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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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Recent Statuses

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 → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
𝅗𝅥 𝅘𝅥 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅯 𝅘𝅥𝅰

The morning dawned warm, muggy, and overcast, after a harrowing night. While many of the students, both local and visiting, took the opportunity to revel in their youth and wealth and excitement, filling the taverns and bawdy houses of Ersand'Enise to the brim, they were strongly discouraged from venturing outside of the city's famous white walls.

There Be Monsters.

...and it was not safe, even if they, themselves, were a species of monster. Every day, now, ever more ragged refugees streamed in from the broken yasoi lands as the Grey Fleet of Tarlon continued its relentless offensive. Some were simply people fleeing violence that they had not asked for. Others were ardent and embittered nationalists in exile, refusing to bend the knee to a foreign - if eerily familiar - overlord. The majority, however, were addicts, and that made them dangerous in the eyes of the people who ran the great city as well as those of more common breeding who made up the bulk of its inhabitants.

Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.

Still, brave, stupid, or just unlucky, the youths wandered into trouble, warnings or not. There were multiple reports of altercations after dark, three kidnappings, warnings about active sanguinaires, and at least a hundred calls for binding services that night. There was one poor yasoi girl who needed her abdomen sealed and three miraculously intact severed fingertips reattached. She seemed eager to hide from a cousin who came looking for her and a tall Virangish girl who demanded to know her whereabouts. By the time that Shune was halfway through in the morning, however, two out of the three missing persons had been recovered.

The exception was Xiuyang Solari.

There was no note or demand. There was no obvious evidence of motive, but there was violence. The school made promises and then got on with things, assigning the Tan-Zeno Jocasta Re - a skyborn, tethered, and near-unparalleled prodigy - as a temporary replacement. She had much to tell her team, however: truths that the school preferred to keep under wraps, but truths that they could not realistically stop her from speaking. She gathered with her temporary teammates and thousands of others in Blathazar Square, and there, for them, were outlined the rules of The Trials' next game: the venerable Thin Air. Of course, there were other games being played. One was Thieving Cherune which, after a slow start, had recently kicked into high gear, with numerous thefts and deals during that night of skulduggery. There were yet greater ones, however, in the halls of power, in the back alleys of Mudville, and in the saunas and private rooms of Bath House. These were games that had the power to determine the fates of tens of thousands, perhaps of entire nations. These were games that the students, by and large, who were giddily preparing for their next event, were unaware of and had never asked to join. They were soon to be swept up anyhow, but perhaps... not quite yet.
Thin Air: Posting Rules

1. Similar to our last event, this one will be decided by means of strategies submitted to me, by DM, on the forum.
2. An important difference is that these will not be individual strategies, as in The Dragon.
3. Instead, each team (which includes your allied guest team) will be submitting a single strategy of up to 400 words.
4. Strategies will be due by Friday, December 22, at 3:00 PM EST. There will be no extensions given.
5. Event rules, info, and resources may be found below.

In The Hourglass Order → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

The tropical atolls of Kiluaho did not sleep that night, for great had been the noise coming from the lagoons, islets, and beaches. The torpedo threshers who had long made the sandy isles their home during these early dorrad months found their nests under siege by swarms of dog-sized invaders. The Rosy Threshers had first appeared some seven or eight years ago, their eggs transported in the bilge of visiting ships from Palapar and Virang. Since then, they had become a menace, consuming much of the floatmelon and sea peach vines that the Torpedos’ usual prey ate and then feeding on the larger threshers’ eggs when they were left unguarded. Now, their numbers had grown to the point where they openly swarmed, and the sounds of relentless combat rose over the crash of the waves and whisper of the wind.

Soon, as well, multitudes of humans and eeaiko began to arrive, as the faintest glow of the slumbering sun started to chase the stars away. In catamarans and various assorted watercraft, they came to rest in the lagoon or make landfall along the many sandy beaches of Moatu Suva. Some had brought snacks with them. Others had brought torches and lanterns. There were those whose job it was to scare off the many threshers that feasted in the waters of the atoll at this time of year for, as Ipte gave way to Shune, a brilliant swirling light appeared in the central square of Taoranga Town and began to disgorge a motley array of mostly foreign youths. The people of Kiluaho were polite people, of course, and known for their enthusiasm, so they cheered the newcomers as one would expect. The loudest of these, however, were reserved for young Kamehameha Mahelona, crown prince of Kiluaho.

Then, it was a waiting game. As the sun rose in earnest, the islanders passed out coconuts and crab stews and serenaded the two-hundred-fifty-six students and dozen faculty who stood upon their shores. Yet, this was not so much a game as a handful of other events were. The annual migration of the torpedoes was the lifeblood of many of these people, and it was threatened by an invasive species that had arrived with Constantian and Severan ships. The song was an ode to the spirit of helping one another, something that both reflected the collegial nature of these games and repudiated its ruthlessly competitive side.

Raffaella and the preposterously named Giggling Calamari were through first for Raffscallions, and then a silence as they made their plans and started moving. A yasoi princess and a rezaindian nun came next, followed rapidly by a heavily bandaged yasoi and a Nashi girl in all black. Then, came Teatro Sorridente, the villains of this peace. The Kressian girl began screaming and slamming things right away while her greyborn partner faded out of reality. That effectively negated all other strategies dependent upon stealth, forcing boos and grimaces from the locals and frightening hundreds of rosy threshers into greyspace. Still, she carried on with her harassment, dozens more of the large crustaceans skittering deep into burrows or vanishing into nothingness. If Raffaella cried, they had little time for it. They were busier being angry!

Then came the prince’s partner from the previous leg, princess Erita Teriimani of Mohiti, supported by none other than the Sun King himself in a royal rendezvous! The crowd roared and cheered and rose to their feet. His team was well behind, staggering through in thirty-third, but he wasted zero time in dropping a sonic dampening bubble from afar over the noisy Kressian.

If it drew massive cheers, it was too little, too late. At nearly the same moment, Edyta Laska, of Singers & Saints, came hurtling across the beach. Second later, Sister Dominica, Taleja’s partner, materialized from greyspace, coming from the opposite direction. The two rezaindians put everything that they had into sheer footspeed, but there was no making up Laska’s lead and she crossed the threshold first, dumping a sack of five unconscious threshers at the feet of the judges. Dominica was through seconds later, and Taleja mercifully stopped. Then came Guy, of Fiske n’ Chips, with his own thresher in tow, having made up loads of ground. Raffscallions crossed next, followed by a whole slew of teams. The crowd roared as the locals finished, and then, finally and rather pathetically, King’s Ear, the one-time leaders. Yuliya had tried the same thing as Guy, but had her thresher poached along the way by another team and spent most of the time looking for it. In the end, she and her partner were the second-last of the twenty-six to finish.

There, on the beach, as morning shadows shortened and applause echoed across a tropical lagoon, the Sun King removed his mask emphatically to reveal himself as the famed performer Leon Solaire. There, on the beach, as the waves rolled in and the invasive threshers were drugged and loaded onto a waiting carrack, a podium was raised and platinum, gold, silver, bronze, and iron were crowned. Of course, that didn’t mean that the party was over. A feast was laid out in the square of Taoranga for all to eat. Children scampered and darted about, some of them making random ‘Taleja noises’ to scare parents and elders, some playing with Raffi, others pretending to be threshers or zenos or the Sun King, for here, in a place like this, he was more famous than Leon Solaire. Also here, in a place like this, for a brief moment in time, regardless of whatever else was going on in the world, everything felt right.
Results & Standings




In The Hourglass Order → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Seabirds circled and wheeled overhead, bleating and squawking under the relentless afternoon sun. Waves beat at a grand if somewhat weathered pier, and Zeno Giancarlo Silvestri and Tan-Zeno Jocasta Re waited, the former poring over a sheet of paper and murmuring instructions, the latter reaching out with her extended senses and providing updates and the occasional bit of local translation. And locals were everywhere: lining the walls of the great Castel Sant Angelo, bobbing up and down in brightly coloured fishing craft in the Grand Harbour, clustered along neighbouring piers, and sitting among the rigging of more than one docked galleon. Most were human. Some were eeaiko. A handful were yasoi or hegelan.

There was, of course, a veritable army of leathery, sun-browned men who hung about in the shallows, tending to and placating some three hundred threshers of various species, shapes, and sizes. Sometimes the animals needed to be fed, so they fed them. Sometimes, they needed food. They were fed. Sometimes, they strained at their tethers. These were loosened or tightened as needed. Two and only two were great Bluewater Behemoths, tended to by master beast whisperers with years of experience. Two were immense Sandbar Threshers, sunning themselves lazily in the shadows, coaxed into activity when needed by eminently skilled and experienced handlers. The rest were a motley assortment of monarchs, Drudgunzean golds, crackclaws, volcanics, and a handful of diamondscales. Most common were the Perrench and Grande Perrench threshers, however: the most docile, generally speaking, and best for greenhorns to ride.

These made up the vast bulk of the students who had gathered, and they were already being acquainted with their soon-to-be mounts. The lineup to try the Sandbars and the Behemoths was exceptionally long, but most were turned away with but a look. Jocasta was in the middle of physically yanking a protesting student away from a Sandbar when the first of the previous leg’s racers barreled through a newly-opened portal. Within a minute, it had disgorged dozens more. Almost immediately, those preparing to leave did so, and the magnificent array of sea animals bearing their precious mostly-human cargo disappeared under the waves and out of her sight and Zeno Silvestri’s range.

Two minutes later, disaster struck.

Abdel Varga, a tethered boy of sixteen who had no business interfering with such forces, decided to cast his most powerful magnetic disruption across his entire extended range. The result was confusion, convulsions, and rage. Animals threw their riders and these needed to be rescued. The very moment that he arrived, the Sun King found himself busy. Jocasta ran herself ragged figuratively speaking, in her quest to pluck them from the water or revive them on time. Some of the large beasts rampaged aggressively. Other local animals, not even part of the race, took flight or savagely attacked the contestants. Their antics caused a massive underwater mudslide that damaged some of the sunken city of Cervan before Tan-Zeno Re and three other hired tethered put a stop to it. At the very least, it buried the artifacts inches to yards deep in the mud, making them much more difficult to locate.

The thing was… that wasn’t even the worst part. Enraged beyond the control of its rider - the normally perfectly capable beast whisperer Zarina Al-Nader - the sole Bluewater Behemoth under control of a student unleashed its rage and confusion on multiple other riders. This caused a chain reaction, and soon a Grand Perrench thresher was tearing curtain whales apart and the terrifying but normally docile Sandbar thresher under another student’s control also decided to go on a rampage. In short, it was a complete fiasco, responsible for a great deal more harm than good to the sunken city. Yet, there was no single obvious, responsible party, and Jocasta and her fellow tethered kept Abdel protected within their cone of silence.

So it was that, even as longtime frontrunners Raffscallions, Singers & Saints, Vyshta’s More Favoured, and Teatro Sorridente broke the surface, clambered onto the pier, and presented their finds to the school’s Head of Archaeology, dozens of teams found themselves eliminated, their dreams of completing the legendary race dashed by those more powerful than themselves. A handful of other elite and near-elite teams, like Fiske n’ Chips, Fait Accompli, Beware the Nice Ones, Rock and Stone, King’s Ear, and The Invisibles, survived and made it through. In the end, however, they were ten of only thirty-four teams remaining in the race.
Results & Standings


In The Hourglass Order → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
They arrived in the middle of an environment so alien that most of them spent their preparation time gawking at its wonders and exploring within the bounds of their sensing range. This was the famed Kabute Forest of Suvaru, in southern Palapar: a land of mist and mushrooms and mysteries within a great, all-encroaching fog. It was night, and the stars, well up above, lay hidden behind a thick dark shroud of heavy clouds. The constant misty rain that fell here coated everything in a thin, sticky layer of pollen-filled water and the air took on a strange, ethereal quality. There were creatures that moved about in this wild place, to be certain, but they did not want to be found, and so they were not: the few people, mostly eeaiko and humans, bundled about collecting strange bioluminescent plants, slugs, and fungi, or cutting barklike strips off of mushrooms that must’ve risen twenty or more feet into the air.

Two-hundred fifty-six students gathered here, in the damp and the darkness. A few knew this land. Most did not. More than once, a supervising faculty member had to track down an errant student and, even before they were put on alert, before notice was given that another portal might appear and their teammates come bursting through, four teams were eliminated for wandering too far, becoming ill, or tangling with the local flora and fauna. Such was the nature of this place: wondrous, eerie, and alien, but dangerous, most of all.

Then, it mattered naught. The portal opened and Tommy, Ashon, Rikard, Tyrel, and, within less than a minute, dozens of others came pouring through. Their teammates, having already improvised or at least thought of solutions to the miasma that confronted them, took off, but now it became clear that there was another party involved. The Sun King, in all of his golden Glory, had burst through as well and, while he helped his teammates, they did not seem to be his primary concern. The maze claimed dozens within minutes, hallucinating, staggering about, collapsing, being ambushed by dangerous wildlife. There was a reason that thirty experienced thaumaturges had been assigned to this leg, as well as a number of local guides handsomely paid. He was right there with them, using all of his considerable abilities to extricate them from dangerous or compromising situations.

Yet, those toward the front of the pack need not have worried so very much. They had all found their solutions, one way or another, to survival in this place. Many found shortcuts or help from the forest. Some retrieved hidden ‘treasures’. If there was a degree of combat and sabotage, it was not especially much, though a few teams were penalized for damage to the unique environment. In the end, enriched with a new experience, some items found along the way, and nearly a dozen baby ground octopi, the leaders made it through, with only Beware the Nice Ones, boosted by local Mahal, having made any significant ground up. Otherwise, the leaders remained the leaders, the Sun King continued to pull people from peril, and the once-promising King’s Ear trudged through this leg utterly unbothered but painfully slow compared to the true speedsters up ahead.

In all, of the one-hundred-seventy-three teams who had begun this leg, only ninety-four actually finished it. Those who did, found themselves emerging into the bright early afternoon sun of a large and crowded pier outside the walls of Torrigriz, capital city of the island nation of Djamant.
Results & Standings


In The Hourglass Order → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

There is, in every world that exists and every world that might, perhaps, at least one place of great curiosity. In truth, Sagand (known to many as Sipenta), was a world filled with such wonders but, even among these, some stood out above others. One such place was the Pinnacle. The tallest of a series of great needle-like rock spires that soared into the tropical sun along the border of Paggon, Tanso, and Yarsoc, it was a microstate in the true sense, or perhaps a city state, in truth. Its inhabitants were virtually all endosymbionts: bearers of a rare mana type that allowed them to photosynthesize like plants while giving their skin a strange, greenish hue.

Hundreds of these odd people, in forms of yasoi, humans, eeaiko, and hegelans that no longer mattered, had gathered in a large flat clearing atop the great pinnacle that they had built their homes into. There, they spread their arms and raised their faces to the sun. They moved about occasionally, of course, but those who had nothing else to do simply watched. Up above their heads, but not so very high above, came the cloud colossi. Enormous airborne relatives of the threshers that populated the sea, their life cycles remained a mystery to most other races, save the mythical cherune. All that was known was that, once they took off for the first time, they never landed again, not until they were dead. Their legs devolved, their carapace-like wings (in truth, specialized secondary claws) widened in span and stiffened, and the arms of their main claws became long and spindly and eminently flexible, dangling below them to snag trees, beasts, and mountaintops. The first of the enormous creatures burst through the clouds and, with it, came a rain of multicoloured translucent eggs. These began plummeting towards the ground below, a few showering the mountaintop, others bouncing and bounding between other lesser spires, and still more falling into the abyss. None of them, however, shattered. Many, however, were collected.

But that was not the only show that the Pinnaclites had gathered for. Some stayed atop the summit. Others went home and returned in the earliest hours of the morning. All night, the Cloud Colossi continued their annual migration overhead. Then, shortly after the sun broke the horizon, as first light as reaching the inhabitants of this strange outpost, a portal appeared atop that flat expanse on its summit. From it emerged hundreds of youths. With a nervous sort of anticipation, they gathered and milled about, Zenos of that great distant academy at Ersand’Enise weaving between them, curious locals exchanging comment or simple goods and services. Most, however, stared at the spectacle up above. Some used their magic to practice deflecting or catching the bouncy ball-shaped eggs. Then, as the nascent morning made its way to genuine brightness, they were ushered to the edge, standing behind a cordon, prepared for…

There it was!

A second portal swirled open and, through it, they could faintly make out the environs of distant Civitalunga, in Revidia. “Sorridente, Raffscallions, Singers!” shouted one of the zenos, and racers from those three teams, along with their visiting allies, took deep breaths and leapt from the edge and into the green abyss below. “King’s Ear! Vyshta’s!” They, two, dived. “Nice Ones, Fiske n’ Chips!” came the call and they, too, were off. “Invisibles, Rock, Accompli!” They continued to call out names, and there were dozens more to follow, but those at the leading edge surely had an advantage, as another three of those great flying beasts appeared through the clouds overhead, sublime in their size and majesty, and began raining eggs.

While some pairs stuck together, others took on distinct roles and, for the most part, this seemed the better tactic. Still others - though they were few - made use of precision teleporting or tethered range. A couple were saddled with a deadweight teammate, and a couple even had makeshift gliding suits or parachutes. It was an eclectic bunch, to be sure. To add to the chaos, Harlequin Kites peeled off of the pinnacle and other nearby spires. How they darted and zipped about, snatching eggs out of the air! In a few instances, they harried the students, who were already beleaguered in their attempts to snag eggs of various colours, dodge each other’s attempts at sabotage, navigate without losing control, and sink the eggs in the right baskets, distant or else rocking back and forth under a balloon!

It was Tommy’s and Silver Ape’s clever effort for Raffscallions that took the checkered flag here but, in truth, it was a logjam at the top, at Teatro Sorridente, Vyshta’s More Favoured, Singers & Saints, and Beware the Nice Ones came in one after the other. Fait Accompli made up enormous ground with the help of two temporal mages, coming in ahead of Fiske n’ Chips, Rock & Stone, and The Invisibles. It was highly-placed King’s Ear who truly dropped the ball, however, with El Alacran, nominally their strongest member, who had to carry their allied teammate, an eeaiko utterly unfamiliar with flight. The overall points leaders plummeted, and not in the literal sense.

There were one-hundred-seventy-three finishers out of the two-hundred-thirty who’d come through the portal. Some had needed rescuing from a would-be fatal fall. Others had missed their eggs and given up. Still others had simply lost their nerve and refused to jump. Ultimately, the entire race took no more than forty minutes, in fact, from the first teams entering until the last ones leaving. Most teams, individually, took no more than five minutes. Who’d have thought that falling was quick?
Results & Standings


In The Hourglass Order → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
It was a Taldes morning in Civitalunga. All of the fishermen had returned with their catches and most of the transient shipping that often occupied the outer port of Revidia’s grandest city had set sail. If there was a tension that hung over the place, perhaps courtesy of the looming war, one could not sense it. People, young and old, milled about the city’s markets and plazas, filtering into the streets as the sun rose higher, going about their business, whatever it may have been, and bustling to and fro. There were a handful of things about this morning that seemed unusual, however. First came the strange lines, painted temporarily on the city’s flagstones like arteries in red and gold. Then, there was the crowd. It started at first light and, as Shune ticked her way towards Oraff, a good deal more had gathered round a cordoned-off area in the Piazza San Giuda, not so very far from the Glorious Republic’s centre of power. Under a series of temporary awnings and gazebos, as well, were over two hundred older women, mostly of good breeding, chatting and gossiping in hushed anticipation behind a series of tables.

Then, the air sparkled and swirled and the crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’. They arrived: the students of that famed academy not so very far away. Two-hundred-fifty-six youths, to be precise, funneled through the portal that had appeared, and the crowd rose in applause and cheers. Two Zenos of the academy followed them, and a half-dozen Tan-Zenos, all giving instructions, a couple meeting with local officials. One raising a starting pistol above her head. They asked for quiet and, where necessary, made it so using magic. Anxious young eyes scanned the plaza and what they could make out of the dozen streets that branched off of it. The Campanile del Millennio lay there in the late morning sunlight, its vast shadow stretching across much of the plaza, and then its bells struck upon the hour and the starting pistol sounded and they were off!

Pizza doughs were scooped up by the dozens as they flew by, floating through the air, smashing into each other, bobbing about before landing in the hands of the eager teens. While many rushed for the closest ingredient booths, others, more confident in their physical prowess, raced towards the edges of the city, where they could obtain the same things for cheaper. Others, still, disregarded the lines painted on the streets and ventured off of the beaten path. These - the innovators, the risk-takers, the bargainers - haggled with local merchants, snuck, stole, and searched for deals and rare ingredients. Some met with great success and others risked, perhaps, a bit too much.

It was Fiske Flachstrauch and John Force of teams Fiske n’ Chips and AWOLE who came running up to their assigned taste-tester first. It took them a moment to locate her among two-hundred-fifty-six older women. They were but the harbingers of a first great wave. The colourful Sun King burst through for Singers & Saints, along with Brother Alexander and Maura Mercador of team Teatro Sorridente, Miret’lahiin’dichora and Perfumed Raider of Raffscallions, and Roslyn Wicke and Kimura Mio of The Invisibles. Two of the teams made the mistake of trying pineapples on pizza, and it cost them valuable time. While Fiske pulled a sensory hoodwink most foul out of his bag of tricks, Roslyn and Mio were forced to take more conventional means, getting the famous performer to write a dedication to the old lady’s granddaughter. No such issues for the Teatro, Raffscallions, and Singers pairs, who raced through the portal in rapid succession, claiming first, second, and third spots. Marceline Hohenfelter and her eeaiko partner from overall points leaders King’s Ear came out of nowhere to slip through in fourth.
.
After that it was a scramble, with nonnas tasting and haggling, students scrambling, crowds cheering and jeering, and a small team of academy faculty standing diligently by the portal, recording the order of every single person who passed through. In the event, fifth went to Vyshta’s More Favoured, sixth to Beware the Nice Ones, seventh to Fiske n’ Chips, eighth to the Invisibles, ninth to Rock & Stone, and tenth, shockingly, to Fait Accompli. Ciro Volta, scion of a great wealthy merchant clan, had lingered far too long in the grand piazza, shaking hands, catching up with people, and conducting business. As people began to stream through in earnest, he quickly finished up his business and still managed to finish within the top twenty or so.

The bells tolled again and, all told, it had lasted barely an hour. The final few stragglers filtered through the city’s streets, huffing and puffing. This leg, twenty-six had failed. Two-hundred-thirty remained and, for them, awaited a brave - particularly so - new challenge at The Pinnacle.
Results & Standings


In The Hourglass Order → 11 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

P U R E M O R N I N G

It was both the blessing and curse of Zenobucks to be open just as Ipte gave way to Shune. It was still and dark, the sun just a glow on the horizon, the great hordes of commonfolk just rolling out of bed, the brilliant blanket of stars starting to fade from the brightening sky.

There was a serenity to it - a peace - and Ersand'Enise, that great burgeoning metropolis that always seemed to be welling with people, magic, danger, and opportunity, felt oddly intimate at this hour.

As a tethered, Marceline had been taught from the moment she first opened her eyes in the Refuge at St. Agustin, some girl with strange dreams, no memories, and no name, to block out the noise, lest it overwhelm her. In the silence of the desert, she'd practiced: a small unnamed person atop the sandstone parapets, watching their long, sombre shadows skew and shorten as the vast golden sun peered over the horizon.

And every morning, she would return, as Amanda Escarra, her mother, observed and guided her from below, shaping the unnamed girl into a Marceline who might someday thrive outside of those walls. She learned the hum of the insects and the heat of the sun, the way the stones gathered it in and bled it out. She felt the people sleeping in their beds: the tiny pulses within their minds and bodies, the changing chemicals as they began to stir. Then came the voices, and how they devastated her at first. She shut them out and wished she couldn't feel them for, even here, deep in el mar de dunas, there were too many. So much movement, so much sound and heat and energy!

Over half of tethered failed to ever acclimate. They shut their sixth sense out, denying the half of their curse that was Gift. Gradually, in bits, Marci had opened herself. As mother's health had waned and she had moved from two to zero, the girl had strained to give her this present: the knowledge that it had all been worth it, that her daughter would succeed, that she might make something of her short life.

And then she had stood alone - truly alone - atop those walls, though sometimes she might sense Abuelo in the distance. Still, she opened herself, ever more. Still, she encountered the wonders of the world: how those small hills she had never questioned were a pack of halassa hibernating in the sand, the great reverberating rumble of the heavens as vast anvil-shaped clouds flowed like rivers overhead and then opened up to bring the desert to life. Then came the long grasses, the bees, and the lizards for those next few months, the enormous ancient shape of a distant sand wyrm in its endless trek across the wastes, far out there at the very hazy edge of her range.

How blessed she had felt to live in this world and to be able to sense the things that she did, but time began to steal the girl's happiness. By Marci's third year, as the Afortunado came to select her, her feet were alien things and her ankles could give her no more. Every morning began with strapping on a pair of braces and the climb up the stairs had become an arduous one. Her mother had well and truly cloistered and, for the first time, her imminent death had become a real thing, and a source of endless anxiety. The wagons that would come and go twice each month grew into objects of intense interest. She well understood that the sensory bombardment of the real world could be too much for some tethered, but mother had managed it in her younger years, when she had gone out on assignments.

Then, they had assigned her a wheelchair and bade her to practice and it had all come to feel so small and hopeless and limiting. By the age of thirteen, a deep anxiety had set in about her future, maybe even a malaise. It was only the arrival of six students of Ersand'Enise that had saved her, in every way possible.

Now, Marceline's footsteps, swift and sure, clattered over the flagstones of the city's streets. Her senses swept for the usual early morning denizens, and she made her way with purpose.

Dew sparkled on lawns and hedges and the iron balustrades of fine homes. A fox skittered towards the arboretum, where it kept its den. A cat rubbed against a planter box at the door of a townhouse, its eyes glowing faintly golden in the early morning murk. Marci reached into her bag and pulled out a smaller cloth sack as she neared her destination. Her senses were alive with the city now, as Shune finally burst over the horizon in all of his brilliance.

Somewhere up above, floated Jocasta, as was her early-morning custom. Born-on-Solstice and a handful of sunblessed sat on rooftops, recharging for the day. The aroma of strange sauces met her nose as she passed a guesthouse where some Retanese were staying and already cooking themselves a breakfast. One of the great bells of the cathedral lay dormant, its clapper gently swinging as a trio of pigeons landed on it. She could sense the tarnishing of its bronze surface: the subtle chemical changes.

Then, she was there. The fourth Zenobucks location - the one close to the Proving Grounds - was the newest, and they were on event hours, event pricing, and event staffing. She had determined it was in need of some extra care, especially with Tku absent, given that he was a competitor in the Trials, after all.

"Good not-quite morning!" she chirped at the staff. None of them were students by necessity, and a couple had been poached from their duties as carpenters, housewives, and washerwomen. "And thank you so very much for helping us out today." The booth was looking shipshape, but for one corner of the sign where the cheap wood they'd used was warping and pulling out the nail it was bolted in with. Marceline took a moment to focus her binding magics and render it passable. She made a mental note to replace it, contingency budget allowing.

Laying the cloth sack down on the table, she pulled out tarts for all four of the shop's employees: Muriel, the head baker; Lisette, the cashier; Vittorio, the deliveryman; and Franz, who handled maintenance and whatever else was needed - truly a versatile man. They wasted no time in ambling up and they were a good crew: capable, friendly, and generally problem-solvers where needed. Why, Muriel had even come up with a new type of tart the previous week that had been a hit with customers. They would be piloting it in an official capacity starting tomorrow. "Oh, and for the little one, Franz," Marceline added, pulling out a tiny bonnet for his newborn daughter. She spent two more minutes catching up with them, clarified a few things about the rollout tomorrow, and was on her way to the next store. Successful businesses did not run themselves, and Zenobucks - once little more than an inside joke - had become successful indeed.

It was a little over an hour later that Marceline was finished her morning rounds. The sun was up, all four locations within Ersand'Enise were open, and she had one more errand to run. Twice, she had nearly tripped in the areas of the city that had cobbles. Thankfully, only one of the shoppes absolutely required that she cross the picturesque little ankle-breaking stones. What it highlighted, however, was that her toes, with the vital balance they provided, had gone almost completely numb.

The shimmering coins jingled faintly in her coinpurse as the young tethered made her way through the Queensgate and out of the city. It took annoyingly long for, once more, there was something of a queue. A handful of tents and lean-tos hunkered under the palms and by the guardhouse and in them were yasoi who'd fled the invasion of their nations by the Tarlonese. Some appeared normal enough - or as normal as a yasoi could ever be - while others twitched or talked to themselves or looked about hungrily in ways that were profoundly unnatural. Addicts, the girl knew, feeling distinctly uncomfortable around their blank, leering stares, restless dashes to nowhere, and endless fidgeting. There was a reek to them too. "'scuse mem, I loss my wagon on go in," said one, grabbing at the folds of her dress, "lend coin Lachon pay back. Just need small lend. Lachon get wagon. All good!" His hands were on her and the girl stumbled back, nearly falling, and scampered away. Instead, she was stuck waiting in line while he and the other hovered around.

Once she was allowed through, Marci quickly made her way past, enhancing her speed with kinetic and chemical magics. The entire experience had unsettled her and she found herself happy to see the signage of the Vermilion Swirl. It was time for The groove and another Grey aberration. The last time she'd taken one had been back in Tiptos and it should've lasted her until the end of Mittria, at least, but here she was at the start of Assani. She hoped it wouldn't become a pattern. Maybe The Groove's merchandise was faulty. Maybe the place was a scam...

That was when she sighted Abdel, hanging around outside the famous - or perhaps infamous - pleasure house. Just like she had when they'd been children, Marceline snuck up behind him. "Well well well kiddo," she teased, "Fancy finding you here. I'd say I never took you for the type, but..." She trailed off with a merciless little grin.

Abdel perked up as he felt his personal bubble be a little too invaded. He preemptively turned to confront the little rogue, only to meet a very familiar face. “Well well,” he parroted, arms crossed before his chest as if she spoke some truths. He cocked a brow at the joke. “how's it going with Fiske, Brandaeble?” he smirked, eyes not-so-subtly shifting between her and the esteemed establishment they were, or were about to be, frequenting. “But really, what brings you here? Zeno Bucks aspirations?” he smiled with brief checks over his shoulder as if he was waiting for something.

Marci arched an eyebrow. "No, Abdul. I'm here to visit my secret hunky boyfriend, Chad." She tried rising onto her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder, but they were dead things: all the more reason for her to do this now. "Who ya lookin' out for anyway, though?"

“A friend.” the intonation and briefness of his tone, as well as the context of a brothel made his guarded posture all the more telling. Abdel stared at his childhood friend's eyes, lingered and then snorted. “An actual friend. Her name's Tiff. She-” then it clicked. “You're not here for business, are you?” his pointer finger stuck out of his crossed arms and wagged at her direction. “It's that 'secret' tavern-club thing, isn't it?”

Marci saw no point in hiding it. She nodded, crossing her arms as well. This was often how they seemed to speak to each other: behind crossed arms and layers of witty remarks until he just went earnest and she was reminded that they'd grown up together. "Yeah, it's The Groove." She sniffed and uncrossed her arms. "Stupid name, but very useful place." For a moment, she hesitated, as if about to say more.

Abdel snapped with the wagging finger. “That's it.” he pivoted to have the entrance to the establish on one side and Marci to the other. “Tiff chaperoned me the first time. I was hoping to see her again, but ...” he pursed his lips and shrugged. “I didn't, and still don't, have any of their coins. So ... I never found out if this was the real deal. Abs 'n' all.” he looked Marceline's way with an inquisitive eye. “So, is it?”

"Why do you think I'm here?" she inquired, kicking at some sort of nut that had fallen from one of the trees overhead. "Gonna go in and take a grey." She scrunched her face up for a second, annoyed. "Last one hardly lasted. My toes are fucked." Her eyes flicked their way for a moment before rising to - briefly - meet Abdel's.

Abdel's heart beat a twinge faster when he heard 'grey'. Not white, nor black. Grey. But then Marci's additional comment brought his brows to furrow. “Really? Was it just small? Or lousy, maybe.” he shrugged, opting for optimism before letting reality disappoint him once more. “Frankly, I'm giga-broke. But one of the girls here actually brought up work.” he paused, realized what he had said and shook his head. “In the Groove. Work in the groove. For coins. Figured if I was gonna make a living, I'd do it standing up.”

“Anyway, shall we? I'll meet up with Tiff later.”

Marci didn't wait for his hasty explanation. She began cracking up even as Abdel realized what it was he'd said. "I mean, shune..." She trailed off. "I don't even wanna make fun of that. It's too easy." She began heading for the door, shaking her head and still grinning. "You can come with me, but I'm not just giving you a sympathy ab, you know. They're... not cheap."

“And you're not charity, huh?” smirked Abdel, letting the lady pass first before they made their way to their exclusive club. “... How about a credit ab instead?”

The girls - and boys - of the Swirl could sense that Marceline wasn't here for their offerings and so their greetings were simple and friendly and perfunctory. She led Abdel past the bar area, which was at its emptiest at this time of day, and towards a curtained room near the latrines. She sighed and regarded him evaluatively, hesitating. "You're not gonna leave me hanging, right?" she asked with an unexpected intensity.

Abdel, on the other had, tried to keep himself tense-free. “You know where I live. And where my girls live.” he chuckled. “I wouldn't do you dirty, Marci.”

She seemed to slacken a bit at that. "Yeah, I know. Sorry." She laughed weakly and scratched at the back of her head, kind of like Rikard sometimes did. "It's just... you know: people like us really need this stuff and I always have to keep enough cash on hand just in case." She forced a smile and a pep in her step. "I can spot you for now, even interest-free this time."

“Interest-free?” Abdel grimaced. “Who are you and what did you do to Marceline?” he jested. “This is almost too good to be true, if you ask me. Either the abs are not what we thought, or these coins are going to be the end of me.” he sighed.

"I am a generous god," she chuckled, pushing through. Beyond was a dark room, and a couple of large shadowy figured hovered about, but the underaged duo was never approached. "But I have my suspicions as well." She twisted and shrugged in the dimness. "trying to stay optimistic." She led Abdel to a door near the back, then, and opened it to reveal a closet within. "Hand," She commanded matter-of-factly.

“Sure thing, Jo.” the hand was ordered, and so it came.

Marci knocked on the back wall in a distinctive pattern and then... stepped right through, taking him with her. Inside was, well... The Groove and the supposed salvation of their kind. Abdel's attention was quickly taken by something that was not the aberration café, or even the bar. “Is that a frog?” he asked incredulously, and it still hadn't quite lost its wonder for Marci either. "You know, I've never actually asked," she admitted. "Looks kinda intelligent, though, right?" She'd lowered her voice, of course. "Or as intelligent as a frog can be, at least." She'd released his hand and was leading him towards the bar anyhow, sparing glimpses in the strange being's direction.

The closer they got to the bar, the easier to was to notice the sign next to the notorious Goroci. “'Cee Weird Sign One. Is - Is that a lot?” he took a seat but just couldn't get his eyes off the improvised stand of the Zweihander wielding individual. “If it is, there's your guarantee.”

Marceline had seated herself as well. She glanced over her shoulder. "Abdel," she replied, voice barely above a whisper, "you don't have to go on a suicide mission." There was a quick, tight smile. Meanwhile, a couple of yasoi were letting out sighs of delight as they twirled about inside of black aberrations. A sickly-looking old woman took in a white and seemed to recover before their very eyes. "I trust that you're good for it. Pay me back when you can. Okay?"

Abdel turned to look at her. The levity was nowhere to be found in his eyes. There was something in there, something serious and that needed to get out. Anger, or maybe fear, that grew exponentially when concern mistaken for pity was tended to him. But, quickly enough, he smiled with his features softened. “Almost had me there,” he shook his head. “but we've seen the worst before, haven't we, Marci?” his elbows rested over the counter as he leaned forward. “Dictators, demons, infested dragons ... What's some Froggy odd job with a bit of peril at this point?”

She snorted. "That's exactly why I trust nothing at this point." There was an unsure smile that grew, with some coaxing, into a smirk. The bartender was a thin, towering, unusual-looking woman who strode up to them silently. She must've been over eight feet tall and was distinctly yasoi and... something else. "Hello, dears, and what can I get for you?" she offered, tilting her head. With every word she spoke, a series of colours and images that seemed to support her meaning flashed about her.

Abdel looked up to acknowledge the unusually tall woman. Ogauraq, he thought, with a good serving of Yasoi too. “Uhm,” he looked at Marci for the okay before passing the order. “Two,” he pointed at one of the options on display. “Greys ...?”

"Small greys," Marceline hastily amended, and the towering woman bowed her head in a very Retanese way. "And that will be all?" Images of money and conclusions and the aberrations flashed through the air around them. Marci seemed entranced. "Oh! Why yes," she confirmed, taking out the necessary coin and blushing. "Very good. I certainly hope they do the job." The barkeep smiled and moved off: huge and ponderous on the one hand, incredibly graceful on the other. Marceline leaned in "Is that... an ogre-rack?" she whispered with no small measure of wonder.

Abdel's zoned out completely, he himself entranced by the aberrations. When beckoned by Marci, he had to shake himself out of his gluttonous daze. “Huh? Oh.” he shamelessly gawked at the bartender. “Yeah. They always do the funny image thing too. We -” he was about to go on a tangent. A not so pleasant one, considering what happened to the giants of ReTan during their visit. “Nevermind.” he focused on what mattered. “Bon appétit, I guess?”

This did not go unnoticed by Marci, but she wasn't about to prod. That wasn't the sort of relationship they had. The bartender arrived and with a surge of magic and a double snap of the fingers, a pair of cantaloupe-sized grey aberrations appeared in front of the pair of young tethered. "You enjoy it all, now. Alright?" More of those images flashed about.

"Guten appetit," she replied, heart already starting to beat faster. She wanted it and now it was hers. Marceline reached out and...


Out of the Vermillion Swirl came out two teens with swollen with energy, hopes and RAS. The Greys, as they called them, had done their work and the staff waved yet another set of happy customers goodbye.

“Really makes you think,” Abdel couldn't help but question his blessings. “How do they get these?” he said as the overflow of energy had him do a couple of leg intensive stretches. The persistent ants pricking his feet were gone.

Marci was busy flexing her toes back and forth. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Everything was back to normal. Jauntily, or perhaps just to bleed off some of the excess energy, she twirled on the spot. "Oh, I wonder quite a bit as well," she admitted, coming to a stop. Her hair swished about her and she took a moment to reach up and fix it. "but as long as the keep-me-not-crippled juice keeps a-comin', I won't ask any questions..." She furrowed her brow and there was a surge of magic as she dropped a sonic negation bubble around them. "unless there's a way to cut out the middleman, of course." The bubble quickly lifted, the exchanged parting pleasantries, and they went their separate ways.


Ever since the Student Faire, Zarina had a certain glow about her. She had already been less of a recluse and now she was the radiant light of the room. It was undoubtedly that Yasoi girl that had made it a habit to come over that was behind some of it. While opinions may vary on the nature of her second wind, one couldn’t question the Virangishwoman's drive for productivity and even the over-the-top games of the Trials. Zarina was back with a more approachable air to her, essentially.

The Dragon was the next trial, and with it came an unusual announcement in regards to the leg taking place in Citivalunga. Or rather, a warning to maintain good behaviour and consideration.

“So it’s actually happening, eh?”

Marceline had made a habit of meeting with Zarina every morning so that they could discuss business and, while the coming of The Trials had forced some adjustments to their schedules, it was not going to get in the way of this initiative.

They stood beside each other in the crowd, both somewhat apart from their teams, Marceline updating her older partner on the operation of their locations and Zarina filling her in on supply chain matters. There was a good deal of friendly and, at times, teasing banter regarding the earlier Melon Derby and, presently, High Zeno Bastaner was discussing the next event on the docket: The Dragon.

Marci's eyebrows went up. "Yeah. Wow. They're actually acknowledging it." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like it one bit." She twisted to look over and up at Zarina. "Means it's close: dangerously close."

Zarina peered to her younger business partner. “Scared?” she smiled with an air of confidence to her. “I kind of am too, really.” She deflated, her hand rising up to brush some hair that had already been neatly tucked behind her ear to undo it so she could put it back in place: A typical nervous habit of hers. “No more coffee lines. The fuck do we do after that?”

Marceline furrowed her brow. "That is the big looming worry. Thing is... if we've noticed, others have." The Zeno was moving towards to the conclusion of his speech and she'd have to go within moments. "How much do you think the prices have risen already?"

“Too much.” answered Zarina, arms crossed as numbers were crunched in her simple little head. “Do we just unga-bunga Eskandish-style it?” She regarded Marci, uncertain.

Marceline nibbled her bottom lip. "Yeah," she agreed. "I think we do. We just... need to raise the capital somehow because, if we do this, we do it all the way." Her eyes flicked Zarina's way again, in seriousness. "We'll need an obscene amount to ride out a bloody war."

Zarina shrugged. “We do what upstarts always do,” she began, a tad cryptic before shooting a grin at her close friend. “Borrow it from whales and have a backup plan for running away with it if shit gets that bad.”

"And I'm the devious one," Marci joked in response. She shook her head good-naturedly as the High Zeno bid them to join their teams and prepare for the opening of the portals. "Looks like we'll have to discuss it later," she replied in earnest. "But you're right, and we'll need to get a move on it, and soon, too." She'd already taken a few steps back, but then she paused and darted forward, enfolding Zarina in a quick embrace. "You look happy, suunei." She smiled and blushed a touch. "Stay well and good luck!" In truth, perhaps, there was a certain glow about her as well. She had shared something with Fiske last night that she'd never thought she would share with another person. Then, Marci and Zarina were separated and the former was backing away into the crowd. With that, her focus turned, in its entirety, to the race ahead.

In The Hourglass Order → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

“Woe be the enemy!” crowed Rikard, spinning on his heel to face the others as they walked. He was trying to convince himself that he liked this group, even though he wasn’t that thrilled about it. Still, it was the Trials and he was in it and… what was there really to complain about? “Why… with Captain Skuggvarr, Cool Wheels, ‘I Definitely don’t have bodies stashed in my basement’ and…” He trailed off, regarding Aridane. “Well, aside from clearly being like… thirty, you’re kinda normal, I guess.” The fourteen-year-old shook his head. “Anyway, we’re pretty stacked. I like our chances.” They were walking - well, four of them were, anyhow - back to their assigned base. All about them, other teams were doing the same. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, and the leaves were green on the trees.

“Sooo… you guys just… play games for a week?” Seviin was asking, and a couple of the others nodded. Juulet grinned toothily. In truth, the young priestess was wary of the claimed Avatar of Vyshta, not just because she was in conflict with the claim of Tyrel, who was something of a friend, but because of her entire bearing. Something about her rubbed Seviin the wrong way. Regardless, she found herself agreeing this time. “Seems like it,” the one-legged girl chirped. “Yaniis, am I right?” At least a couple laughed. This group was no democracy, so the genuineness of the reactions was perhaps up for question but, regardless, it did not appear to be in any particular hurry.

Elsewhere, clusters of five and ten were hustling over to their assigned bases: academic housing of the city’s Zenos, temporarily cleared out for the games. A couple of squirrels skittered across the open expanse of the Arboretum before diving into the safety of the trees.

If there were people outside of they city vying for the attention of those inside, if a place called either Mudville or Belleville was about to decide its future in a high-stakes election rife with foul play, if Ai Medda had been conquered and, just one night prior, Solcuura had fallen, it did not seem to matter within these hallowed hallowed halls and verdant gardens.
For over five centuries, the famous white walls of Ersand’Enise had stood impregnable, a resolute barrier against an outside world that was often a source of danger and turmoil; a place where these young Biros of magic - scions of elite families and leaders of tomorrow - sought calm and sanctuary.

This fourth day of Velles, its streets, parks, and squares were littered with melons in a great many colours, shapes and sizes. These fruits sat under the sun: some mundane and some enchanted. They perched in market stalls, they hung from trees, they floated in ponds and canals, and they waited in dressing rooms, offices, pantries, and shoppes to be claimed by the teams involved in the Great Melon Derby of the year Dami-Zept 55. Yet, the melon derby was not alone among games this year…

“Perhaps I am mistaken,” El Alacran was saying, “but this does not look like a normal part of the house’s furnishings.” There was a small, ornate lockbox on the dining room table and, from it, issued a slight ticking noise and some faint kinetic energy. As he spoke, voices from the drawing room - those of their allies, the Dark Protectors, rose in startled Retanese. It appeared that they encountered the same thing. Each box had a note attached.





“Parallel games…” murmured El Alacran, and that seemed to be the general sentiment. Marceline nodded along with it, but she narrowed her eyes. “Defense is basically worthless from what I can see,” she decided, but she appeared to be effectively alone as the others on her team and on many other teams began making complex plans to keep their boxes out of the hands of their opponents. Outside, the first few clouds had begun to move in. Everyone was busy making their frantic - or perhaps measured - final plans. All that was left to do, for most, was wait.

It was naught but five more minutes before the bells in the city let loose with a great cacophony of ringing. They flooded the streets by the thousands, then: the young biros of Ersand’Enise and a half-dozen other academies. For the five-hundred-fifth-fifth year - an auspicious one to be sure - the Great Melon Derby was underway!

Within twenty minutes, two of the five sacred elemental melons had been claimed: water and thunder. The first clouds began to appear in the clear blue sky.

By the end of the first hour, the terramelon and cloudmelon had been grabbed as well. Fluffy and white, clouds drifted lazily across the heavens.

Fire went half an hour after.

The Fat Bastard was lifted from the lake.

All but two dark melons were gone. Oh, how the sky had clouded over now!

Then, in the far southeast of the city, came a mighty beam, rising kilometers into the sky, disappearing into the whitish-grey blanket above. Attention turned, in earnest, to what had, now, to be the melon supreme! It lasted all of two to three seconds. Then, it was gone, and the rush was on!

While some clashed over the apparent prize, others snuck into each other’s bases to steal either melons, Thieving Cherune’s boxes, or both. The Melon Derby, in time-honoured tradition, was headed, once more, for its climax and it was all to play for.

Then, just as an unholy alliance of Juulet and Johann was breaking down the door to King’s Ear’s base and wreaking havoc within, as Marceline was juggling the true melon supreme six kilometers up in the sky, above the clouds, there was an accident.

A girl named Lucia Moli, who had inadvertently set into action the very chain of events that had led to the death of Hugo Hunghorasz almost a year earlier, ran straight into an aberration. It had not been visible, hidden within a potted rosebush, but its effects were. Immediately, it leapt out, actively predatory, and the girl screamed as it wrapped pitch black tendrils of nothingness around her. Most ran at the sight, their bravery and bravado from moments earlier evaporating in the face of true danger: children now waiting for the adults to come and solve the problem. A few stayed, however, hammering it with kinetic attacks that passed right through it, arcane attacks that did not burn it, and chemical manipulation that had nothing to seize upon.



They were too late. Even as a pair of zenos arrived to lay low the monstrosity, Lucia lay dead and mostly devoured. Dozens of other students encountered aberrations in strange places. Some faced life or death peril. Some screamed and slumped as they were overwhelmed by the otherworldly energy. A few went mad and attacked their fellow students or ran for the high heavens. The game had become frighteningly real and even more so when Juulet’oli’muusti’zan of Team Vyshta’s More Favoured - a hyperpowered yasoi who fancied herself the avatar of the fallen goddess - imbibed one too large for her to handle and went berserk. It took the combined efforts of her fellow students and three zenos to put an end to her rampage and, nearly, her.

The event was called off. Teams would be scored on their current possessions, both on and away from base. To avoid causing panic, this was presented as an unexpected twist to shake the game up. Some believed it; many did not. Regardless, as chemical magic ‘reset’ memories, as snapped necks and skinless faces were restored, as property damage was repaired and Arch-Zenos and bureaucrats met frantically in secret to discuss their next course of action, winners and losers were declared.

Wearing sometimes paper-thin smiles, half of the school’s Zenos flitted about from house to house and team to team, investigating melons while the other half investigated the catastrophe that had occurred. Areas were roped off and sonically sealed. Robed figures clustered around them, removing ‘environmental hazards’. A grand open air feast was hastily arranged in Balthazar Square and, there, teams gathered to await Zenith Upta’s announcement of the Melon Derby’s victors.

Meanwhile, the people of Mudville - or, rather, Belleville - had their own storm to contend with. Hundreds of aberrations had appeared there as well, though all of them had been tiny and dark. If some of them would be irritable and suffer from headaches for the next few days, perhaps it was worth it, for they would soon find that they had gained the ability - in some small measure, at least - to use The Gift.

The trials and triumphs of those people - so near and yet a world away - were little on the minds of the students gathered in the square, however. It had been explained to them that there had been a mishap and that there was nothing to be worried about. The integrity of the derby would be unaffected. Perhaps a few disagreed, but there wasn’t truly much recourse for them, and so they stifled their gripes and accepted the results as announced.



Some celebrated. Some grumbled. Many hung around and, over the next few hours, dispersed. How the taverns and bierhalls and places of entertainment swelled with young patrons. Others were exhausted. There were time differences to account for, after all, and the day had certainly been full of action. Whatever the case, they all eventually found sleep in some form and, as the morning bells tolled halfway through the Hours of Shune, they rose and - one would hope - shone. Today was the day of the second event, the infamous relay race known as the ‘Dragon’, and it required a bright and early start. Once more, they gathered in the square, where a grand breakfast buffet awaited them on a series of long tables. Exactly one hour later, the Zenith raised her arms and announced the selection of allies. They would have five minutes and then another ten to strategize and prepare. Then, the portals would open and the students would step into their starting positions all across the Sipenta. The second game of The Trials of DZ55 was about to begin!


In The Eternal City → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In theory, very interested. The concept looks cool and I sense a larger and deeper mystery lurking beneath the surface. In practice, we'll see what my availability looks like (you know what my schedule is like, lol). Count me as a strong maybe.
In The Hourglass Order → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sound and Fury

They were not happy with her, she knew.

The stars in the night sky looked a little bit different here, but the crickets sounded the same. Tyrel stretched out in the hammock, shifting and swinging gently, her foot hanging out of it. Idly, she flexed her toes, watching the lines of golden body paint gleam faintly under the moonlight. It was only to distract her.

The Avatar of Vyshta throwing off her ceremonial robes, dirtying her hands, carrying buckets, holding screaming patients down while they were healed: this was not the image that those in charge wanted to project. It was supposed to have been a display of majesty. Yet, what good would that have done? Who would it have concretely helped? The nineteen-year-old shifted again, restlessly. Not three feet away were her crutches, and she even started to reach for them before thinking better of it. She lay back. There would be no late-night pacing.

She’d healed. She was no specialist, no lifelong Daughter of Oirase, but she was temple-trained. Ever since those two fateful days on Tantas Island that had determined her entire future, she had been trained and instructed in everything a living divinity might need to know.

Yet, she did not feel like a goddess by simply walking around in the splendid regalia that they’d dressed her in. A goddess should make a difference. A goddess should bring joy and deliverance to her people. In six years, I will bring these lessons with me when I ascend, she thought, in a pointed attempt to reassure herself.

All that it did was make her shift again, uncomfortably. She rested her cheek on her hand. Ever more often she was without Miret. She was without Chad. She saw aluu and aloi, Calidan, Derii, and Sendrii for only a few weeks each year. Her old room, back in Angreth, felt like a mausoleum sometimes.

In one smooth motion, she slid from the hammock and landed in a crouch. Retrieving her crutches, she left her fancy, bloodied outfit hanging from a nearby hook and shrugged, instead, into the simple blue shirt and loose dark pants that Derii had given her at a mette’stiroi two years ago. She was not to be seen in them, she had been ‘advised’, except at night, except as pajamas. Yet, these were the clothes, sewn by her sister’s hand, that knew her body best. They did not put her flesh on display. They did not pinch or pull or restrict. The sleeves were loose and could be rolled up and held back with a button so they didn’t interfere with the loops of her crutches. The right pant leg was sewn shut with actual attention to the shape of her stump instead of being crudely truncated. She stuffed her foot into her boot, swept some of the remnants of her elaborate hairdo from her eyes, and gave into the impulse to… move.

They were on the outskirts of a large town, but it still felt like a military camp. The people in charge had taken every precaution to keep the young avatar of the fallen goddess separate from the rough and crude soldiers who bunked in the trees and large tents but, practically speaking, as she informally outranked almost everyone on the ground, they could do little to stop her night-time wanderings. She was glad of it.

Distance fell away in the comforting language of footsteps: the familiar rhythm of click-swing-thump, click-swing-thump. Instead of letting her mind wander, Tyrel lost herself in the sensory experience of it all: the scents of this alien forest and its strange, broad-leafed trees, the antiseptics and chemicals of the field hospital, the faint burnt smells in the town. She took in the sounds of the strange birds hooting and the small animals scampering. Paired sentries made quiet conversation. A couple of the soldiers’ tents were still lit with the flickering light of candles, lamps, or arcane magic. Their voices, joking, weaving stories, or rising and falling with the fortunes of gambling, reached her ears. Her eyes, meanwhile, were already well-adjusted to the lessened light, and they darted, with a curiosity she had never been able to satisfy, in the direction of a half-dozen side trails, pathways, and streets. They hovered over homes. They warily regarded the sentries and, each time that she was recognized, were paired with a nod as she continued. She would explore Felaxo tonight. This much, she had determined. A stray thought occurred to her: Do yanii also do this? She was not sure where it had come from. The huusoi, of course, were dull, boring people for the most part, with little in the way of curiosity or wonder. Their overwhelming focus on the practical was… not without its uses, she’d been taught, but very much not the yasoi way, very much a path to unsatisfying achievement.

Then, the gate to the town loomed ahead, and the four soldiers at its checkpoint. Tyrel hesitated. They could not refuse her, of course, but she was on a thin branch here. Colonel Nephyn’raad had all-but removed her from the field hospital, shaking his head while extolling all of the hard work her stylists had put into her costume. She grimaced. She could try to sneak through the forest, but they were likely watching it. If some of the locals had embraced their cause, much to everyone’s delight, others viewed them with suspicion and were perceived with it in turn. Still others, hiding out in the depths of the jungle, were outright hostile.

“My lady Vyshta?” came a voice, and Tyrel whirled on the spot, nerves sizzling. There was a girl on the path - perhaps just a handful of years her junior. The avatar recognized her. “Seviin?”

She bowed her head. “The same, my lady.” Idly, they came a few steps closer to each other. They’d spoken surprisingly little of substance, despite having spent much of the day in each other’s company. Mostly, it had been the work of saving lives that had bonded them. If Tyrel could not remember the girl’s full name or hometown, she knew perfectly well how quickly her pain-dampening magics would set in on a patient with an abdominal wound. She knew exactly how Seviin would fold her bandages. “What keeps you awake at this unholy hour?” she enquired. “Oirase knows you’ll need your sleep if tomorrow is anything like today was.”

They came together and their voices lowered. “I might put precisely the same query to your radiance,” Seviin responded, and Tyrel smiled ruefully. “Turns out, even goddesses have trouble sleeping sometimes,” she admitted with a shrug. They were not so much walking as standing off to the side of the road, restlessly taking a step or two at a time in either direction. Seviin glanced down, and then back up, knowingly. “They didn’t like it,” she remarked, “Did they? When you came to work in the hospital.”

Tyrel swung idly on her crutches, pawing at the ground with the toe of her boot. She looked up. “I expect they did not,” she confirmed, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes. She glanced away, down the road, to where the sentries waited in the distance. She turned back to Seviin. “I’m sure they were especially fond of all the blood I got on my nice little outfit.”

Seviin smiled conspiratorially at that, absently following Tyrel’s lead and poking at the ground with the toe of one of her shoes. The smile faded, however, and she became earnest. “You saved lives, your radiance.”

For some reason, it felt strange to be addressed so formally by a peer. Seven hours ago, they had both stood at a wash basin, scrubbing blood off of their hands together. Perhaps it should not have. Her family, Miret, and Chad aside, she was spoken to as a goddess by all she met. Perhaps she just missed them. They were, this moment, landing in Solcuura, she knew, taking the capital by night, facing mortal danger, most likely, without her. How Tyrel had begged - the young goddess before an old man in a uniform - to be allowed to accompany them. She’d been too valuable, of course: always too valuable to risk. “I’m… glad,” she replied belatedly. “Glad to be of some genuine use.” A sigh built but did not escape. Seviin was dangerous, she realized. The words of this girl dripped with subtle rebellion and, what was more, Tyrel did not find herself in complete disagreement with them.

“They all admire you very much back at the hospital, Lady Vyshta,” The young priestess assured her. “You are the first and - to date - only one of the higher-ups who’s made more than a perfunctory visit. At least a dozen people who would otherwise not be are alive because of you.”

“I only wish they’d let me do more,” Tyrel admitted, kicking at a pebble. She twisted to regard Seviin in full. “I fear my leash is very short, and even shorter now.”

“You cannot simply command them?”

The avatar shook her head. “It turns out there are those above even goddesses.”

Seviin regarded her steadily in the moonlight, smiling faintly, ruefully. She started to reach out for Tyrel’s hands, but then thought better of it. “These old men, you know, understand only Exiran and Damy.” She paused. “Oh, and perhaps some measure of Ypti.” She blinked in distaste. “In their own way.” Tyrel knew what she meant. There was very much a difference between how the smallfolk addressed her as ‘radiance’ and how the men in charge did. There was very much a difference in how the one admired her as compared to the other. Perhaps that was why her ‘radiant’ clothing was covered in blood and she was wearing a shirt and pair of pants that her sister had sewn. Instead, she reached out for Seviin’s hands, crutches dangling from their cuffs. “We will not be mere minor pieces on their board forever, suunei.” She tried on a reassuring smile. Seviin’s hands were small, cold, and sweaty. It had not even occurred to her to use the familiar term for the girl, and yet she had.

Yet, Seviin did not seem to take heart. She half turned, hands still loosely in Tyrel’s and sighed. “I shall pray that you are right, my Lady Vyshta.”

She needed reassurance, the avatar realized. She was flagging. Managing a bit of a puckish smile, she squeezed the girl’s hands. “Your prayers have been heard,” she assured Seviin, “And I shall work hard with all my divine power to grant them.” It was the sort of joke she made all the time with Miret and Chad. She’d tried to make it with her parents before, but they’d been mortified.

Seviin’s hands slid free and she got down on her knees. “I am greatly honoured, your radiance. I shall strive to be worthy of the favour you’ve shown me.”

Something inside of Tyrel pinched, at that. She forced a smile instead of a grimace, and bowed her head. “You are worthy already. Now go and carry on your good work.” She released Seviin and the girl rose, bowing again as she backed away. “I… I shall, my Lady Vyshta! With your blessing, I shall.”

Then, she was gone, and Tyrel was alone.


“You ready, suunei?” Chad was fastening the last of his straps. He breathed in and out. Miret, crouched in the darkness some three feet away, glanced his way. “You ready, suunei?”

He snorted. She smirked faintly, but it faded quickly from her face. Both of them knew how serious this was. Both of them were unhappy that Tyrel hadn’t been cleared to join them. Both of them had a job to do. The floorboards creaked below them and moonlight filtered in through the couple of portholes hewn roughly into the Taol Zaganax’s living timber. They were lucky to have even those. A rigid curfew on light or excessive noise was being enforced across the fleet. Those who broke it were to be flogged or given to the beasts. So far, no punishments had needed to be handed out.

Quietly, Miret made the sign of the Pentad. “Watch over me, please.” She glanced Chad’s way. He was more than just the lush’elar of her cousin. “Watch over him as well.” She kissed the little medallion that hung from her neck and breathed: in and out. They had kept her well fed, this third landing of the grey fleet, in both senses. The power that coursed through her arteries was palpable in her movements, her drawing, and her senses. Her eyes gleamed, predatory, in the night. Chad rocked back and forth in nervous anticipation. “For the cause, suunei,” he assured her, “for the cause.” he knew, of course, how she felt about ‘the cause’. That was the joke. That was Chad: half sincere and half mocking, always.

“For the cause,” murmured another handful of voices.

“For the liberation.”

“Jaadas, juuras, tan’daxii.” It became a sort of refrain, working its way through the hold, through the members of Shadow Dragon Team. Absently, even Miret joined in. In theory, she often reminded herself, the intent to cure people of a crippling plague and rid them of a corrupt government was a good one. She just had to trust that it was pure, and she did not.

Outside, as the great cannons atop the walls all turned to face the army they thought was coming inland, fifty great ships, each laden with a hundred elite warriors, slipped past the outer harbour defenses, accelerating to unnatural speeds in the grip of magic. In that same grip, they proceeded, invisible to the reserve sentries manning the harbour watchtowers. For a moment, the world brightened, and she knew what it was: the Great Light of Sairax’Solcuun. It fixed upon the Taol Zaganax and she knew what would come next.

“Moila,” barked Captain Jurax, “Suunei!” His nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed. “Brace!” The great bombards, whose immense weight had taken the better part of a day to be shifted and remounted on the landward walls, could not be repositioned on time but, within moments, the first of the bombardment arrived. The high, keening wail of a siren pierced the night. The cacophonous chiming of church bells began. In the buildings and canopies of Solcuura, she knew that those who had not already evacuated - those who had nowhere to go or no way to get there - were bolting awake in bed, rushing into cellars and streets, arming themselves, huddling together and praying. She squeezed her eyes shut. I am not your enemy, she assured them from the depths of the vessel on which she traveled. I am not here to harm you - I swear it - only your bitch queen and those who would defend her and the other parasites that feast on your people. She opened her eyes again. “I swear it,” she mouthed under her breath, drawing a brief glance from Chad.

Then, the first arcane lance struck and there was no stopping it. Miret flung herself to the deck as it scythed through the ship. Instantly, Suulet, Darchan, Saldon, and Thevand were vaporized, only the last of them even having the chance to scream. Outside light streamed in through the great blackened wound in the Zaganax and, for the first time, Miret laid eyes upon their target: the Tansan capital of Solcuura. She had memorized the map of it by heart. She had seen paintings and heard it described.

She stood there, transfixed, as the embers where the ship had been carved open glowed orange in the humid night air and cold, slimy water began to pour in through the gaping wound. Nothing had prepared her for the sheer… decrepit majesty of the place. Part tree, part stone, steel, and wood, the nine great towers that gave Solcuura its name rose into the moonlit sky. Three of them: Alax’Alan, Toithiira, and Sen’dan’thuul, the tallest of all save for the light, towered some seven hundred feet above her, colossal even from this distance. Awe inspiring as they were, there was no missing the state they were in either. Asticaan and Leiluunsa leaned against each other, a series of enormous cables and buttresses stabilizing them. A portion of Carsoascan’rai was burnt out and overgrown. Yenteiyon was skeletal in its upper reaches, home to the nests of thousands of seabirds.

She scarcely registered the danger of the magic being flung her way. She scarcely flinched as the cold water washed over her feet. Then, the Great Light pulsed again, and three more ships of the Grey Fleet were split clean in two. The Taol Zaganax! Right! She snapped out of it. The vessel was damaged and she was a binder. Lieutenants Luuran and Canthal were already hard at work, and the others were rallying to the cause. The ship was listing, but she could see the keel below intact. It could yet be saved, at least for long enough to get them to their destination. She picked an area where two others were struggling to stem the flow of water long enough for the wood to be reconstituted, and helped them. Gradually, they won the battle. The Taol Zaganax picked up speed again. A colossal ball of burning stone missed it by mere meters and it was all that they could do to stop the force of the waves from crushing the fragile rebound planks.

Then, came that fell light again, and its horrid death ray swept across the Grey Fleet, punched through two more vessels. Immediately, in flames, they began to go under. For a moment, it struck Miret how fragile she was. How she, this little thing of flesh and bone, was at the mercy of this ancient titan. Countless attacks of magic and cannonfire alike hammered Sairax’Solcuun, but it had stood since the days of the first Tansan Empire and their most fearsome weapon was defended with everything that the people of this broken place had. Strangely, despite everything she had been assured of - that the Tarlonese were liberators, that most would welcome them, that Sairax’Solcuun had not fired its Death Ray in nearly two centuries and was no longer operational - she could not fault them. They were fighting for their home. Against their liberators.

The top of the pinnacle began to glow once more and the bombardment intensified. “Remember!” Captain Jurax was shouting, “They fight from fear. They fight for the lies they have been told by the cruel and decadent despot who sucks this land dry. Yet, those who fight -” A near miss rocked the Zaganax again and Miret drew from the surrounding water to make ice around one of the weak spots. “are the enemy of not only ourselves, but of their own people. Make no mistake, liberators of the yasoi, they are to dealt with accordingly!”

Then, that terrible tower unleashed once more and everything inside of Miret tightened. If she met the gods now, she would do so with grace. She’d only had eighteen years - how much longer it could’ve and should’ve been - but there was no helping it. That was all in Vyshta’s and Exiran’s hands. It struck somewhere else, and another ship went to the bottom. There were voices shouting, commands being issued. The captain rushed up top and then, less than a minute later, came rushing back down. “Dragon Unit!” he barked, and Miret realized that was Chad’s. They shot looks at each other, and no words needed to be exchanged for them to know what would have been spoken: Look after Tyrel for me.

Eleven of the Grey Fleet’s elites stepped forward. “You have been approved for insertion. This is a moderate-severe risk insertion. Your target -” He paused to gesture out of the yawning hole in the Zaganax, “is the heat conduit of the Sairax’Solcuun. Lieutenant Loiret will warp you there. You are to overcome local security and secure three levels as a buffer. You are to overload the conduit and extract yourselves via kinetic magic. Is that understood?”

If they bled anxiety, they also bled eagerness. That vile construct had claimed a great many of their own. They were smarting for revenge. “I obey!” they shouted as one. “I fight!”

“Jaadas, juuras, tan’daxii!” shouted the captain.

“Jaadas, juuras, tan’daxii!” came the reply, as Loiret worked.

Then, the portal was open and they launched themselves through. Chad was second-last. Miret twisted to look out ahead of them as best she could. Loireth was already at work again. The Zaganax was flooding again. It would not matter. They were close. So long as the Death Ray didn’t burn them down, they would be in the halls of the Ienaphex’bii in little over a minute. Anxiously, as the captain warned them that they might be separated, that resistance might be stiff, that the Queensguard was made up of aberration-mad maniacs who were fanatically loyal to her because she kept them supplied with what they craved, Miret watched the tower. She watched and, silently, she prayed. The pinnacle began to glow. She could see, if she enhanced her vision with magic, the tiny figures moving around up top. She could see the ancient mechanisms - one of the few things actually cared for in the city - begin to heat up and pivot… towards her. I’m sorry, Zarina. I would’ve loved you.

Then, the glowing beacon flickered. It flickered, and the tiny figures around it froze in place. That was for the barest of moments. Loiret was preparing her portal; she was charging up. Then, they began to run. Miret watched as, impossibly, they hurled themselves from the tower. Sairax’Solcuun bulged about the middle, and cracks spidered their way up and down the ancient structure. Thick black smoke began pouring out of them and all that she could think about was Chad. He was there. Likely, he was part of the cause. Great chunks of stone began to peel off of the sides, and more figures dived desperately from the wounded goliath. Then, all at once, it ruptured. The middle section - some fifty feet of it - blew outwards in a fantastic explosion that forced all within a mile of it to cover their ears and look away. Like blood pouring from a lethal wound, the smoke boiled and billowed outwards, thick and black and spreading. The light at the top went dark and began to tip over. Great chunks splashed into the water below and Miret’thilan watched Sairax’Solcuun buckle and fall after a thousand years as sentry of this place, a great black and orange river of smoke and flame following its tortured descent. For a moment, she nearly forgot about Chad.

Five hundred feet of stone, steel, and crystal crashed into the water and the wave raised was colossal. It rushed toward the Zaganax and the ship would not survive it. Then, the portal was open. “Through, Ghost Squad! Through!” roared the captain. The ships of the Third Grey Fleet bucked and bobbed on the water, two or three capsizing. One - already damaged - turned to splinters. The rest rode it out. “Move! Move! Move, or you’re gonna swim with the rest of us!”

Silently, Miret thanked the Taol Zaganax for bearing her safely. She thanked the captain for leading with courage and discipline. The others rushed through into the imperial palace. The ship, she knew, would not survive. She crouched low and drew with every fibre of her being. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes glowed. The Zaganax splintered around her, its fibres becoming her energy, her energy becoming a weapon. The ship began to buck and buckle as the great wave lifted its fragile remnants. Miret launched herself forward, accelerating like an ashbul through the glowing gap. Loiret slipped in beside her. On the other side lay the enemy. Woe be the enemy.


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