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Interesting to have answered that in PMs, but thanks for sharing, Xalt.

Now my question: do all PCs come from the same era? Are we all modern-day humans? Are we all humans from the same world?
When do you plan on busting out the OOC and CS hijinks out? As well, it'd be useful if you could answer Xalt's questions regarding the end goal of the RP and whether or not it's mandatory to start up a nation/faction/group as an individual player.

It appeared as if more scenarios were being brought up constantly, the situation unveiling further curiousities to attend to. One of the students shouted about a core within the Foreteller that contained a twin to the Bronsteel child. Another student was quick at work in snuffing out all sources of light. The winged knight was performing remarkably, showcasing destructive feats that caused the entire auditorium to ripple. And Ciara was biding her time too, her status as a shadow-witch finally pronounced to the world by that insufferable twerp.

How rude. Hers wasn’t the only one rooted in darkness.

As the tempo of the battle increased, everyone’s roles receiving the increased burden of Mannekins whom became more astute combatants, a commander who was losing more and more of his own calm, Otis allowed himself to slip further into the background. Circumventing the swarm that charged for the paladin, that chased for the markswoman, that pursued the blade-thrower, that disdained the shadow-witch. He was just a small owl-boy, after all, with a gun ill-suited for the hordes. Just a humble Seeker, possessing no god-like might beyond the confines of his domain, drawn only to the pleasure of knowledge, of Truth.

His hands wove the air, a conductor on his lonesome. Draw sigils into empty space, defining the order and the constraints, the reason behind restraints. Whispered words gave life-light to cold calculation, mortal breath the transience of a fading spell.

“Knock knock.”

That was all it was.

The sound of Otis knocking on the minds of every sapient being within the auditorium. An individual telepathy request sent out to the Marksman, the Hunter, the Inheritor, the Doctor, the Bronsteel child. It was a request that faded away moments later, the one at the door walking away before one could even respond, leaving nothing but…a lingering trail.

Single-link telepathy magic, repurposed to track the locations of all living beings within a certain area, via an attempt to create a psychic connection with every applicable individual.

That was the choice the Strigidae made, in order to ascertain whether Gulliver was the titan, the command, or both.
Hope ya recover well enough. Been sick for the last few days myself, but now that I'm recovered, I'm doing stupid shit like staying up way to late again.

Also, for this particular round, I'll probably wait for Chunji to possibly share this info with everyone else first, if he does it at all.
Will be keeping an eye on this.
Now, the ultimate test.

Will Psykers and Sifr post, or will Nanaya finally have a night where they can relax?

Darkness was much harder to manage than light, and much less effective for stunning an individual as well. A flash of light was like lightning, scorching an image of the bolt into the retina long after the blow had been struck. A flash of darkness, however? That was like blinking, when you didn't intend on doing so.

Regards of what he planned on saying, however, it looked like none of what was said mattered. The winged paladin from before had caught up in the worst possible moment, ruining all coordination for the single thing that didn't matter at all: defeating the loud-mouthed speaker. The Strigidae clicked his tongue just as spitefully as Gulliver Bronsteel spat out his words, calling forth a titan that was a match for army-standard Sword-grades in terms of output. It was nothing impressive in the grand scheme of things, not when compared to the stories of the Empress's own Gearvein, nor the feats of finesse from skilled pilots, but it was still a titan compared to the students present. If Gearveins could be vanquished by flesh-and-blood humans, there wouldn't be a point in crafting them to begin with, no?

And that wasn't even accounting for the difficulties presented by the Mannekins, which had grown in coordination within proximity of the one that controlled them. Another 'Calm' wouldn't work here, not when the situation was even more frenzied than before.

Still, all this had yet to force Otis to change his own priorities.

"Show me wonders of this world."

A door swung open behind Ciara, right as she crossed the threshold into the auditorium, exposing the void of stars and space, substance and simulations. Otis caught her eyes in passing, the message clear even without thoughts shared through the mind-link that persisted between them: the chairs first. And then he was leaping into the fray himself, a sunburst exploding out of his barrel to blind Gulliver, before five other bullets cleared the path towards the fallen Davil. Shrapnel fell like rain, like wooden chips spewed from a tree too rotten to serve as anything more than filling, but the Strigidae made no move to help Davil up, or shelter him from the storm. Instead, all he did was toss another hard candy towards him.

"Get out." A thumb jabbed towards the open door of Otis's workshop. "The first plan has fallen through, so I'll need you to play the central part in the second plan."

Too many lights and windows to shutter all at once. Too many Mannekins to challenge without going overboard. Too strong a barrier to smash open with just a fistful of bullets.

But so long as everyone else played their roles as distractions?

His victory will be inevitable.
How does this thing compare to standard-issue Rekordian mechs? And also, how many sources of light are in this room right now?
Lmao, GG Ciara.
So am curious, Psykers. Is her Ethos like, constantly exuding bright light?
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