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Force and Fury Member

Actually kind of mellow

STATUS: Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/… 3 yrs ago
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3 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8 likes
3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7 likes
3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4 likes

Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Sweat.

That was what made a great mage. Rikard's father was not a great mage. Had he been born a Hunghorasz instead of an Ambrus, he likely would have been an embarrassment to his storied bloodlines. This was not a problem that Rikard suffered from. He put in the work.

It was 3:30 in the Hours of Dami and he stood perched atop the parapets of Fieldgate Tower, a pencil clenched between his teeth, flipping through a booklet. Then, he found it and began writing:

Tellos 23, DZ55: Revised Hypothesis 11 12

This isn't Atomic magic, not exactly. There's no direct heat and the radiation doesn't seem to be destructive. The phenomenon should fall under magnetic, firmly, I believe. Current working idea is that the rays act similarly to that thermal spell. They excite matter and cause rapid movement of its constituent parts. This naturally generates frictive motion and, hence, heat.

The rays, however, didn't appear to have unlimited range or power. Depending on how much he poured into them, they could pierce perhaps a few inches. Why, then, were the inner reaches of larger things often hot? Rikard wasn't sure. A mystery is just a question that doesn't have an answer... yet, the young thaumaturge reminded himself. Soon it will, though. I'll bust this one open too. He hadn't been idle. He'd been actively experimenting, inventing, reinventing, refining, and revising theories and techniques. It was likely just a form of heat transfer, but he had to be diligent. Everything - everything - in the known universe had a mechanism, and it was his job, as a mage and a scientist, to find those and bring them to light. While it was true that there were many who were content to treat magic as some inexplicable force that simply worked because the gods said so, they were lazy and, when they spouted such gaff as if it were fact, they became something quite a bit worse: in a word, morons. No matter how high their RAS levels, they would never achieve all that much with magic. Hence, sweat. He'd scarcely known the ancient Paradigm - that colossal figure of magic with whom he shared an ancestry and a resemblance - but one of their couple of meetings had led to a conversation and the primacy of relentless observation and experimentation, the necessity of constant learning had been branded into a then eleven-year-old Rikard.

♫

So, he stood here, high above most of the city, thaumaturgical robes fluttering in the nighttime breeze, and drew with an almost maniacal intensity from the energies about him, building an immense charge, controlling it, intensifying it, splitting it! The steeple of this old church had the unique misfortune of being constructed with a hollow metallic cap and, through previous experimentation and deductive reasoning, Rikard had correctly recognized that metal seemed to have the ability to deflect these unusual rays.

Sorry, Shune, but I'm doing this for SCIENCE, the youth thought. Of all the Pentad, I suppose you'd understand most. In this case, the steeple would serve to capture and contain the rays, bouncing them back towards the target. It was, in this instance, a rather nice pastry that Ayla had baked, but it had gone cold and was not near as tasty as it was when warm. Stuffing his pencil once more into a pocket, Rikard placed the dessert into its improvised cooking chamber through a ventilation hole. His watch was wound. His manas pulsed with electrical energies. He turned a small dial, depressed a button, and thrust his hands at the hole, releasing the waves that he had been practicing. One Hugo Hunghorasz, Two Hugo Hunghorasz, Three Hugo Hunghorasz... he kept time manually as well. He could compare. He could work on his accuracy. For twenty whole seconds, Rikard Ambrus acted as a conduit, pummelling the pastry with his energetic waves. Then, as he was finishing up nineteen, his watch let out a buzz and he stopped. From inside the metallic oven wafted a delectable smell. He reached out to touch the pastry and found it was quite hot. He counted again, to ten, and grabbed it. Moment of truth, he bolstered himself. He bit in and it tasted... quite edible, actually. It was even tasty: perhaps a touch soggy, but tasty nonetheless. The boy sat, cross-legged on the roof, and scarfed down the rest of the treat, dusting off his hands and clothes. He grinned uncontrollably and, for a moment considered standing again and shouting something like "Victory!" from his perch. People... probably wouldn't appreciate that, though. He settled for taking out his notebook and pencil and concluding his earlier entry.

At the risk of sounding utterly unscientific: fuck yes! It worked...
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫

It was dark and still in San Agustin de las Arenas. Scarcely a lick of wind could be found, nor a solitary cloud in the sky. Still, the palms whispered in the night. A spider spun its web silently amid the spines of a cactus. A scorpion made its way across an adobe wall. Then, a voice! It froze.

“Ricardo!” came the whisper: a hiss piercing the veil of quiet that hung over this place during the Hours of Ipte. It was Laelle. “Ricardo!” The scorpion skittered away.

A door squealed in high-pitched protest and a boy of about eleven peered out through it. “Ugh,” he groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “What?” Yet, he was alert, despite his show of annoyance: alert and ready to act.

“Did you feel it!?” Laelle demanded, her bright reddish hair thrown into a hasty ponytail. “The weird energy!”

He regarded her strangely.

“Reach out now: before it fades! It’s like what Jocasta and the Duke and those other guys used last year!”

Ricardo did as she asked, leaning on the doorframe, brow furrowed. Then, his eyes widened. “Whoa,” he exclaimed, “You’re right!”

She placed a finger forcefully to her lips and he made an unhappy face. “We don’t want people to panic, okay?”

“Yeah, but they should know!”

Laelle shook her head. “They do,” she assured her slightly younger counterpart. “At least the Afortunado. I can feel them waking up. They’ll defend us if we need it.”

“You think it’s like… bad news?” the boy questioned anxiously, rolling a marble back and forth in his free hand, and the girl shrugged. “Hard to say,” she admitted. “I just wanted you to know and be ready.”

He didn’t seem quite sure what to make of that, but he thanked her. She moved on quickly to wake Amaya next, but the girl was already up and fitting an oversized hat to her head as Laelle crept up. The tethering had passed her ankles now and she was not exactly a silent mover.

“I knew they’d be coming for us,” the younger girl announced, doing up the straps on her ankle braces. “Ever since the king killed Duke Frannemas.” She shook her head, rising. “I knew it.”


Someone - or rather a group of someones - had indeed come for them, but they did not bring a threat. By the time that the six students from Ersand’Enise slipped in through the hidden gate behind the Red Tower, it was clear that the entire refuge knew of their arrival. For all that the Zenith was a truly eminent magus, she perhaps didn’t quite understand the full strengths of tethered. That, or she did not care.

Jocasta rolled silently through the halls of the place where she had spent about half of her remembered life: a place that still appeared regularly in dreams, but less so in nightmares than it once had. “Adorable little shits,” she whispered to the others who had come with her. “They’re all pretending to be asleep, but any half-decent chem or arcane can sense that they’re all alert.”

“Imagine sneaking up on tethered.” Isabella rolled her eyes, coasting along behind Jocasta. She was less garishly dressed than usual.

Marci snorted, glancing at Yalen and Jocasta. “Fear us,” she half-joked, but it was clear that she was anxious and trying to distract herself. Not a single one of them knew exactly why they had been summoned, not even Jocasta - a Tan-Zeno, now.

Then, they were at the lift and a single gas lantern flickered in the predawn gloom. A lizard, high up on the wall, shifted its oversized eyes to look their way and, deciding that they weren’t a threat, decided to stay put. The sextet rose, casting about with their magical senses and whispering amongst themselves. The lift creaked to a stop and its doors rattled open. A long colonnade stretched before them, a couple of lanterns dimly lighting their way. At the end was the room that had once belonged to Tavio Ortega. It was now Manuel Escarra’s.

A cool lick of wind filtered through the pillars and stirred the leaves of a potted palm, but nobody emerged as they drew nearer. There was, in fact, no sign of life whatsoever. Seated behind a desk inside, however, was the distinct energy signature of a human figure, waiting for them.

Striking out ahead of the group, forcing them to either keep up or slow her, was Marceline. The double doors were unlocked. She pushed them open, words already forming on her lips. Questions for her grandfather: the warden. Only… he wasn’t there.

Instead, it was Amanda. Marci skidded to a halt. Jocasta did a double take. The woman who had been so frail the last time that they’d seen her - great in spirit but on the verge of death - appeared… revitalized. Her elbows rested on the desktop, fingers threaded together and not in the limp sense that they did when she used magic to control them. Her arms were thick and full, her posture healthy. “Friends,” she greeted them. “It is ever so good to see you, but I would ask that we all keep our voices down during this reunion if we might.”

Marci stared at her mother, disbelieving, and Amanda’s eyes flicked up and down the youth as well. “...Mom?”

Amanda nodded.

“Mom how!?” Marci demanded, rushing forward, and perhaps her speed caught Amanda by surprise.

“It was just like you said: white aberrations, mija.” She backed away from the desk, ‘on two’, no different from Jocasta and Isabella, and embraced her daughter. “I was on the brink. Almost choked in my sleep three months ago, just after your Caldores visit. I’d made my peace with Lady Ejerran. Then, a few big ones appeared. We tried to treat as many of us as we could, but those of us ‘on zero’ took priority, for obvious reasons.” She released Marci and regarded the others. “So here I am, with a second lease on life.” Jocasta was rushing forward too, positively unreserved, Isabella also a victim of that same joyous disbelief. “I had always intended to surprise you,” Amanda admitted, hugging Jocasta as well, and then any others who cared for a similar embrace. When they were done, she motioned them away from the desk and all seven of them proceeded through the double doors. “Might we walk and talk? ” the oldest of them prodded. “I find myself very eager to be on the move these days. I spent five years sitting there like a piece of furniture, you know.”

There were no objections raised and, if there had been, she’d have disregarded them anyhow. Then, it was Marceline who spoke. “Umm… say, Mom?”

“Mmmhm, Marci?”

“Where is abuelo?”

For a moment, Amanda didn’t speak. She merely coasted along at the head of the group as eyes wandered across the refuge in the minutes before the sun’s light first started to make itself known upon the horizon. Then, her hands took hold of her wheels and scrubbed what momentum they had. In an instant she turned. “That is part of the reason you have been called here,” she admitted. “Something strange has happened.”

Marci’s face became a mask of alarm, but her mother held up a hand to forestall any comment. “He is okay, so far as I know. He is out right now, investigating the… occurrence.”

“Occurrence?” demanded Jocasta. “What kind of occurrence? His letter contained next to nothing!”

“Chela,” the older woman chided, “You know I would’ve told you if I could’ve. Lower your voice, I pray.”

Jocasta swallowed and nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

The unmistakable feel of a sonic dampening bubble took hold around them, and Amanda regarded those gathered. “One week ago, Warden Escarra was out on patrol. He likes to join them once a month, as if he’s still a ranger.” She set her hands upon her wheels, nervously, as if about to start pacing as Jocasta often did, but then she seemed to think better of it. “Things have been tense these past few months, since the good duke died. Sancho has been eyeing this land for reasons unknown and there is every chance he will disband this refuge. We continue to exist in a sort of legal limbo, though we are, de facto, an independent state. This is a guarded independence. We are strong. We have been scaring interlopers off with the advantage of our range, but they are many and we are…” She reached up, momentarily, to brush some stray hair from her face, and shrugged. “Few, as you know.” Amanda pursed her lips. “There are a couple areas within a day’s ride or less from us that may be used as staging for these sorts of assaults. One of them is the cliffs that you can see from the walls, and the other is the lost city of Zarfan, in la Garganta del Ejerran. So, we patrol them.” Now, she began pacing, and the others fidgeted in restless response.

“So, what did he find?” Jocasta prodded, and Amanda shook her head. “We aren’t quite sure, but it’s activity: there in the lost city.” She regarded them steadily. “You were all there last year, I believe, at least briefly. It is a strange, haunted place,” she warned, shaking her head. “Many of the people of this land maintain it is filled with the spirits of Zaqhory murdered in the conquest. Others say it is the haunt of bandits, or has been taken over by demons, or is perhaps home to a vast colony of sand wyrms or even something worse.” She came to a stop, resting her hands on her wheels and gripping them tightly enough that her knuckles showed white. “I do not know which - if any - of these is truth, but the Warden found activity when he went there: he and the two Afortunado - Oscar, whom you know, and the youngest one, Laelle, who I believe you also know - sensed movement inside and… something like people, they said: people or monsters. The Warden returned those two to the refuge and set out with most of our rangers. We are vulnerable right now should we face an attack, but this bore investigating. To my knowledge, that is where he is right now. You’ve been called here for two reasons: to join him in investigating and to help guard this place while the rangers are away.” Her speech concluded, she regarded them all with a sense of grave purpose. “So long as you are willing.”

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

She was a girl, by the roadside, with a guitar slung over one shoulder, and a travel sack over the other. Kaureerah walked along under the early afternoon sun, a gentle breeze pushing puffy white clouds across the sky and causing the ocean to sigh and crash in the near distance. Carts clattered by along the Godsroad, and others walked it as she did. She twisted about for each, offering a smile and a wave or an extended thumb in hopes of catching a ride into the city. Down by the water, it was not quite warm enough yet for people to frolic among the waves, but that time was drawing near and she was glad of it. She had been a lonely eeaiko in there these past few months, all by herself.

In truth, it was probably still too cold for her present attire: a long, tasseled poncho, seasilk hose, and the sturdy leather boots that had carried her across a good portion of the Twin Continents. She'd been excited, though. The wind bit at her bare arms and caused her light, downy hair to stir like sea snakes about her head, but then came the sun, warming her, and Kaureerah was happy. She unslung her guitar and began to pluck idly at the strings, the beginnings of a song coming to her. She began to strum and hum and the people who always spared her at least a second glance - for many might see an eeaiko only a handful of times in their lives - began to take an extended interest. Then, the song was there, and she poured her particular brand of magic into it.

"Hello, Missus Sun, it's nice to see you here.
The world's just not the same without your light, I fear.

For when you glow, my spirit sings,
My eyes are bright with happy things.

The road that I walk is dappled and it's bright.
My worries and my fears fade back into the night.

For when you glow, my spirit sings,
My eyes are bright with happy things.

There are so many more who feel the way I do.
They walk along this road and they walk with me and you.

And when you glow, our spirits sing,
Our eyes shine bright like anything!
I hope you'd like to stay awhile,
And make these many people smile.

Missus Sunnnn!"

She strummed a big flourishing outro, spinning a complete three-sixty on her heel. That was when she noticed the chorus following her: a dozen or so people humming along, dancing, and snapping their fingers. "Ooh!" she exclaimed. "Thenk yoo, frens! Thenk yoo!" She blinked, bemused but pleased, and bowed. This seemed to happen from time to time: her music connected with people in an odd, welcome, and very intense way. It seemed warmer outside too, and even more so as a handful offered her coins. "You are a very talented young lady," one old woman assured her. "Almost made me want to go to work!" laughed a man, and Kaureerah blushed fiercely. "Almost," he assured her, and she snorted in laughter. "Noo mejeec es thet stroon, huh?"

"Sadly not," commiserated a young woman behind her, and the eeaiko twisted and smiled.

"Well, if you crack the case," another man - a yasoi - assured her, "You'll be a rich woman - 'least by yanii reckoning."

"Where ya headed anyway?" asked the young woman, twirling a little sack around her pointer by its string.

Kaureerah took a deep breath and smiled, ear to ear. "I cennaut beleev et," she admitted, "Baut te beeg peepool aut te Ecedemee hauv enveeted mee theer." She glanced up at the sky, still not quite believing it, but it was real. She was no more than two minutes from the gates and there was a goodly lineup. She came to a stop at the end of it, along with a few others. "Eye praumeess te Goods en te Aunceesters Eye well doo tem praud."
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

"Ah yes, Ersand'Enise!" exclaimed Count István, as if finally recalling something obscure. Yeah, Ersand Enise: that totally unremarkable place that's only the literal center of magic for the entire world, Rikard thought to himself. He pretended to have dropped something just so he could lean away and roll his eyes grandly. Lujza caught them and grinned. Rikard couldn't help but smile back. "I remember my time there," the count was going on, "They used to call me 'The Ace', haha!"

"Riki!" scolded the boy's mother from a few seats away. She was clucking with the other hens over there, or that's how Uncle Miklós would say it. "Riki, stop feeding the dog."

"I wasn't," the preteen answered sullenly, but then there was a glare from his father. "Well, maybe a bit," he falsely admitted, just to be done with it. "Sorry." He cast his eyes down. Sure enough, there was Büdös, staring up at him with big eyes. Now he actually wanted to feed the old hound. "He's well-fed enough already, Oruf knows," said father. Rikard turned his eyes back to the table and endured. At least the food was good. They'd pulled out all of the stops for the Count's visit, even varnishing the wood floors and hiring a few of the tenants to play the role of full-time servants, temporarily. They'd even gotten Márta, the miller's wife, to help with the food.

"So, Rikard," inquired the count, "How do you feel, being student at Ersand'Enise?"

The youth blinked. What a stupid question. "I guess I'll tell you when I get there." He shrugged, managing to keep most of the mockery from his tone. For a moment, the table fell silent. A couple pairs of eyes slid towards Count István or Rikard, in anticipatory horror. Then, the fat man burst out in a laugh. "Hah!" he barked, "Hahaaa! Truly spoken." He skewered another chunk of pheasant with his fork. "Trust you me, lad. It's like no place else, and I was happy to help out with the transportation." He shook his head. "Our very own local prodigy." - Here it comes, thought the boy - "Though I'd expect nothing less from the line of the paradigm himself, Esziram rest him." And there it goes. István made the sign of the Pentad. Rikard managed to mimic the gesture. He'd have rather been practicing his most recent new spell down behind the old stables where he'd set up a testing range, or in the village proper with Oszkár, Pál, and Zsazsa. However, this was a small price to pay, he'd been reminding himself, for the brand new robes the count had paid for, and for the passage chartered on a rather nice galleon. He'd been to the city and met with the tailor, and they'd been of a mind on the design. He looked, for the first time, a real thaumaturge and had been trying to balance his desire to wear the coolest clothes ever with the necessity of not wearing them out and arriving to the academy in threadbare robes.

Rikard schooled himself to act the part of the young gentleman for the remainder of the luncheon, for he owed the count that much, in truth. The adults continued to talk for long afterwards, resting their hands on their big bellies and discussing matters of business and state. He would not have to worry about those, he was glad. He would be a Zeno. He'd already decided it. Magic would be his purpose and he wouldn't have to worry much about people. Before long, he, Lujza, and Vendel had been allowed to wander off. "Okay, but lightning's too fast to sense," the lone girl among them was insisting, "So I don't see how you could shape or guide it."

"Well yeah," Rikard admitted. People had told him this before. He understood the sense behind it even if it didn't match his experiences. He could guide it just fine. "You just need to set up charges first," he explained, covering for himself. "and then it's all planning and reflexes."

"Or you're just the chosen one," Vendel teased. "The saviour of his people!" Lujza giggled. "Hugo fuckin' Hunghorasz himself," Rikard concluded, knowing where this was headed.

"All hail!"

"Praise be!"

"Finally, he accepts his destiny."

"You guys can stop anytime now," Rikard groaned.

"As you command, Paradigm."

He shot out a tiny spark of electricity and zapped her for the comment. Lujza yelped and shot a playful glare his way. "Don't you fuckin' dare!" Vendel warned but, soon, he too was running. One last day, Rikard knew, with his brother and sister, with his friends. Then, tomorrow, as the morning dew still lay on the grass and Ipti gave way to Szun, a coach would pick him up and he'd be headed into Peskor. It'd be scarce more than a week and he'd be in Ersand'Enise.
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
New NPCs__________ ____ ___ __ _



In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ismette, Tyrelle, and Mirette

"Nononoooo" squealed a voice, and a pretty yasoi girl shook her head. "You want to roll your 'Rs' just a little bit. You sound like a cat purring."

Another girl, to whom she bore a strong resemblance, then made a point of purring. "If I were a cat," this one remarked, "I would be sleeping right now instead of practicing how to speak like a Constantian." Right foot and forearm wrapped around a vine, she swung idly back and forth, free foot pushing off at the bottom of every lazy arc.

"If you were a cat, Mirette, you'd be chasing your own tail," offered a third young woman, "and never catching it." She was virtually identical to the other two but for the presence of a short, rounded stump in place of a right leg. She sat astride a tree branch, her remaining foot dangling almost playfully.

Mirette hissed, and the first member of the group perked up. "See, and that's like the way the southerners do their 'Q' sounds," she remarked, seizing on the moment. "Now you try, Tyrelle!"

The one-legged girl looked her way dubiously and, with a roll of her eyes, let out a halfhearted hiss.

"Mediocre, cousin," chirped the first. "Fucking mediocre, even."

"Sue me."

"Remember, you are a cat," her teacher insisted. "Feel your inner pussy. Be the pussy."

Despite herself, Tyrelle cracked up. Mirette snorted, lost control, and nearly fell off of her vine. "Ismette," remarked the former.

"Yes, Tyrel'yrash?"

The one-legged girl rolled her eyes. "Are you serious? Like...actually? How do you keep a straight face?"

Ismette blinked. "Serious about what?" she inquired.

"She's going to keep us dangling," Mirette decided. "We're all just flies in her web."

"But... you are no longer dangling." Ismette remarked sadly.

"Shiin, you're good," Tyrelle admitted with a shiver, leaping down from the branch and landing in a crouch. "Anyway," she continued, rising and casting about for her crutches, "How about this?" She let out a hissing noise.

Ismette clapped excitedly. "Yes, cousin!" She stepped forward, retrieving the pair. "Much better. Now, you need to make it a bit rougher, more guttural."

Mirette was swinging again. She tried the sound, but it ended in a couple of coughs. "It appears I cannot be the pussy," she groaned. "It's all up to you, Hopping One."

"Just imagine you're from Qarii'muuna or something," Tyrelle replied, managing the sound reasonably well and then better within a word. "Just horking up a wad of nasty spit from the back of your throat."

Ismette handed her the crutches and received a little grunt of thanks. Mirette leapt off the vine at the highest point in her swing, landing acrobatically following an aerial somersault. The three cousins walked. "So, be honest with me, Issy," said Tyrelle, twisting on the spot and walking backwards. "You really think we can sound convincing?"

The middle of the three and apparent ringleader shrugged. "I do not know for sure, suunei, but I think it is possible with practice."

"But I just don't get whhhyyyy!" Mirette groaned. "Why are they so sensitive? Why can't we just be Tarlonese and help them?"

"They're the motherland," Tyrelle interjected. "They feel that they should lead but they know that they don't, anymore, and they can't." She turned back to face the proper way, snagging a crutch momentarily on some underbrush.

"It is as Tyrelle says, suunei." Ismette's customary smile faded and she shook her head. "These are damaged lands. The addiction has struck them truly, and many other maladies as well. They do not want outsiders intervening for the shame."

"But we're yasoi, too. Not yaniis!" Mirette protested. "It's... objectively dumb."

"People aren't always rational," Tryelle reminded her, as the three continued down the idyllic forest path. "I think they fear to let us down: to be laid low and forced to admit that they've failed. To... lose our regard," she concluded. "That can be a powerful motivator."

"Suunei," chirped Ismette, somewhere between cheerful and pensive.

"Hm?"

"You are a very eloquent speaker."

"As befits a living goddess," Mirette reminded her grandly. "Lady Vyshta - Fortuna herself - incarnate and walk - uh... hopping among us." She winked.

"Praise be!" Ismette squealed.

Tyrelle grimaced. "If I die before twenty-five, it'll be because of embarrassment."

"Do not worry, Tyrel'yrash," Ismette guaranteed. "I am a very skilled binder. I shall reanimate your stiffening corpse."

Tyrelle glanced her way and cringed. "Gods, that's macabre."

"Zombie Tyrelle!" giggled Mirette, doing her best imitation of a zombie walk. "Actually..." Halfway through, she switched to 'zombie' hopping and Ismette laughed. "No, you will make a magnificent goddess," the youngest of the three concluded. "And you're gonna live if I have to frickin' kill you!"

"Yes, worship me," replied Tyrelle, deadpan. "For I am the divine made flesh and definitely not just some girl with one leg and a bit too much mana."

"I have always admired your confidence, suunei!" cheered Ismette.

"Always," agreed Tyrelle, "for all nine months that you've known me."

"The best nine months of my life," Ismette assured her.

"Hey guys," interjected Mirette, "Did you know that, when you die, you poop yourself?"

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Student Magic Specializations
Start of Arc Four

❖ Ayla Arslan: 3 0 3 4 0 1 0 0 0 0 0
❖ Ashon'amar'loiyang: 0 0 2 4 2 0 0 0 0 0 0
❖ Maura Mercador: 3 0 0 3 3 1 0 0 0 0 0

NPC Specializations
❖ Oksana Levlytsar: 4 2 0 3 0 1 0 0 0 0 0


Arcane Binding Chemical Kinetic Magnetic Atomic Blood Temporal Dark Command Primordial

Small question, actually: is Oksana meant to be attending the school? If so, I can include her in groups and such. Also, not to be nitpicky, but is that Atomic point for Maura in error? She's taking colossal risks at her RAS level if she's doing that. No reputable practitioner would be willing to teach her.
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Ti, I think she's aware. The idea is to have Silas be a bit behind due to his lack of literacy and lower starting point, at least based on the discussions we've had.
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Roaring Success 𝅗𝅥 𝅘𝅥 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅯 𝅘𝅥𝅰

King Sancho and Queen Veronica of Torragon had nearly been killed during the masquerade ball of Nox Arcanum by a rogue wildblood. They had been by the Animal Farm, in their supposedly secret spot, but the beast - in truth, an unwitting student - had been teleported their way by the vengeful son of the slain Duke Frannemas. It was a near thing and, mere minutes earlier, thousands of magi had been stolen from that same duke's account as well as havoc wreaked at the ball by members of the Enchanter's Union.

It was all swept under the rug. The incident at the Animal Farm had been the result of an agitated froabas. Sancho's downed guards were not mentioned. All evidence was quickly discarded or destroyed. The damage was repaired. The thefts that had taken place earlier were quietly repaid by the massively lucrative school council.

Officially, Nox Arcanum was a roaring success... as always.

The grim times of Bloody Victendes were behind the school and the city of Ersand'Enise. The nations of the Central Alliance and the Sovereign Pact had reached a tenuous but seemingly more lasting peace, and the portal to Hogh-Munkhelad was soon expanded upon, linking the other four great Hegelan cities, Xochi, and Nashibansek to the City of the Bells. By the end of the calendar year, eight more major cities were in negotiations to join the burgeoning network. It seemed that Zenith Upta's gamble had paid off.

As Rezain deferred to Somnes, the weather grew colder and the drinks and food warmer to compensate. With it, the bubbling cauldron that was the Workman's Quarter and Mudville seemed to cool as well. The commons of the former returned to work, momentarily placated by some guidelines on accountability that the school had added to its conduct code. The 'rats' of the latter had found their cause surprisingly championed by at least a handful of moneyed interests and, as Caldores approached and students and citizens roved about the city, caroling and frolicking in that rarest of treats at such a warm latitude - snow - a date was set for a plebiscite.

They gathered, then: families. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some had much to celebrate and others, much less. Two weeks off of school before the final review period and exams felt like a blessing, though the church bells tolled every day and those students who had joined a semester late received no break whatsoever. Among them were a nun named Sister Łaska, a boy named Rikard, said to be a descendant of Hugo Hunghorasz and his spitting image, and young woman named Kaureerah: an eeaiko of very dubious extraction. In their various ways, they celebrated the ending of one year and the start of the next. It was now Dami-Zept 55, a year considered especially blessed from an astrological perspective.

Those engaged in their last-second studies could only hope it was true. Quills consumed copious amounts of ink, pencils scratched across the surface of papers, and the library was open around the clock. It rained for much of the winter and even snowed a second time. The students were well and truly rooted by now, in this: their new home. Various business ventures flourished and relationships of every sort bloomed. It was a great way to mask the wrongness of the world.

Then, after both a great passing of time and anxiety but, paradoxically, before they even knew it, the exam period was upon them. The near-sleepless nights, warm and cheap meals, and desperate sense of camaraderie that are so a part of youth accompanied that period of three weeks. Pubs and taverns were drained dry when it was all finished. Gifts were given to Master Zenos and groupmates and, gradually, the students' quarter of the city emptied. Generously, the school offered to open portals to a handful of major destinations, free of charge, and the arduous journeys home that had made Hundri returns so difficult for students in the past were no more.


Days Go By 𝅗𝅥 𝅘𝅥 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅯 𝅘𝅥𝅰

By the thirty-second of Tiptos, when five moons shone high in the sky, a soft rain fell on empty townhouses. There were no more than a hundred or so students remaining in the city. Faculty breathed a collective sigh of relief and took portals of their own to the places they wished to travel for... definitely research. The silent army of cleaners, contractors, and suppliers who kept the city running set to work, preparing it for the school year to come. For the few who remained, it was a chorus of hammers and saws every day, from dawn until dusk, weather permitting. They would have heard those great gangs of workers as they sat up on crossbeams and rooftops, singing as they built the city. Meanwhile, merchants and artisans ran their businesses seriously during this time, stocking up and preparing for the coming swell when the academy's doors opened once more.

Quietly, Greenleaves arrived and the small group of students and staff remaining organized an intimate little gathering in the Arboretum, where one might actually get to know those with whom they'd likely exchanged precious little to that date. Hundri gave way to Stresia and rare migrating birds and dragons like the Lunar Swan, Indigo Krait, and the Blue Whistle-Beak returned from in great honking and clattering flocks, blanketing the sky for minutes on end. Hunters stood out in the farm fields and the rushes by the river, dropping them from the sky, but the meagre efforts of humans and yasoi seemed to have no impact on their vast numbers.

The first of the students returned about two weeks later, trickling in through the port or the Godsroad, mostly, but a handful had booked private portals, and some had entered through the rapidly expanding port of Mudville, just to the south. There, they came upon the former slum in the midst of a transformation. The rough and filthy streets which had earned it its name were nearly all paved over with either stone or boardwalk. One of the Tan-Zenos - a tethered - had been adamant on making that a condition of admittance should the upcoming plebiscite pass. Trendy shops lined the waterfront and a branch of Sealy's Bank had even been persuaded to open there. There was Zenobucks location and, in the distance, where the great wreck had once stood, loomed the black smoke-belching stacks of a small but growing factory.

The portals began to open, for an hour each day, on Vardes the twenty-first. For the next three days, they disgorged youths from across the globe back onto the streets of Ersand'Enise. Gone were all but the very last of the great flocks of flying creatures, all settled now in their nests for the warmer months to come. So, too, had disappeared the construction crews and their merry, bawdy singing. There were only a few still about, working nearly around the clock to finish up some of the Academy's more ambitious projects. The merchants and artisans were ready, as they had been every year for the past half-millennium, to receive the influx. For one entire week, it was more or less a carnival atmosphere that prevailed. The taverns, inns, and guesthouses profited greatly. The student services staff were inundated.

On Vardes the twenty-sixth, bells tolled and flower petals fluttered. For the second time now - but the first for some - the students of the Academy of Thaumaturgy gathered in Balthazar Square to hear their Zenith speak. Flags flapped in a stiff breeze and the sun shone down upon the people of tomorrow, warmer than it had been when they'd left. Their Sophomore year at Ersand'Enise - DZ55 - had begun!



Happy posting!
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Dies Arcanum


The hours of Ipte were still giving way to Shune when Jocasta forced herself from the comfort of her bed. She compelled herself not to breathe deeply and not to think so much. She was healed of yesterday's injuries, most erased through temporal means. Nonetheless, she felt not her full self at this early hour. It was only Kinetic Magic that allowed her to silently go through her morning routines.

As quietly as she could, the young tethered rolled into the hallway, her weary muscles grateful for the lightness of this new wheelchair. Just above her head, on the second floor, slept Precious Yalen. They did not share a bed yet. Neither was ready for it, but she loved him.

Pausing at the base of the stairwell, she called gently upon the movement of things and rose over the bannister. She let herself down in front of his door and laid an unsteady hand upon it. He was an early riser and would be up soon, she knew. His habits and routines had shaped him that way. My knight in shining armour, she thought at the man beyond the door. Please wait for me. Please forgive me for all of the bad things that I am. Jocasta swallowed and breathed in and out. She had fought Augusto yesterday, at the behest of Father and Mother, when he had tried to use Zarina as a weapon. She had been used as a weapon too. The young woman's fists balled for a moment. She had been used all her life. How can I be so strong but always a tool of others? Is my entire existence to be one life-or-death struggle after another? Her eyes glossed over as she gazed at the door. Is it selfish of me to put you in that kind of danger? She forced her closed fists open. I know you made your choice. I know that you have free will and you chose me, but was I honest? Did you really know what you were signing up for?

She imagined him sleeping peacefully: willed him to be so but, in truth, Jocasta had noticed the changes in her beloved as of late: he wore the robes of a different order now. He was more assertive, and he trained often. She loved him for it all the more: on those warm nights when they went out for walks, on those mornings when they cooked breakfast together, and in those evenings where they would play cards and drink wine with friends. He wanted to protect those things for the both of them - to ensure the future - and it should've been less burden for her to bear. But what if you get hurt? cried something inside of her. It was so much easier being miserable. I didn't care what happened to anyone. I didn't spread myself thin to protect them. One more long breath. She began to gather energy. I need to trust you, Jocasta concluded as she rose. I love you. Less than a minute later, she was gone.


She spilled her guts out to Sancho that morning. He knew everything. Zarina was another one: another whom she cared about, and Jocasta could not let her take the fall. Had the Torragonese king turned hostile, she would've killed him. They both knew it. She'd have died as well, of course, but he had listened instead. Now, just be honest, she thought at Zaz. Be honest and we shall both escape this relatively unharmed.

Dies Arcanum was a holiday and there would soon be many about, but most were sleeping even into the hours of Oraff. She rolled along the flagstones under the late morning sun, reveling in that familiar rumble that traveled up her wheels and connected her to the ground, to something more solid so that the little skyborn wouldn't just float away from it all. She glanced up. The air was starting to smell of Rezain now in earnest: that changing of the leaves, though not all changed in such a warm place. There was a tiny incline and squirrels leapt and skittered through the trees. For a moment, Jocasta just drifted You're delirious, she scolded herself, visibly shaking her head, delirious with exhaustion. Yet, there was more to do.


The bottle of wine sat on the table. It was a present for her engagement and there was poison in it.

"I know you would not waver," said Mother, "but I would like to make things clear between us, going forward."

"If you are to remain a member of this fraternity," said Father, "and under its protection, it must come first."

"A priest," rumbled Grandfather. "I do not trust him."

Jocasta's eyes flashed his way. The poison was not literal. Then, she was preempted. "I do not share Argento's pessimism," Mother assured her, "nor Nero's absolutism, but a time may come when he is a liability or a danger. I pray it will not be so, but come it may."

"And I shall be forced to choose between Ipte and Dami," the youngest of the quartet concluded.

"It has not been easy, these past six years," reminded Father, "building up our strength so that we might finally bring about a better world, sacrificing what we have. I still remember the first time that I saw you." He smiled faintly and shook his head. "We've tried to protect you, Certosa, but you are a woman grown now. There can be no weakness. It is time for you to protect others within the fraternity."

"But not without?"

Mother shook her head. "Where possible, without," she allowed, "but we are the spearhead. The members of this family come first."

"I will not mince words like these others," said Grandfather, "We have grave doubts about your committment. You refuse work. You arrive late and less frequently to gatherings. You have made over three thousand magi using your Temporal Gift to ferry merchants about." His eyes narrowed. "I have always thought you smart, capable, and decent, but I worry that you have been corrupted. If you are forced to choose," he concluded, "We need your assurance that you will choose us and not some outside interest."

Volto Dorato and Volto Nero turned to face Volto Certosa as well, expectantly. She knit her hands together nervously in her lap, holding the one within the other. "I will, of course, choose those who have abided faithfully by me for so long," she assured them, but their tripartite gaze did not waver. Quietly, she crossed her hidden fingers and held them fast. "I will choose the Dieci Volti Nascosti," she affirmed, "in all things," though her heart was pounding and they could surely sense it. I am a tool! she screamed at them in her mind, A tool in all things! A tool again! Yet, Jocasta knew that this was wrong. How Father had picked her up off of the ground: a small, fragile girl with legs that did not work. How he had held her close and comforted her. How mother had fed her and spoken with her, laughed, dreamed, and danced. How Grandfather had trained her, relentlessly but not without fondness. How those secret smiles had peered out from beneath his bristly mustache. They were to build a better world together by tearing down some of the old, painful though it would be. Even Benedetto was to be a part of it. But you said it yourselves, she thought rebelliously, unthreading her fingers as they now welcomed her back into the fold. I am a woman grown. I shall hold the wheel of my own life.


The bottle of wine lay in her lap and Jocasta's day was not yet finished. She waited, now, in an anteroom outside of a well-appointed office on the second floor of Balthazar Hall. It struck her as an oversight, as did so many things about the way the world was designed. She thought of Maura, how it was so much the structure of things that disabled one. Much may be a coping mechanism, she decided, but you are right in this instance. How are you, Isabelle, or Luisa to come up here without assistance from others?

Then, the door opened and a secretary strode through. "The Zenith will see you now," he announced, ushering her forward. Jocasta released the little tabs that acted as brakes on her wheelchair, took a moment to brush some hair from her eyes, and followed. Chemical magic and nerves were the only forces currently keeping her alert. What that life was all just one big perfectly-formed downhill and I could drift home without lifting a finger. Alas, it was not so, and she composed herself most assiduously for the approaching audience.

Claresse Upta, Zenith of Ersand'Enise, was at her desk, dipping her quill in ink and scribbling notes on a page until Jocasta came to a stop just to the side of the two chairs that sat before her. The Zenith looked up, waved a hand, and one of the chairs disappeared. Jocasta quietly maneuvered into its place. "Your Grace," she greeted the eminent thaumaturge, bowing shallowly at the waist.

"Biro Re," came the reply. There was a smile, but it was a professional one. "I don't suppose you have any idea why you're here, do you?"

The tethered shook her head. "I do not, your grace."

Claresse Upta glanced down at some of the many papers on her desk once more, momentarily, and then back up. "Your test scores," she began, "they are exemplary: some of the best in the recent history of this school." Jocasta's heart began to beat a little bit faster. She well knew Macian's rule: Placate first before delivering the blow. The blow was coming. "Thank you, Zenith."

The Joruban looked up. "I was told you had spirit," she grumbled, "spunk." She tilted her head to the side. "Well, you must be terribly bored with your classes if they're so easy. Don't be meek with me. I'll not believe it." She posted her elbows on her desk and knitted her fingers together.

An inner voice warned Jocasta to be careful. She hesitated.

"Come now," prodded Upta, "I know what you are. There's no value in denying it: a twenty-year-old posing as a teen and a lesser member of the Dieci Volti. Don't worry. Not even they can pry into this room." she boasted. Are you really so certain? the younger woman wondered. As if in response, the Zenith smirked. Could she... read minds? "Oh, you've also made quite the profit with your freelance portals, haven't you?" Two-thousand-nine-hundred magi or so, is it?"

"I..." Instinctively, Jocasta's hands began reaching for her wheels. Her pulse quickened and she took stock of the office's energies. Zenith Upta merely arched a brow. "Come now," she almost... taunted, "Had I sought to harm someone as dangerous as yourself, you'd have never seen it coming."

The tethered was filled, then, with the sensation of being a small thing in the presence of some very great dragon. Am I not stronger than you, old woman? She tried not to think it, but she did. "I... do not wish to be dangerous, ma'am," she finally managed, and then she figuratively threw herself at Upta's feet and it all came pouring out. "For as long as I can remember, and that is to perhaps my ninth year, I have been treated as a threat or a tool. If I have strayed in some way, I swear it was only so that I might have something of my own, so that I might not be dependent, so that I might use what scant time I have to..." She shrugged and trailed off. "build something, I guess. I meant no transgression and I will stop and find some other way if you wish it." Everything was at the school. She could not lose it. She would have nobody but the Volti again, and she did not want to return to that.

The Zenith furrowed her brow and adjusted her glasses. She returned to writing and Jocasta's anger flared for a moment. The old woman hadn't even cared. Her cheeks reddened with shame for having said so much. Then: "A good fifty years ago," she admitted, "I was not so different from you as you might believe." She knitted her fingers together and looked up, meeting the younger woman's eyes. "And I am not so unsympathetic as you might imagine. I have not, in fact, brought you here solely for a reprimand." There was a faint smile and it may have even been genuine. "You are a prodigy, Jocasta Re, of a like not seen since the recently departed Paradigm himself first graced these halls, Eshiran bless him."

Claresse Upta rose, walked over to her bookshelf, and Jocasta was uncertain on whether she was supposed to follow. She plucked a tome from it and returned. "I do not think it prudent for you to remain a student at this academy," she declared, and Jocasta's chest threatened to implode on her. It is merely wordplay! she told herself. It must be!

"I would like you to do three things for me," the Zenith decided, regarding her evenly, and Jocasta felt most sternly if not unsympathetically evaluated. "I shall do them if I am able," she replied.

Claresse Upta nodded. "I am almost entirely certain that you are," she remarked. "The first is that your illegal teleportation racket will cease. You may keep your ill-begotten profits, but you will accept no more private contracts in this field and you will speak to nobody of your activities. Are we clear?"

"Very, your grace."

"Very good, Biro Re. Secondly, you will continue to spy for the Dieci Volti, but you will report everything that you tell them to me first. I am not unsympathetic to all aspects of their cause. Dami knows how grossly some misuse their sacred Gifts and how poorly the harm that they cause reflects on us. However, the Volti are extremists and I refuse to believe that a smart young woman such as yourself hasn't had at least some misgivings. Am I wrong?" she prodded.

Jocasta shook her head. "You are not, Lady Zenith."

"No," Upta agreed. "I rarely am. She clasped her hands at the small of her back and something about the entire exchange made Jocasta smile a little bit, despite herself. "The school will have your back, Jocasta, I promise this: in all reasonable matters. You are one of us and you belong here. I know, perhaps, you have heard words along those those lines before, and they were exercised in bad faith." She shook her head and rose, making her way over to the seat beside Jocasta. "They are not, here. You have both my word as Zenith and as a girl who was once very much like you." She sat, still holding a small book. Presently, she handed it to the tethered. "This is the third matter. When I said I did not want you to be a student any longer, it was because I think you could be more. I am well aware of the timeline you find yourself on as a tethered. This is the Exceptional Advancement Test: Second Level. If you pass it, you will be made a Tan-Zeno: the second-youngest in this institution's history. You will have official duties: the teaching of a temporal class among them. You will take on apprentices and you will offer bespoke portal services under the academy's watchful eye."

It was so much! All at once! It was a hand of Reshta! A way up and out of her life's bottomless pit! Yet... wouldn't I just be a tool once more? A tool of this school? She swallowed and looked down at the book, opening it and thumbing numbly through its pages. "If I pass..." She trailed off.

"I believe that you will," the Zenith pronounced, rising once more. Jocasta had to look up to meet her eyes. "though your magnetic is weak." She scowled. "Your arcane could use some polishing as well, and your atomic."

Jocasta knew that her heart was going like hummingbird's wings. She closed the book and backed up a couple of pushes. "And I will have my own place to live? Might I house others there?"

Zenith Upta snorted and arched a brow. "Most people ask about when the test is to be administered first, but yes, you shall and yes, you may."

"Yes ma'am, sorry, ma'am! When is the test?"

Upta smiled. "You shall take it following the conclusion of this semester. You're in Magnetic and Arcane classes, are you not?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." The Zenith nodded. "You could use the practice." She pivoted on her heel. "We shall administer it the first week of the intracollegiate break, once your examination period has ended. You had best study up." She retrieved three books from the shelf. "Take these. They will help." She began walking towards Jocasta and the younger woman met her partway. "That wine on your lap, are you planning to drink it?"

The question took the tethered aback. After a moment of startled expression, she shook her head. "I am not really a fan of whites," she admitted, offering it to the head of the academy. "Then this shall be my bribe," Claresse Upta chuckled. They exchanged bottle for books and then they were finished. "Thank you, Zenith Upta," Jocasta mewed. Her head was still spinning, but in a good way. There was a danger, to be sure, but she had been thrown a lifeline. She could do this. She was a woman grown. "It was my privilege, Jocasta, to start such a promising young person on her way." The tethered's blush was fierce as she twisted on the spot, already starting to wheel away. "I-I won't let you down, Zenith. I promise."

All the way home, and into the evening and the night, it was as Jocasta had dreamed that morning: life is all just one big perfectly-formed downhill and how lovely it is to drift without lifting a finger.

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