Everything I learnt about NFTs have been non-consensual
2
likes
5 yrs ago
while(inDream=true) {otaku.salary()+=}
5 yrs ago
I don't know who this Boltzmann fella is but he owes me a physics test and a whole lotta trouble
5 yrs ago
Can someone please explain why my discords are on fire about this forum right now? I just woke up and I don't have enough coffee to read a bazillion status updates
Ciern had been toward the back of the group, slowing down early as soon as he saw the cart, expecting the rest of the convoy to do the same. Trap. Convenient location, thicket to hide, and a wounded man to bait in victims. This was a classic bandit's trap - easy to set up, easy to execute. Problem was, it was so commonly used, it was mostly just a trick for the common traveller. He should make sure the Knights had the jump on the ambusher instead, and started to turn to inspect his surroundings, when the Captain jumped off and rushed to help the wounded man. Ah.
The thicket erupted with bandits, armed with various common bandit weaponry. They looked a little startled, but still closed in on the group as per the ambusher's plan. Ciern was caught a little away from the group, a much less than ideal situation.
His horse had whined and reared, nearly toppling Ciern over but he managed to barely stay seated, though his hips shifted awkwardly out of the saddle. His armour rattled as the horse stamped and jumped backwards, and inadvertantly kicking away a bandit unfortunate enough to be in the way of its hindquarters. Ciern grit his teeth. He knew the horse was a nervous one, but this was a bad time for a spook. He tightened his grip on the rein and coerced the horse into a spin, straining to keep on the horse while checking his surroundings. In the blur, Ciern could see that the bandits had back off, seeing the fate of their comrade, but were now closing in and drawing ranged weaponry to exploit his position. The horse was still slowing down, and Ciern's vision was spinning from dizziness, but he had no time. Kicking off firmly from his saddle, he bailed his horse and slammed into the closest bandit, using their body mass to dampen his rough dismount and throwing them away. Ciern felt the body of the bandit crack and give in slightly under the leather armour, but didn't have time to check if they were truly down. He staggered, but managed to regain his ground just in time to parry an incoming jab from a spear. The spear wielder, over-eager to exploit Ciern's dismount, had extended far too much and allowed Ciern to rush forward and pull his opponent into an embrace, plunging his dagger into their neck.
Ciern breathed heavily through his visor, still holding the weakly struggling body of his adversary and dragging him along. He managed to back off and watch as the rushing contacts hesitated, unsure where to attack now. It was a dirty tactic, using his enemy's body as a shield, but Ciern could not afford to fight so many targets in an open ground - at least not until he regained his stamina. As his victim stopped struggling, Ciern let them fall away, pulling his dagger out with a tug. With a furious shout, the remainder of his opponents attacked with the now open Ciern, but Ciern had managed to make his way back to the main bulk of the Knights. With the Knights surrounding him and numbers advantage gone, Ciern could now battle on even terms - and there was no chance for the bandits, still relatively untrained and swinging widely as Ciern backpedalled and parried them blow-by-blow, before finally executing them with a well-timed riposte.
As the battle shifted clearly to the Knights' favour, the Captain commanded the magi of the group to strike the long ranged crossbow wielders. Ciern started to draw up his mana, lightning crackling gently from his tunic, then hesitated. Ciern hissed at his brief indecision. Orders. His personal preferences meant nought in face of Captain's orders. "Bolt incoming!" He shouted, making sure there were no allies in his way, before letting loose a bolt lightning that shot towards the nearest archer. In a flash and scream, the archer fell to the ground, convulsing in apparent agony and red streaks covering their unprotected face. Ciern did not check to see if the contacts were fully down, and let loose a flurry of lightning, the bolts snarling as they screamed towards the crossbow archers and striking their targets with rhythmic and precise execution.
I understand everyone's excited to post and to keep things going, especially in the starting days of the RP...but can we slow down on the pace a little? We're on the tail end of our first encounter and I think some of us haven't even intro'd yet.
Ciern kept to the back end of the knights, gently patting his horse's mane as he rode silently, ghost-like and listening to the conversations that floated back towards him. He watched the group's hind, although he never officially accepted that designation. His light armour clinked as they progressed, the scratched armour plates occasionally jamming briefly before realigning themselves. Ciern felt his horse stumble a little as they passed an overgrown patch, but steadied itself soon and ran to catch back up.
His horse, this time, was a runt of the pack. Dirt-brown and unnamed, the horse clearly was the one intended to be passed off to the common soldiers by the stable-masters. Still, Ciern suffered narrowed eyes and grudged glances, but in the end, secured his ride for the dispatch. The horse was overeager and prone to wander, but still with the smaller frame, Ciern was surprised that he kept up with the other knights all the same. Ciern was worried that it might over-exert itself, but so far, the horse showed no signs of wanting to stop. Was it because of a sense of determination or pride? Ciern was secretly fond of its determination. Ciern was tempted to name the horse, but really, who was he to so?
As the Knight-Captain and the vanguard discussed the strategies to tackle their enemy, Ciern mulled over the nature of the foe. Bandit-King, so they called him. A storm Broke the King's army and challenged the Knights. The Bandit-King wasn't an ordinary bandit leader, especially not if they brewed up the attention and might of this magnitude. Though bigger territories would be more desirable, it also meant that the bandit leader also had to "rule" that much more territory as well, along with the risk of drawing the ire of stronger powers. Medium size, manageable territories were much more 'economical' for the common bandit.
So, Ciern conjectured, either the Bandit-King was driven out of a desire to "rule" rather than settle with the simple accumulation of wealth, out of arrogance and challenged the Iron Roses to make an example of power, or out of the desires of a third actor. In any case, there would be a reason why this particular individual had managed to accrue so much command over his forces, by fear, respect or otherwise, and that would certainly be a factor that no opposition should take lightly. It was a mission of a simple objective but a complex execution, though Ciern hoped it would be just as simple as "magical bombardment." If for anyone...
Ciern adjusted his visor and watched the Knight-Commander on the white mare. 16 years old. Born on the full moon and chosen without consent to lead a centuries old Order. As much as Ciern tried to convince himself, Ciern was nervous for her. No doubt, she would have pressure on her shoulders, unbearable to most. What if she over-reached? What if someone tried to puppet her? What if she lost too much too fast, and made the same mistake so many made?
Ciern realized he gripped on his horse's mane too hard and was now tugging on it. He patted the tuft of mane back down as an apology, though Ciern doubted the horse would understand. No. He swore to be loyal to both the Order and the Knight-Captain. Regardless of who the leader was, he would be loyal all the same.
The Red Hound of the Roses...
Ciern's mouth tugged in a fascimile expression, neither a sneer or a grim grit. He will be loyal all the same.
Name: Ciern Perelion Age: 23 Gender: Male Race: Human
Appearance:
Art by guastavosasquatch
Often seen in armour, full-clad and training, many are surprised by Ciern's voice and androgynous appearance, having no facial hair, and sharp facial features. He has short red hair and a rough complexion, with large blue eyes, steady but often seeing far beyond. Ciern's build is on the shorter, thinner side. He bears a quite a few bruises and scars, particularily burns along his left arm from abusing his fire magic too much. He does his best to cover it up with bandages and give off a clean look, trying to live up to the finer standards of the Iron Roses. It's unclear if it is really effective at hiding, or if his real reason is that he cannot bear the sight of them himself. He smiles often out of courtesy, and his default expression is a peaceful but sombre smile. But careful observers will realize that he rarely does truely smile, and from time to time Ciern can be seen spacing out and looking off into the distance. Despite so, he insists it's nothing to worry about and simply that he is tired from travelling around.
Personality: In a contrast to his past reputation, Ciern is a passive and soft-spoken knight. He reserves judgement and deliberates in many decisions in favour of listening to all opinions first. He is careful to not offend anyone, and generally avoids confrontation with allies or peers. Fiercely loyal to the Order and even more so to the Knight Commander, if pressed, Ciern is willing to fight to protect the Order and serve his purpose. Ciern also suffers from a near debilitating levels of low self-esteem, and rarely rises to defend himself from insults, abuse or accusations. He can't take compliments and will have no idea how to respond to affection or praise, becoming confused or ignoring it entirely. His sense of guilt and inadequacy often prevents him from taking the initiative and acting out of line, and he feels it's best if it stays that way. Others could mistake Ciern for someone with a weak will, but it's quite the opposite. Having survived several battles and years on the run, Ciern's determination and zealous pursuit is unrivalled; akin to a fading fire, dying but never fully extinguished. He believes that if life was hell, then he must live it to repent for what he had done, no matter how much hardship he must endure. Otherwise, Ciern likes coffee and muffins, and thinks it's sacrilege to put raisins in any muffin, especially if it's the chocolate kind.
Brief Backstory: Former knight of an smaller, lesser known order called the Order of Obsidian Judgement. The Order mostly kept to itself, fighting for the protection of a sacred mountain shrine. Although Ciern was still an initiate, not used to the Order's strict rules in his profoundly young age of 14, he was spoken of as a prodigy for his prowess as a spellsword, wielding both close combat and arcane spells with devastating efficiency. But for unknown reasons, the Obsidian Judgement ceased to communicate with the outside world. After a while, a scouting party was sent to investigate the silence; and found the Judgement's keep destroyed in a catacalysmic battle with no survivors. Further investigation found one note - that Ciern had set the keep on fire and destroyed the Order "to make an example", and that he was still alive and had escaped the battle. After a few years, the former knight as captured. Although his sins were grave and Ciern refused to discuss his motivations for his actions, his skills as a fighter and genuine regret let him a special condition for the Order. In exchange for a life of fealty to the Iron Roses and pious repentance, Ciern was granted a shaky membership in this Order, though it was still a controversial decision viewed on many as too trusting of a former criminal.
The truth is that Ciern never actually commited the crimes he claims he did. The Obsidian Judgement was secretly running a highly dangerous and morally dubious blood ritual that went awry and drove most of the participants insane. The insuing battle to contain the chaos set off a chain reaction within the keep's explosive storages, destroying the Keep and all its members as a result. Ciern, knocked out of the battlefield from a prior blow, became the sole survivor of the explosion. Unwilling to let the world know that the Obsidian Judgement was corrupt, Ciern made himself a scapegoat to preserve his order's honor. Ciern agreed to servitude under the Iron Roses on the condition that this secret is never revealed. Only the previous Knight-Captain who took him in knew about this truth, and is Ciern's most jealously guarded secret.
Equipment: Ciern's armor is a combination of a knight's plate armor and a mage's leather tunic, sacrificing outright protection in favour of a stronger affinity to magic and higher mobility. Its silver gleam and simple red decorations are devoid of any flair, save for the Iron Rose crest on its breastplate. It is polished and clean, if not scratched and well-worn from long term use. His left gauntlet is replaced with a glove with indents and channeling runes to serve as a focus for his spells, as well as handle more delicate objects. Ciern also carries a standard-issue sidesword and estoc on his horse with no outstanding modifications, save for inscription "Paramortis" scratched on the wood of the hilt. He also carries a dagger for general purposes. Though Ciern has memorized the incantations for his spells, he keeps a tough parchment and pen to note down new incantations he comes across.
Skills: As a spellsword, Ciern is trained extensively in both swordsmanship and arcane arts - and weaving the two together in one fluid style, he is a devastating, chaotic combatant and lends credance to those who considered him a prodigy. Ciern's fighting style is a mixture of both observation and aggression. Although he will attempt to learn and study his opponents before making committing moves, he has no trouble switching quickly to an aggressive style once he had adequately learnt his opponent. He will relentlessly pressure his opponents with quick parries and ripostes, attempting to outmaneavour his enemies and give them no time to retaliate. Ciern's spells focus the chaotic spectrum of magic, specifically, fire and lightning. High in pure destructive power but also carrying risks of self-injury and mana upkeep, Ciern mostly limits himself to small-scale projectiles in conjunction with his swordplay to further add pressure to his opponents. However, Ciern is reluctant to use offensive magic and has since abstained from using magic unless truly desperate.
Other than battles, Ciern is fantastic at cleaning and general housework, having put on household duties several times when he was a part of the Obsidian Judgement because of his magic having the tendancy of being a little too destructive. He seems a little embarrassed of this, but will not object if asked to employ his skills.
Oof, only recently started Fate: Gacha Hell and this looks interesting. Will be throwing my ring on the hat for servant slot, will draft a CS soon (tm).
"Yeah, true." Callum replied with a shrug. "A roof and daily food is a treat, for sure."
And it really was, to come to think of it. Callum didn't think about it too much, but he sure did hit a lucky spot with the Judge. Sure, Judge Markus was known for his frequent swoopings to the underdog and sending them to the academy, but was plenty who didn't catch the Judge's eye, and plenty more, he thought as he glanced towards to Kellin, who would not have a home to come back to. Gah, he'll just have to make the most of what he struck lucky with. Callum probably couldn't live out their lot in life too, but he sure as hell could try.
Callum watched as the boy caught up to the group, who proceeded to get distracted and slap himself to regain attention. The boy seemed to carry a sort of... floaty? A cloudy sort of disposition, like he was somehow less real and was half-way in another world of his own, only to be rooted reluctantly back on the physical plane. And Callum could swear that if they went ahead without waving, the boy would have floated off completely and gotten lost. Callum felt strangely at ease to know that he was not the only one who would get lost in a straight path, though being lost did give Callum a sense of adventure.
"Hey, you haven't missed much." Callum said quietly to the Osuunese boy. "Just a bunch of teacher introductions." And Callum would have told him the teacher names, had he not already forgotten them. "Name's Callum, by the way." He said, before being ushered by the student group moving through.
Callum plodded along with the rest of the group as they toured the whole place. He was wrong about the Academy - the Perenias Castle had all bark and no bite, with fake books and golden gilding. This was the real deal - ancient runes that spoke a language of a hundred eras as they brushed along like it was another feature, paned glass that told the story of tales faded but unforgotten, the fragrance of freshly baked bread...oh man, fresh bread...
Callum skidded, and slowed his pace. No, no - not yet - Callum bit his lip to keep himself from drooling. This Academy was already testing Callum's mental resistance! Callum craned his neck pleadingly as the group walked further and further away from the source of aroma, before losing sight and smell of the kitchen completely.
I will come back for you, I swear! No plate left behind! He thought, before turning back to the tour.
