HereComesTheSnow

Secundi Lux

---

"Ngaaaaaaaaah~"

Whatever uncomfortable silence may have manifested between the five strangers was unceremoniously broken, as the far-and-away tallest of their number languidly streeeeeeetched her arms and back towards the roof, scraping the sky that much more before she blissfully sank in to the leather cushioning of the nearest seat. A face framed by evergreen locks bore a plainly relieved smile upon soft features, and after a moment one emerald eye popped open, taking stock of affairs.

For a girl like Selma Rosmarie, travel was an entirely alien prospect. Her family were settlers, rooted to their chosen homes, and deeply connected to the land they called theirs— that had not changed even in the wake of their century-old exile from Germany, as it was known in the old world. They maintained the homesteading spirit, preferring to nurture and cultivate where others might move to greener pastures. To them, it was a rare thing to even leave the agricultural districts of Hasta. To take to the skies to cross an entire continent? Unheard of. Leaving home was all too daunting. Her world had been so small before, and now...

The ride on the airship was a wondrous thing, really. To be so high up that landscapes stopped being scenic, and instead all melded into an endless canvas of woodland, steppe, meadow and mountain below had to have been every bit as magical as she and her four companions were. Even in spite of the obscuring Nox clouds, there was no way she hadn't clung to her viewport for two... eh, probably three hours, watching the earth roll by beneath her, paired with her best source of entertainment— an eclectic mix of musics piped out from her phone and into her ears. A non-insignificant number of them were far more heavy on screaming guitar than you would really expect to accompany such a gorgeous backdrop, but playlists unfortunately still eluded her. It spoke to the Concordia's luxuriant construction that the freely dancing giantess hadn't garnered any noise complaints during her portion of the trans-Eurasian flight.

That she had been made aware of, anyway. Must be some sturdy walls and flooring!

Flooring...

Whew.

All that was nice. But... It was also ethereal. In a way that didn't quite sit right with her, once the wonderment of flight had petered out some. Having worked upon soil and stone her whole life, she had to admit: it didn't feel right to not be standing on terra firma. When she had busted a move or two, it was one thing. A light, feathery step was good when you were carried by a fun rhythm. When you were walking, though? Or standing, or sitting? Or doing anything else? It was wrong to have that underlying sense of nothing beneath you. She had been reassured multiple times that she wouldn't fall through, and had definitely put the floorboards through their paces before she'd stopped to think about the matter, but she could still feel it. A nagging in the back of her head, saying "Selma, Selma, what in the Hellma?" whenever she shifted her weight and felt not the world, but a few layers of wood and steel beneath her heels.

Even stepping into the rail car, another artificial mode of transport, still had its connection to the ground. It just went through an extra medium or two in the track, rather than the airship's total removal.

She wondered. Did the other girls have the same problem? A few of them looked pretty classy, compared to a bumpkin like her, anyway, so she didn't regard it as too out there if they had been on an airship ride or two before... Was it as amazing for them, or had the sight of the world sliding by turned out to be something you could grow accustomed to? A routine occurrence? Was there anyone for whom uprooting and rocking over half the world's span could be normal?

These kinda questions didn't get answered just by rolling them down the cliffs of the mind until they hopefully hit an answer. Selma could see that much clearly, even without the naturally high vantage point. May as well find out. Hadn't had a chance until now, so best get striking while the iron's hot!

"Hallo!" she called to the rest of the assembled magical girl initiates, transitioning her remaining outstretched arm into a chipper wave at the wrist and putting on her best friendly smile. "I'm Selma! Anybody need help with any luggage? I don't know much about trains, but I'm sure I can lift whatever you need me to, so don't be shy!"

Her grin drew a little wider as she flexed her bicep in jest, but her words and intent were sincere all the same. If anyone looked to be struggling, or would just appreciate the hand, all they needed to do was take her up on it. No sense being cold to the people she was gonna fight alongside, right?

Secundi Lux

Selma

The Mundane

Name: Selma Rosmarie

Age: 17.

Sanctum City: Hasta, Venus

Description: Selma stands out without really trying. As one of the most statuesque young women you could ever meet, her tall and robust frame likens her more to a tree walking around than a teenage girl, but her goofball demeanor quickly undercuts any potential intimidation that stature may induce. Her speech patterns are more "coarse" than "rough", and a genuine frown is hard to find on her gentle features. More often it's simply the terse, grunted scowl of hard work than true displeasure. Her straight shoulder-length hair and eyes are both the color of the pines of her ancestral home, and her casual attire consists of a seemingly endless supply of loose work shirts in dark colors and long jeans. Her most prized accessories are the small, unassuming black ribbon perched in the back of her hair, and the silver pendant upon her neck.

Rosmarie

Personality: Selma Rosmarie is first and foremost a throwback. A traditionalist raised by traditionalists, her pointedly rustic upbringing produced a girl all but convinced she'd be most at home in the thick forests and surrounded by nature rather your usual cityscapes. The family business of contributing to Hasta's agriculture is, unfortunately, as close as the towering young woman could hope to get. Her appreciation for a hard day's work, an honest character, and deep respect for innocent life permeate her to the core, plainly expressing themselves in (almost) faultless integrity, unassuming candor, and drive to protect people from any foes, be they from without or from within. While not well-read, and at times admittedly simple, she also carries with her a folksy wisdom that can only be cultivated by long days tilling what little fields mankind has left, alone with one's mind and the greenery. While technological integration is impossible to escape, she's definitely below par when it comes to utilizing it.

Her honesty is the source of her unshakable self-assurance, completely willing to speak her mind and open about all that she is. Hers is the uncomplicated pride of refusing to lie to herself, or anyone else. She likes what she likes, talks as she talks, and thinks what she thinks. You have to be strong and resilient, sure, but you also have to be true to your heart. Simple pleasures like dancing to a pleasant tune, making a friend laugh, and the rush of fighting for the good of the world are food for the soul. They deserve to be shared with any who'll have them.

Background: Selma was born at the outskirts of Hasta, to a humble family of farmers that emigrated during the First Void from the heavily wooded mountains of the Black Forest. Devastated by the loss of their ancestral home, the Rosmarie clan clung covetously, perhaps even desperately to every tradition they had— while they could no longer exactly be people of the countryside, they could remember it as dearly as possible. They dove into the role of agriculture as a means of both living off the land humanity had left, and recapturing what they could of their lives deep within the woodlands of what was once southern Germany. They did everything they feasibly could by hand, passed on old stories left behind in a single book of fairy tales, and spoke reverently of the old country, accounts from the past known by heart to each member. It was not easy to transmute a family from a forest of wood to the outskirts of one built from concrete, but they were mountain folk: hardy, rugged, and resilient enough to weather it.

In this environment, Selma was introduced very early to work on the fields, picking root vegetables come time for harvest, sorting them by hand, and resting beneath the shade of the family oak, planted and nurtured as an acorn by the first generation of Rosmaries to find safety behind the Sanctum. Her respect for these traditions is healthy and unwavering, even in the face of the confusion of her more normal peers and friends. Over the years, the family had become just about comfortably middle-class again by a combination of frugal living and a few exceptionally good harvests after a begrudging "modernization" of their equipment. This coincided with Selma's first purchase of a phone, and perhaps more importantly her discovery of magical aptitude. Within this hardworking young woman was the potential to become one of the Ars Magi.

Her family could afford to let her take this to Nova Lux Academy now. She could go out and fight for what they had lost. Their land. Their home. The ground where they were meant to live and die. They gave her their well-wishes and unconditional support. This was bigger than them all. The big girl barely hesitated.

The Magical

Armgaus Name: Verdant Moss Emerald

Gladius: A heavy, robust axe, cheekily named 'Kleinbruder'. Its weighty head is bearded, and equally suitable for chopping down trees and Voids alike, whilst its sturdy wooden handle is curved to maximize force delivery in either one or two-handed grips. Etched into the sides of the head are fullers that form a runic pattern.

Parma: Very much the same unmistakable Douglas Fir of a girl. When transformed, Selma's mistletoe eyes gain a faint, arcane luminescence, and her hair grows a truly vibrant green. As for her attire, it hearkens to an idea of almost barbarism, tanned leathers and steel replacing the usual loose work shirts.

Pine Barrens

Elementum: Earth

Elementum Abilities: Ripper of soil, breaker of stone, maiden of mountains. The first thing about Selma is that she is strong, large frame and a lifetime of labor bolstered by the very earth she strikes. As indomitable and everlasting as the Black Forest range her family hails from, the girl's force of will and connection to the earth manifest as seismic tremors, effectively the ability to create crevasses, violent upheavals, and even the odd localized earthquake on contact. Her bones are hard, her skin tough, and her spirit endless, she's about as easy to knock down as the Alps even when not transformed. A lifetime of feeling soil beneath her feet has given her a good sense for how it vibrates, allowing her to pick up on most land movements larger than those of a vole. Seems to have some form of kinship with all but the most violent beasts of the wild. That, or errant birds genuinely do mistake her for a tree.

Secundi Lux

Second joke, same as the first joke

Selma

The Mundane

Name: Selma Rosmarie

Age: 17.

Sanctum City: Hasta, Venus

Description: Selma stands out without really trying. As one of the most statuesque young women you could ever meet, her tall and robust frame likens her more to a tree walking around than a teenage girl, but her goofball demeanor quickly undercuts any potential intimidation that stature may induce. Her speech patterns are more "coarse" than "rough", and a genuine frown is hard to find on her gentle features. More often it's simply the terse, grunted scowl of hard work than true displeasure. Her straight shoulder-length hair and eyes are both the color of the pines of her ancestral home, and her casual attire consists of a seemingly endless supply of loose work shirts in dark colors and long jeans. Her most prized accessories are the small, unassuming black ribbon perched in the back of her hair, and the silver pendant upon her neck.

Rosmarie

Personality: Selma Rosmarie is first and foremost a throwback. A traditionalist raised by traditionalists, her pointedly rustic upbringing produced a girl all but convinced she'd be most at home in the thick forests and surrounded by nature rather your usual cityscapes. The family business of contributing to Hasta's agriculture is, unfortunately, as close as the towering young woman could hope to get. Her appreciation for a hard day's work, an honest character, and deep respect for innocent life permeate her to the core, plainly expressing themselves in (almost) faultless integrity, unassuming candor, and drive to protect people from any foes, be they from without or from within. While not well-read, and at times admittedly simple, she also carries with her a folksy wisdom that can only be cultivated by long days tilling what little fields mankind has left, alone with one's mind and the greenery. While technological integration is impossible to escape, she's definitely below par when it comes to utilizing it.

Her honesty is the source of her unshakable self-assurance, completely willing to speak her mind and open about all that she is. Hers is the uncomplicated pride of refusing to lie to herself, or anyone else. She likes what she likes, talks as she talks, and thinks what she thinks. You have to be strong and resilient, sure, but you also have to be true to your heart. Simple pleasures like dancing to a pleasant tune, making a friend laugh, and the rush of fighting for the good of the world are food for the soul. They deserve to be shared with any who'll have them.

Background: Selma was born at the outskirts of Hasta, to a humble family of farmers that emigrated during the First Void from the heavily wooded mountains of the Black Forest. Devastated by the loss of their ancestral home, the Rosmarie clan clung covetously, perhaps even desperately to every tradition they had— while they could no longer exactly be people of the countryside, they could remember it as dearly as possible. They dove into the role of agriculture as a means of both living off the land humanity had left, and recapturing what they could of their lives deep within the woodlands of what was once southern Germany. They did everything they feasibly could by hand, passed on old stories left behind in a single book of fairy tales, and spoke reverently of the old country, accounts from the past known by heart to each member. It was not easy to transmute a family from a forest of wood to the outskirts of one built from concrete, but they were mountain folk: hardy, rugged, and resilient enough to weather it.

In this environment, Selma was introduced very early to work on the fields, picking root vegetables come time for harvest, sorting them by hand, and resting beneath the shade of the family oak, planted and nurtured as an acorn by the first generation of Rosmaries to find safety behind the Sanctum. Her respect for these traditions is healthy and unwavering, even in the face of the confusion of her more normal peers and friends. Over the years, the family had become just about comfortably middle-class again by a combination of frugal living and a few exceptionally good harvests after a begrudging "modernization" of their equipment. This coincided with Selma's first purchase of a phone, and perhaps more importantly her discovery of magical aptitude. Within this hardworking young woman was the potential to become one of the Ars Magi.

Her family could afford to let her take this to Nova Lux Academy now. She could go out and fight for what they had lost. Their land. Their home. The ground where they were meant to live and die. They gave her their well-wishes and unconditional support. This was bigger than them all. The big girl barely hesitated.

The Magical

Armgaus Name: Verdant Moss Emerald

Gladius: A heavy, robust axe, cheekily named 'Kleinbruder'. Its weighty head is bearded, and equally suitable for chopping down trees and Voids alike, whilst its sturdy wooden handle is curved to maximize force delivery in either one or two-handed grips. Etched into the sides of the head are fullers that form a runic pattern.

Parma: Very much the same unmistakable Douglas Fir of a girl. When transformed, Selma's mistletoe eyes gain a faint, arcane luminescence, and her hair grows a truly vibrant green. As for her attire, it hearkens to an idea of almost barbarism, tanned leathers and steel replacing the usual loose work shirts.

Pine Barrens

Elementum: Earth

Elementum Abilities: Ripper of soil, breaker of stone, maiden of mountains. The first thing about Selma is that she is strong, large frame and a lifetime of labor bolstered by the very earth she strikes. As indomitable and everlasting as the Black Forest range her family hails from, the girl's force of will and connection to the earth manifest as seismic tremors, effectively the ability to create crevasses, violent upheavals, and even the odd localized earthquake on contact. Her bones are hard, her skin tough, and her spirit endless, she's about as easy to knock down as the Alps even when not transformed. A lifetime of feeling soil beneath her feet has given her a good sense for how it vibrates, allowing her to pick up on most land movements larger than those of a vole. Seems to have some form of kinship with all but the most violent beasts of the wild. That, or errant birds genuinely do mistake her for a tree.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

---

Before him, foreign men-at-arms, their armor sleek and unsegmented, as if skin. Their frames twisted, proportions exaggerated, each point of bone tipped witch swooping, doubtlessly sharp curves of alien crystal. Truly alien visages, staring at sometimes him, sometimes those below, judging all who stepped upon their hallowed ground, who dared fly within their sky. An invading host from a world beyond the light of their sun.

Perhaps it was a similar feeling to first seeing the great Khan's horde at your city's gate, or the men who rose from the foam of seas, axes in hand and woad paint upon their skin. Perhaps Bedwyr was less the one-armed knight that returned the sacred sword to the lake, and more the raider in service of he who slew the Picts to take the isle for his own, apocryphally or otherwise. Whatever these massive, oversized yet underwrought things were thinking behind their dull emerald eyes and featureless masks... They looked upon the landing team as what they were.

<<Don’t start anything if you can help it but you are not, I repeat not, expected to let them take the first shot.>>

Konstantin Stojanović, the man of a hundred sorties upon Ganymede, breathed in deep as a very familiar swelling sensation rose from his chest, a rising lightness and tingling crack of electricity through his veins. He knew when he was being sized up. He had already done much the same since the time the plumes of dust and ancient soil had cleared. With respect, officer, the question was not of if.

Merlon, equipped with the new eyeball tracking package and machine-learning integration, watched the pilot's pupils dilate in anticipation, a primal focus directed upon two gleaming mockeries of the simian form, 500 meters below. That was a whole lot of metal cast without regard for the electromagnetic spectrum— nice and big radar signature. Easiest target it ever painted.

The awakened pair continued to swivel their "heads", impassively regarding the team. For a moment, one might have been forgiven for regarding the embattled pilot as paranoid, guilty of projection, far too bloodthirsty in his own right. And that may have perhaps been true, for that moment.

Then their gazes snapped to Gypsy Soul.

A rush flew through Konstantin, liquid lightning that rendered him pale as blood traveled to more important places than skin.

Mouths that could not be seen ripped open, a violent, discordant, and distinctly metallic trill piping into the man's ears even as it shook his cockpit. Like an engine shoved into a trash compacter, really. It set his ears, his skin, his mind on fire.

A gleam of fool's gold, twin points of infected sunlight coalesced before them, still focused squarely upon the fey mech.

The trigger was pulled.

<<Engaging Bandits.>>

And then there was thunder, meeting their beams of malignant ichor with the relentless fury of a storm. All four of the E-30s mounted upon the OF-02D's hull roared in percussive symphony, drowning out metallic screech with a cascade of eighty millimeter gunfire. At the same time, the steady mech-scale chug of the Super 22s heralded the sands below blossoming into a shower of flame and force, 105mm canisters delivering cones of explosive hail downrange.

Let it begin.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

finally

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

A crimson glow before him, and the smell of burning copper, burning blood, filling the air. The magus lifted her arms, one projecting and arcane shield that stopped the path of his heavy knife through the air, whilst the other—

He was between strides. A stroke of luck for her, perhaps? Or was it keen timing? Either way, he could only twist his torso to try and wrench himself to the side, if enough time even existed. The next instant would determine it all— so long as he could close range and get ahold of her, he could certainly take her out of the fight. But just the same, if she loosed a bolt straight into his chest...

Storms set blazes. Melted metal. The fist of the gods would strike his chest. He, who could not even supply himself a cuirass, would take it against mere cloth. Merely escaping from the blast itself with his life would be nothing short of miraculous. It came down, then, to this instant. Would his speed surpass hers? Would his strategy? Would his raw luck?

The point of crimson light, casting the woman's face in deathly, pulsing reds— concentrated itself at the tip of her finger.

He did not dive wildly. It would arrest his momentum. He'd give her time to reposition. Regain her footing.

Unallowable. Without his base, however, he could barely shift at all, let alone with nuance. A sitting duck. No. Dead meat, waiting to be fried. On a set path, at a set velocity, with no way to escape it. There wasn't even a breath left to be taken. If he could just get one foot on the ground before that cannon of the skies was launched..!

The thud of boot upon stone, chased by the ripping of the world, echoing through the cavernous mausoleum like a roar from heaven itself.

A scarlet burst, bright enough to blind all who beheld it and turning the air itself the color of blood and rubies.

Heat that pulled wind from lungs, singed hairs, cooked alive everything within its path.

...

And he drove forward, ears ringing and right eye forced shut, yet still unerringly affixed upon his quarry. The space between them was closed in an instant. He knew not the method by which she had missed. Maybe his knife had distracted her from that crucial moment she needed to judge the distance. Maybe he had managed to pull himself free from the line of death she'd traced. Maybe Lady Reon smiled upon him for his faith. He had no way of knowing.

He only knew that this was an opening he'd never get again. Shifting to a grip upon the blade rather than hilt, sword became warhammer as the knight swung.

His strike, overhead and aimed for the woman's collarbone, met a wall of force before it could render the shoulder girdle a dozen shards. That shield again. He couldn't hook her off her feet, yank her head forward, or empty her lungs with his crossguard and pommel until he found a way around that. He could not yet capture his hastily scampering foe, trying to regain some space between them.

In that case, let her scramble. He just needed to steer her into a wall. Nowhere to run.

Do not let up on this pressure.

Do not abate the attack.

Keep moving forward!

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Yes

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

gerard's family grew pumpkins for the season

happy halloween, everyone. hoping to post tomorrow, hands-on training at discount tire hits different.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

been a busy week and change, in the middle of hiring process. haven’t forgotten i’m up here