahweh was he gonna pass up the opportunity in front of him.

So to say Marty was on his A-game would be a disgusting understatement and you should feel bad for suggesting it. This was a AAA+ kind of game at the very least. A cursory glance suggested the markings outside the house were a product of sport or play. Not relevant to the yuck house of horrors inside.

And fuckity-fuck it was nasty.

See, that’s where the gruff expression came in. Maintain a look of carefully calculated and manly indifference with just a dash of soulful longing and nobody would know how completely skeeved out he was feeling in this place. In reality, he just looked vaguely constipated or perhaps as though he was suffering from a migraine. Moving through the house with his maybe needing-to-shit or maybe needing-an-ibuprofen expression, it was interesting to note that while most of the victims were piles of organic waste scattered throughout the absolute warzone the interior of the estate had apparently become, several corpses were “intact.”

Intact insofar as their bodies were largely in one piece, minus the heads, which had kindly made way for tasteful assortments of a semi-popular garden flower called the lantana. That was… sort of nice. If you ignored the everything else, anyways.

As the group came to a stop, Marty reached into his pockets, pulling out a comb as another hand flicked open the lid on a small mirror. He combed his antennae carefully as he took mental stock of the nasty, nasty nonsense this case was becoming.

Lotta dead scumbags turned into goop.

Some dead scumbags merely turned into plant pots.

All the plant-pot-people were found either hiding or fleeing. Most weren’t even armed, and the ones that were either never fired their weapons or never drew them to begin with.

And there was something else, something curious that Marty had picked up on from the drop. No animals, anywhere inside the estate. No hungry rats, no curious cats, no trails of ants or even a single stray mite. Nothing. He was the only fly in the ointment, as it were. Which didn’t make much sense. This place was a shithole, and he couldn’t imagine cleanliness was very important to these losers before they bit it either.

He wasn’t very sure what to do with that last piece of information, but it definitely held relevance.

“Well,” Marty began, his voice warbling from out his proboscis-like mouth with a buzzing undertone. He continued to comb himself in the mirror. “It looks to me like if you were brave, you got turned into head cheese, and if you weren’t, you got turned into a head flower instead.” He snapped the mirror shut as he moved to the center of the room, his head completely still as his compound eyes looked at everyone around him simultaneously. “All of our fragrant friends were either trying to hide or trying to run. None of their weapons were drawn, or if they were, they didn’t have the guts to use them before they each got the uh, big idea.”

He was starting to feel conscious of people’s attention on him as he let out a throaty buzzing noise that passed for a cough. “Fear is the mind killer, or something like that. Maybe literally. What we don’t know is whether the flowering was a side effect of something the victims were feeling in the perp’s presence, or if it was something that was done to them intentionally, and something about their fragile states of mind made them vulnerable to it.”

Holy shit- was he on a roll right now? It kinda felt like that. Suck it Barbatos.

Marty continued, trying to quash the nervous tremor that was creeping into his hair bristles. “What’s also incredibly weird is that we’re the only living things in this whole place- and let me finish.” Kittyan wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was paying him special attention as he said that. “There aren’t any animals here. No scavengers, big or small. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could tell pretty much right away that this place wasn’t winning any awards in the cleanliness department. So, uh, I don’t really know what that means,” His shoulders shrugged emphatically. “But you’d expect some bugs at the least to be getting in on the all you can eat sausage buffet out there.”

He flashed four finger guns at Armand. “Am I on fire or what? Anyone else got something?” He peered at Barbatos as his voice took on a reedy, suspicious tone. "Any contradictory theories to share? Hm?" Fucking guy. Thought he was so cool. Well. It was the Marty show now! Eat it.

Tamashī no Samuraitachi

---

Tsukiyama Fujino, Leader of the Kurotori played by Vidar the Quiet
Michiko Orinatsu, Digital Wraith played by Vidar the Quiet
Ren Fujino, Nightmare of the Kurotori played by BurningCold
Akane, Raijin Shogun played by Sadu
Jackie Shkaev, Frost played by vietmyke
Kaito Fujimoto, Mumeiki played by Archazen
Shoshiku, First Trial played by TheMushroomLord
Enrique Hernandez, Juggernaut played by Fiber

Tamashī no Samuraitachi (Cyberpunk/Anime Inspired) IC

@TheMushroomLord Looks good to me! You have approval 1. Once Vidar weighs in and has no issues you can post them up in the characters tab in the actual RP page.

roleplayerguild.com/topics/194864-tam…

Tamashī no Samuraitachi

Lieutenant Chimera Man

Ren Fujino | Gojinka/The Nightmare of the Kurotori

____________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N Name Ren Fujino Nicknames/Aliases Ren to his friends, Gojinka to strangers, occasionally “foolish boy” to Tsuki, and “Nightmare of the Kurotori” to those on the receiving end of his fury Birth City/District: New-Paris Age: 22 Height 5’10 or 1.77 m Racial Background: Irish/Japanese Race: Y.S.G Natural Born Hair Color: Red Eye Color: Yellow Appearance: Ren inherited his mother’s bright red hair, one of the only things that ties him to his human origins. Most of his body is covered in charcoal colored fur, his legs ending in cloven hooves and his hands tapering into sharp, black claws. What little exposed skin one can see is a silvery-grey in color, contrasting against his yellow, predatory eyes. Wings of mottled brown and red feathers stretch out from his back above a cobalt blue tail covered in snakeskin. Its eyes track those surrounding it with a baleful intelligence, occasionally letting out a low hiss or widening its maw just enough to reveal a hint of fang. Within his own mouth, a forked tongue hides behind a row of sharp teeth. Curling horns of black obsidian crown Ren’s monstrous form. Mutation Marker(s): Little Orochi: The true Yamata no Orochi has many heads. Ren has only two, the one atop his shoulders, and the bright blue snake acting as his tail. Usually it remains silent, but has been known to let out a hiss of displeasure when Ren makes certain choices. Chimeric Icarus: Rust colored wings grow from out of Ren’s shoulder blades, and reside in a visible but retracted state when he is grounded. However, with feathers flared Ren is capable of taking to the skies for a short time despite the effort involved, or gliding even longer. Luciferian Ram: Dark fur covers Ren’s legs and parts of his torso and arms, his feet absent in place of powerful hooves. Draconic Visage: There is something almost kingly about the dark horns atop Ren’s head despite their savage appearance. The same could be said for his yellow eyes, which shine with a cunning that bears no resemblance to any earthly reptile. His claws too, are not the grasping talons of a bird of prey, but rather powerful, slashing things. Personality: Complicated is a good word to start with. Ren lives his life fast and recklessly when his time is his own, whether that’s soaring above the streets by wing or hoverboard or racing through them atop his motorcycle. When Ren needs to blow off steam, he sheds the trappings of his humanity and gives into the base, animalistic urge kerneled at the center of his brain to just… Go! He laughs easily, loves to have fun, and enjoys a wide variety of interests beyond the kinetic. History and yokai science are of particular fascination to him. At the same time, he has a cold streak and a bit of a chip on his shoulder from the circumstances of his upbringing. As much as he loves Tsuki and is fiercely loyal to the gang, he can’t stand the sense that he’s being stifled, and wants desperately to return to his childhood, one that was free of the trappings of human society with all of its rules and judgments. He knows such a thing would be impossibly foolish, so the reckless ideal persists only as a dream to escape within. In combat, he will usually focus on resolving the conflict as swiftly as possible regardless of the brutality involved, though there are some days that something resentful sinks into his stomach and stays there until it worms its way out. As such, Ren has been accused of “playing with his food” on more than one occasion, toying cruelly with combatants that never had a hope of defeating him in the first place. Ren is contradictorily both prideful of himself yet not usually one to put down the abilities of others. So while his arrogance can at times propel him into dangerous situations, he still has full ability to appreciate and admire the successes of others. Aspirations: Freedom: Moment to moment, Ren wants to live fast and live free. Anything that stifles this for too long is a problem. Family: Fraught as it is, Ren’s connection to Tsuki is more important than words can describe. He doesn’t want to lose what he has with her. In fact, he’d like to find some way to make peace with her and with himself, if he can. Would be that it were that simple. Yokai: Why and how did the yokai gene get introduced to humanity? Why are there both yokai that resemble humans, and humans that resemble yokai? What secrets can be uncovered to reveal the shared destiny of yokai and humanity? Ren doesn’t know if he’ll ever find the answers to these questions, but he keeps his hopes up. Fears: Losing Tsuki: Tsuki is one of the few people Ren holds in high esteem, and he’d never be so prickly around her at times if not for the fact that he values her opinion of him strongly. Whether through death or rejection, Ren does not want to be parted from her. Jaegers: As much as he wanted to become a Jaeger, and sometimes still does, they represent a force capable and willing to annihilate him for not playing by the city’s rules. Well, he doesn’t. He’s not even a legal citizen. It’s fair to say that fear is very mixed up with resentment and hatred. Vehicle: Mitsubishi Horizon ZR6 Some of Ren’s favorite memories growing up were speeding along the streets of Neo-Tokyo clinging to Tsuki’s back as she raced forward with her ZR6. It was unsurprising but extremely exciting for Ren that he was gifted with the same bike when he was old enough to ride on his own. Ren’s is deep red with blue highlights, and has all the same functionalities as his mother’s, except for a handful of modifications Tsuki did herself to make the vehicle more comfortable to use in Ren’s form. P O W E R I N F O R M A T I O N Strengths/Natural Abilities: Yokai Whisperer: Ren grew up in the Brokenlands, and has been exposed to more varieties of yokai than most, or maybe anyone, ever will. Not all share a language, but he still remembers how to speak to many of them. They are monsters, but thanks to the course evolution has taken humanity down, so are people. Born Explorer: Just like in the Brokenlands, Ren always loved traversing the glitz and the grime of Neo-Tokyo, allowing his curiosity and unique physiology to take him into and out of all kinds of trouble. He has a strong awareness of the locations of the city, its winding streets and alleys, and useful shortcuts. Tricky Serpent: Little Orochi knows things. It reads people, sees right through them. In turn, Ren knows how to read Little Orochi. They’ve only made it as far as they have by working together. Savage Warrior: Ren’s fighting style is an animalistic expression of his innermost instincts, and it shows. His natural abilities combined with his informal training in the Brokenlands, and the principles of combat taught to him by Tsuki, leave him a force to be reckoned with as he slashes with claws, kicks with his sturdy hooves, and utilizes his wings and biting tail to full effect in a combat style uniquely his own. Speed: By hoof or by wing, Ren’s raw speed and the necessary reflexes that accompany it are significant. Weaknesses/Flaws: Reckless: Ren is prone to impulsive decision making, especially when agitated. When on the job, this can usually be regulated to some degree, even if this causes friction. However, in his freetime, if Ren wants to do something, very little will be able to stop him from doing it, not even the warning hiss of his serpentine brother. Lack of Social Grace: Ren’s appearance is monstrous enough, but coupled with his general attitude and lack of care for appearances, makes him somebody that many strangers would find initially off putting at best. He may have his places where he fits in, but nowhere is that less true than in the presence of distinguished individuals. Obvious: Ren is capable of stealth, but he is definitely not capable of blending in. He’s too distinctive not to notice, and by consequence would be easily identifiable by anyone searching for him or questioning witnesses. Y.S.G Ability(ies): Basic Ability: Flame of the Dragons Ren has command over a source of mystical fire, able to breathe it from his lungs in a wide cone or summon it to his hands to throw bursts of it at his enemies from afar. This flame can also augment physical attacks or otherwise be manipulated into various shapes and forms by Ren. Consequently standard fire cannot harm him and he has a certain degree of resilience to energy based weapons. First Awakening: Draconic Command Like the legendary dragons of old, there is a kind of regal savagery in the way Ren carries himself. This innate quality can be amplified into a powerful command that only the strongest YG holders could resist, even certain yokai will fall under Ren’s sway. The effect is weaker the more individuals Ren tries to command at once, while able to reach maximum potency when focused on a single individual. Powerful yokai, YSG holders, and extremely exceptional zero percenters have a higher ability to combat the enchantment. Naturally this power is most effective on those that have reason to fear or respect Ren. This power has fairly diminishing returns if used many times over a single day. Additionally, failing to command a powerful individual causes Ren to experience psychic blowback that can range from temporarily stunning to physically harming him. The final downside is that the more adverse an individual is to following a given command, the more resilient they become to the effect in the future. Second Awakening: Serpentine Awakening In desperate times, the ever faithful and ever cunning Little Orochi may fuse its essence with Ren’s own, initiating a powerful transformation that begins to scratch the surface of the monstrous godhood that Ren could be capable of if he ever let go of his humanity entirely. His flames burn hotter, his commands bend wills with greater ease, and his resilience to harm vastly increases. The fusion of Ren and Orochi moves swifter, strikes harder, and sees further. Indeed, while in this form Ren seems to hold an awareness of events outside his ken, able to predict the movements of his opponents in combat and otherwise receive limited visions of the future, whether they help him in the moment or not. This ability is potent, but limited. While an unknown factor, repeated transformations bear the risk of complete yokaification for Ren, or otherwise death, as the few times he has undergone this transformation, he always emerges from it extremely exhausted and pained Draconic Form Soul Binder: Naginata - The naginata suits Ren perfectly as a weapon. A powerful polearm capable of doling out deadly cuts at medium range. Its blade is so sharp it has yet to find a substance it couldn’t cut through when given sufficient effort. Ren doesn’t often wield his soul binder weapon, but when he does, his fighting style takes on a more disciplined, focused attitude reflective of the fact that all his expertise with the naginata is entirely thanks to Tsuki’s training. E X T R A Anything else? Short theme playlist for Ren Little Orochi’s theme - click at your own peril

H i s t o r y The Tale of the Chimera Boy His Name Was Supposed To Be Lucien The light rail filled the interior cabin with a soft hum as it traveled smoothly through the air. Charlotte Alarie cradled the babe in her arms with a furrowed brow, trying once again to remove the pacifier from its mouth so that she could place the tip of the bottle into her baby’s mouth. Its teeth were already grown in, and far too sharp, to feed any other way. Just like last time, as her hand inched closer, a flash of blue darted from within the bundle and nipped at her hand. She managed to jerk back just in time. Was it venomous? She didn’t even have a clue. How large were the horns on its head going to get? Flinching, she scolded herself internally. She didn’t mean to call him an it. It was just- he wasn’t human. Even with this yokai gene thing… he looked more like a Nue or something out of French myth than an actual human baby. That’s why she had to take him to see his father and demand that he do something about this, whether he was prepared to take responsibility as a parent or not. Hence the trip from New-Paris to Neo-Tokyo. She frowned down at the azure snake that glowered at her. “You’re part of my child. That means I’m doing all this for you as well,” She scolded in a firm tone. “So behave.” To her surprise, the snake actually retreated back into the swaddle as she pulled the pacifier free, quickly replacing it with the bottle of milk. For a brief, fleeting moment, her baby’s reptilian eyes flickered open and met with her own. Something in her heart twinged as she let out a soft gasp. Golden light from the setting sun filtered through the windows and cast the pair in a heavenly aura. She understood, then. Her baby was beautiful. “Your name, I think it will be-” As she spoke, only five minutes out from reaching Neo-Tokyo, a monster that Charlotte never had the chance to see collided with the light rail and sent it careening to the ground below, and all passengers but one to their deaths. The monstrous baby would have sobbed, if not for the scolding hiss given by his serpentine companion. Somewhere deep inside its mind, the Little Orochi knew that only silence would allow them to survive through the night. The Brokenlands Book The Chimera Boy grew up with only the wisps of memory of the life that was ripped from him. The world was big, scary, and fantastical. There was too much to run from and too much to run towards to worry about things like why and how. What wonders and horrors he and the Little Orochi beheld in their time within the Brokenlands. Yokai the size of elephants but twice as docile. Creatures that bartered in strange languages and traded faces as freely as others might exchange pleasantries. Dark, lurking horrors in the depths of crystalline caves, and dragons soaring across the sky with scales glittering in all the hues of the rainbow. The noble Kotobuki that would guide the Chimera Boy across dangerous expanses, and the hateful Nue that hunted him through its territory while speaking in the tongue of humans. He and the Little Orochi made many friends, and made many enemies too. Wailing women and tearful trolls and wide mouthed cats and more filtered in and out of the Chimera Boy’s life. Yet, all was ephemeral. He forged east for months and years in a crooked, uneven path, guided as much by his own sourceless instincts as the insistent hissing of his brother snake. The Walls of Neo-Tokyo When at the age of five, although he didn’t know it, the Chimera Boy at least reached the thing that he sought. He crept closer to Neo-Tokyo’s border in time to be caught up in a confluence of chaos. There were people in strange clothing wielding glowing weapons and a tall, horned yokai leading a host of creatures, many of which resembled species that the Chimera Boy had seen before in his travels. He wanted to get closer and ask what was going on but as he did so everything erupted. Explosions, screams, sprays of blood and clouds of dirt decorated what was now a battlefield. Loud bangs echoed around him. Smoke filled the air as the strangers and the yokai charged against each other with battle cries of hatred. He stumbled blindly through this chaos until he collapsed and realized faintly that he was bleeding. Through flickering consciousness he remembered a pair of wings, silver hair that seemed to shine despite the smoke and darkness all around, and a solitary blue eye drawing nearer and nearer. Mama Tsuki That day during the chaos of a Rank 4 Outbreak, Tsukiyama Fujino became something she never bargained for. A mother. Raising the boy, whom she named Ren, was not particularly easy. To say nothing of having to teach him both English and Japanese (curiously, he was found speaking a kind of broken, self-made language that combined elements of French, Japanese, and other dialects she had never even heard of), the entire adoption was illegal to begin with. At this stage in her life she did not have the wealth nor prestige to push this adoption through the proper channels. So she didn’t. There were other challenges. The apparently sapient snake head growing from his tail seemed to hate her, he refused to wear any form of clothing except when explicitly necessary (a debate that Ren has long since won), and if anyone else wanted to try raising a feral, flying child, she did not recommend it. Somehow, the two (or three, if you count the tail) of them muddled through it, and in time their communication improved as Ren’s grasp of language and the world around him was strengthened. He was always going to be reckless, but at least he wasn’t demanding that “Little Orochi” be given language lessons too anymore. Besides, something about the way that snake looked at her made her think it understood her just fine. Loyalty As Ren aged, he expressed a desire to become a Jaeger, a desire that Tsuki would shut down at every turn. It became a running point of contention between them, one that only worsened when Tsuki would quit the entire program and refused to give Ren any explanation as to why. All he wanted was to be around more people like him, and to understand yokai better. Some days he felt more isolated in a city of billions than he did alone in the wilderness of the Brokenlands. It’s not something the two of them would ever get over. Time heals wounds, but it leaves behind scars too. Tsuki was his mother, and he was loyal to her. So if her leaving the Jaegers was the death knell of his aspiration, her forming the Kurotori was the final nail on that coffin. Of course he was going to stick by her side. She educated him, raised him, loved and trained him. He was the natural choice to be her lieutenant, anyways. A good thing too, as its doubtful that Ren’s pride would have allowed for any other outcome. The Nightmare of the Kurotori Ren quickly proved himself to be a dedicated lieutenant and a savage opponent. Sometimes, too savage for Tsuki’s preference. He has received many scoldings for the speed with which he resorts to brutality when faced with a problem, and in a handful of instances has been teleported away by Tsuki for going too far entirely. When that happens, there are times where she doesn’t see him for days at a time after. Whether he’s roosting in random rooftops or slumming it at some motel, those are the times that Ren needs to listen to Little Orochi’s hissing insistence and get away from it all. And this leads the story into the present. Ren is as reckless and fearsome as ever, but he cares about the gang and he gets things done. As far as he’s concerned, everything will somehow work itself out. Little Orochi knows better.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

^{Location: Imperial City Prisons}

---

Veeza watched with mild interest as the Orsimer priest instructed one of the guards how to care for his newly attached finger. The man seemed to know his stuff; Veeza’d seen his fair share of severed digits reattached after mishaps in Kvatch’s arena. Fortunately for himself, no such injuries were sustained in the previous brawl. No, it would be more accurate to say that he had caused far more damage than he received. Every bit of it was justified too.

When all the violence and stupidity broke out, Veeza had done his very best to keep himself to himself. He sat there at the corner of the bar as all the boasting and posturing gave rise to conflict, slowly nursing his glass of Surilie’s and enjoying the feeling of a warm meal in his stomach after a fight well won. He’d smashed enough faces in today. He wasn’t in the mood. So he sat there, and he drank, and he ignored the growing chaos behind him until some moron tried to drag him out of his stool.

Then he bashed that same stool over the moron’s head. Which his friends didn’t like.

Regrettably, their cycle of vengeance was much more like a straight line that ended in Veeza’s fist and occasionally his tail. He’s pretty sure he collapsed a Khajiit’s windpipe when the guards barged in and put an end to the whole mess.

Veeza wasn’t entirely convinced that he belonged in this cell, but he had to admit that the fight ended up being a little fun.

Beside him, a Redguard woman, barely more than a girl really, occasionally threw a questioning comment his way. He tried to take up as little space as possible for her sake, seated between two titanic Argonians as she was. Azura willing, the poor girl wouldn’t end up suffocated. With the amount of rabble getting stuffed into this cell, it was becoming a real possibility.

So he tried to answer her questions calmly and politely as his gaze surveyed the others in the cell. The yammering Bosmer woman -at least Veeza was reasonably confident, although they could be a man- caught the bulk of his attention as a young Breton fellow tried to rally those near him into finding a way to pass the time. The panicked movements of the squat, tattoo covered Mer were infinitely more curious to Veeza than any game of cards, however. Was she alright? She certainly seemed a stranger to these lands at the least. From what Veeza knew of the culture of Valenwood, it could be vastly different from that of Cyrodilic tradition. The sound of clanging metal stole him from his musings when a massive Khajiit tore a prison door off its hinges and sent the guards into momentary chaos.

A Cathay-raht? Here?

Not only here in this prison, but soon to be here in the very same cell as the guards ushered him closer.

“Stendarr… Give me a break.” His voice scraped from his throat in a quiet whisper.

The disgruntled prayer, to Veeza’s chagrin, went unanswered as the oversized creature loped into the cell and gave an introduction. At least he seemed docile after getting what he wanted. Veeza wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of having to try his luck against a titan like that without his equipment. Although it would be an invigorating match, to be certain. Perhaps once they were released from this pit he could set up a bout with the Khajiit in the arena, or at least test his skills against the larger beastfolk in a friendly spar.

The blithering of the possibly insane Bosmer continued as she made a great deal of proclamations at the Cathay-raht, apparently named Kiffar, who didn’t seem to have the capacity or care to comprehend the confusing assertions being made of him. He knew better than to judge people by their eccentricities, yet couldn't quite scratch away the feeling that there were quieter cells he could be stuck in. His tail flicked from side to side in restless irritation behind him where he sat.

He let out a low, rasping sigh.

This was not worth five-hundred septims.

Next time one of the guards tried to shove another drunk, vagrant or buffoon in here, Veeza vowed to drag that guard in with them.

Primality

M A R K O V A L D I

^{Location: Dorm Building Exterior, Merryweather Institute Interaction(s):@Chrys}

---

At the sounding of the intercom, the gradual flow of students from the dorm building became something more like a torrent. Nestling himself firmly against the wall, Marko tried to make his substantial physique as small as possible. He just... needed a minute. Nursing his cigarette like it was his only friend in the world (it was), he took deep, even breaths with the smoke. In and out. Don't worry about the curious stares and the grimaces that often followed. Don't worry about your fingers not moving the way they used to, or not being able to stretch without making your arm tear its scars open in seven different spots. Don't worry about depth perception. Just you and the cigarette.

Atrophy
---

Hearts pump dust
through petrified veins
while stale air wheezes from our lungs;
one long heaving sigh
gently rattling the bonecage
as it escapes from between mummified lips
and out into the baleful yellow sky.

Dust gathers over our desiccated forms:
paper-thin skin-as-parchment stretched over
hollow skeletons: brittle, sallow creatures
clinging stubbornly to a concept
we have long since lost the capacity
to comprehend.

Gradually, he was able to turn himself over to carcinogenic absolution, and strife gave way to the far more preferable non-sensation of numbness.

"And here was me thinking that was against the rules."

The stub of the cigarette found itself hitting the back of Marko's throat as he sucked in a surprised breath, and quickly doubled over, retching. Who the hell? Hands on his knees, he stood there, retching the taste from his mouth as the stranger watched him. This is unfortunate. The plan was to avoid making an ass out of myself. Scolding himself, Marko finally felt able enough to speak, peering up at the girl through his good eye. "And I think... that you are very purple." What? Kill yourself now. Good Christ. He coughed, more from awkwardness this time than anything else. "Uhm. Well. Yes, cigarettes are against the rules." His lips pressed together into something that wasn't quite a smile. "My choice of vice was either smoking or narcissism. So." You're not funny. Stop trying to make jokes. They aren't funny. Is the punchline that you're a burn victim and therefore not attractive enough to be a narcissist?

Briefly, an expression flashed across Marko's face akin to that of a rat dropped into a cage with a snake, before dropping back into stilted neutrality. He raised his gloved hand skyward towards the student. "I'm Marko. Please don't tell anyone about the cigarettes." His voice rung out in hollow, tired notes. An instrument out of tune with itself, and possibly missing a few strings entirely.