Naril

Ianus Congreatio: Secret societies, horror, and mystery in the shadows of Prague.

I'm sorry I'm so late on my character! I spent a lot of my mental bandwidth "cracking" what I wanted to do with an IC post in my own thread, but you'll be hearing from me very soon. I'm not ignoring this one. :3

Priest & Hawthorne Investigations - An Urban Fantasy Adventure!

The smaller man hummed to himself and pulled his ragged coat around his slender frame. He had put on weight in the last few weeks and no longer looked emaciated and wasted, but the lines of his face were still lean and unhealthy. The larger man put a bowl of soup in front of the smaller, steam smelling of garlic and spices and savory broth, clinked the spoon against the porcelain bowl.

“You must eat, my friend,” the larger man said, his voice not unkind, “You’ll do our purpose no favors if you wither to skin and bones.”

The smaller man released his hold on his coat, his long, thin fingers reaching toward the bowl. “Will we be finished soon?” he asked, his voice high and thin and worried. He picked up the spoon, slurped at some of the soup.

“Oh no,” the larger man said, “But we have enough strength to…make a demonstration, I think.” He sighed, deeply, “An announcement of intent. There are those who would challenge our plans. Meddlers. People who think they know what’s best for this world. We should let them know what we’re capable of now, because we will only grow stronger in time.”

The smaller man nodded, his head bobbing up and down more vigorously as the larger man spoke. His hair, long and lank, flicked around his head until the larger man laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Finish your soup,” the larger man said, “Then we’ll begin.”

————

Morgan couldn’t quite decide what to focus her attention on. The rod - the magic wand, an athamae, burned in her senses, distracting and delightful, like the smell of a favorite meal when you haven’t eaten for a week. It caressed and teased at those deep and primal parts of her mind, gentle but with a almost irresistible allure. She felt drawn to the wand - or to the power the wand had clearly channeled - and that fact left her deeply curious. There were many things Morgan still didn’t completely understand about herself, things she’d learned over the long years to live with. But here, now, she felt that she wanted something - in an almost mechanical, compulsive way - and she didn’t know why. She might not know everything about why she had been brought to this world, but she certainly hadn’t given up on the idea of finding out.

Cat Baker, on the other hand, intrigued Morgan in a different way. Terrified at first, but slowly opening herself to questions, to acceptance, to believing that the men and women around the table believed her. Morgan watched as Cat’s shoulders relaxed, as her spine straightened. She felt the subtle changes around Cat as her breathing evened out and her hands stopped shaking. The grief and heavy sadness were still with her, but as Morgan watched, she saw the desperation, the hopelessness start to slide away from her. Her thoughts and emotions became less tightly-wrapped around her, and they brushed and flickered against Morgan’s own psychic senses, feather-soft touches of desire and curiosity. With well-honed discipline, Morgan kept herself from reaching out and pulling on those bursts of desire. All the same, whenever Cat’s eyes met hers, she felt her control almost slip.

“Um,” Cat said, after Robert finished speaking, “Cat. My name is Cat. Even my dad hasn’t really called me Catherine since I was in high school. But um…the two by my apartment? They…one was wearing a long coat, and he seemed sort of hunched over, like he was hurt or he was carrying something. And…there might have been something glowing, maybe. Like a lantern or one of those old camping flashlights…”

Emmaline’s breath brushed against Morgan’s neck, a soft murmur of words while the others listened to Cat. She felt the electric tingle of the woman’s presence, felt her precise, ordered thoughts suddenly closer than she had expected. Emma whispered, and Morgan listened - both had been drawn to the athamae, though very likely for different reasons. Morgan turned her head, brought her lips to Emma’s ear.

“There may not be much to find, but perhaps Robert will surprise us,” Morgan whispered, “The runes are…sort of a mess. Some of the shapes look like Enochian letters, but…Shiloh will probably know more. I think Mandy’s right, we need to-“

From outside the conference room, the sound of something hard hitting the ground echoed, the sound a sharp blow against the quiet conversation. Cat looked up, her expression confused. Morgan’s head snapped around with a predator’s speed, eyes focused on the door.

“What was that?” Cat asked.

“Amanda?” Jacob called, his voice gently chiding, “Please be careful out there.”

No reply came from from the room outside. To those with magical senses, the air pulsed like the beat of a vast and distant drum. Treacle-slow, the tension of directed will and power filled the air.

Morgan stiffened, her hand shifting on the table, palms flat on the tabletop and the back of her chair.

“Amanda?” Jacob called again, his voice tight. He stood, made his way around the table, his boots thumping on the hardwood as he headed for the door. Morgan rose, arrived at the door just as Jacob did.

“Emma, come with me,” Morgan said, her voice tight, “Something isn’t right.” She followed Jacob out of the room, her footsteps quick and precise.

“Mr. Miller, Miss Staten, I would appreciate it if you would join me in keeping Miss Baker company,” Sol rumbled, a look of deep concern in his eyes, “Perhaps we should turn our attention to this wand…”

Morgan followed Jacob only a pace behind, the two moving in fast, purposeful silence. There were maybe twenty steps between the conference room and the larger area where Amanda had been left to her own devices, but each one felt like a small infinity. She reached into her jacket, snapped the clasp on her shoulder holster, wrapped her fingers around the familiar grip of her pistol, held it low and ready, one thumb rolling the hammer back in a smooth, easy motion. The feeling of eldritch power pulsed through the air again, more directed this time, a lance rather than a net. She saw Jacob swallow, felt his fear, anxiety, the desperate love for his daughter, the soul-deep anger for leaving her alone.

Finally, the pair came around a corner into PHI’s main office, and a bizarre sight met their eyes. Amanda’s chair had fallen on its side, but she was standing on Jacob’s chair, a black marker in her small fist. Her arm moved in short, mechanical jerks, like a broken automaton, and the tip of the marker squealed against a laminated map of the city. Thick, ragged letters scrawled over the plastic, not in any child’s handwriting. After a moment, Amanda apparently finished her work, and the marker dropped from her hand. The little girl turned, her feet shuffling, until she faced the investigators.

Her eyes were wide, hollow, and lines of red lanced across her sclera, the veins bloodshot or burst, and stared up and to one side at nothing. Her body seemed hunched, as though she couldn’t quite stand up straight, and her hands, now empty, were slack. Her mouth opened with the exaggerated movements of a poorly-operated puppet, her jaw crackling as the joint popped and her mouth moved.

“Do not meddle in what comes,” Amanda said, her high voice distorted and thick, “The balance of power will change. See that we can touch you where you work, where you live. Our power is without bound. ”

With that, the pulse of energy faded, the lance of will and power dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. Amanda blinked, her feet shuffling, her body relaxing from an almost seizure-tight tension. She blinked, looked around, and one hand went to rub her eyes.

“Daddy?” She said, “I don’t feel good.”

Then she collapsed, tumbling off the chair, landing on the floor in a tangle of arms, legs, and pink boots. Jacob ran forward, tossing his gun to one side and scooped up his daughter, checking her pulse, his fingers probing for broken bones.

Morgan took a step forward, weapon still held low and ready, her eyes darting around the otherwise-empty room, the power she felt lingering in her senses. She looked at the map behind Jacob’s desk, saw the thick, black scrawled letters, uneven and ragged.

THE SHAMAN HAS COME
THE SHAMAN IS HERE
THE SHAMAN CALLS

Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

I'm going to be working on my sheet throughout the day, but I'd expect to post something by this evening (US Central time). :3 Thanks for your patience.

Priest & Hawthorne Investigations - An Urban Fantasy Adventure!

Wonderful to hear from our distant and jet-lagged player! :3 I'm working on things now, as I finally have some time to myself.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

@Fat Boy Kyle - Subject to whether or not the GM agrees with me, the way I've always figured is that, yes, Miraluka can read other species' written word - there would be a profound separation and alienation otherwise. While that's certainly narratively interesting, I feel like that also builds cultural, functional, and societal walls between them and any other race so high that surmounting them would be outside the scope of something like an RP thread. Making things difficult for the sake of being difficult rarely tells a good story.

All the same, taking that sort of thing as a granted might be an interesting concept for a piece of short fiction.

However, my basic assumption here is that the act of writing (and, as the Force flows through all things, the act of displaying text) subtly changes the way the Force flows through, around, and within that object. All things are connected, and that connection is changed by every act, large or small. I very much intend that Seris can read books, datapads, consoles, and ship's names, though I suspect she appreciates paintings on a different level. She probably perceives the woven strands of intent, desire, frustration, pain, and ecstasy the work might carry with it, rather than the composition, pigment, brush strokes, and subtle plays of light and shadow. Not so much "better" or "worse," only different.

Ianus Congreatio: Secret societies, horror, and mystery in the shadows of Prague.

Oh my God, finally a couple of hours together where I can think connected thoughts. I'll have something up soon. :3

Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

You're welcome to be skeptical! I have quite a lot planned, I just don't have any time to write it right now. :3 Besides, "Naril's Stream of Consciousness" doesn't always resemble the final work.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

I'll be sure to keep quiet about what happens. :3

This is a work-in-progress, unfinished thing, but I have to get ready to go to the airport - you may hear from me later tonight, but I'd expect to have this finished Monday or Tuesday. I have a lot of writing planned for those evenings, since I'm just in a hotel room. :3

Hider

Name: Seris Vakaan
Age: 32
Species: Miraluka
Appearance:

If you saw Seris, you very likely wouldn’t immediately guess she worked for the Jedi Archives. She is tall, with a slender, whipcord build, and walks with the sort of easy confidence that suggests she should swagger - but can’t quite be bothered to. Her skin is a rich olive, as though her ancestors were from the desert and she herself spends quite a lot of time in the sun. When she wears something without sleeves, there are myriad small marks on her hands and arms - what can only be called the graffiti of violence. Straight, dark hair with streaks of hard, fine silver falls to just below her ears in a playful, almost-but-not-quite-boyish cut. Her features are likewise playful - pixieish and pleasant, though more striking than traditionally pretty. Like the rest of her kind, Seris’ eyes are milky-white and blind, though she breaks with the majority of her people and chooses not to keep them covered. Seris’ hands are quick and strong, with long fingers and neatly-trimmed nails. Both of her ears are pierced a number of times, usually filled with small decorations from a handful of worlds.

Seris is not a member of the Jedi Order, and does not wear the traditional brown Jedi robe. She prefers well-made and hard-wearing clothes, tailored well and usually in earth tones. She’s been told she looks very good in blue but…well, how would she know?

Force Abilities:

• Force Sight - As a Miraluka, Seris is deeply, profoundly connected to the Force. This manifests most obviously as perceiving the world around her through that medium - and that is not always to her advantage.
• Basic Jedi Force Skills - There’s a reason for this, hang on and keep reading.

Non-Force Abilities:

• Archaeologist - Seris started her career in archaeology, and genuinely finds chasing through books, stories, and even oral histories to be as exhilarating as following clues in a tractless desert, looking for an ancient and almost-forgotten crypt. She used to be a member of the Republic Archaeology Society, but missed too many meetings and functions to be welcome. Now, of course, that’s not much of a question.
• Pilot - The long-range shuttle that the Order traditionally loans her is by far what Seris is most comfortable with, though she certainly is familiar with the larger transport ship they most recently let her borrow for longer trips into the galaxy. She is an excellent pilot, and while the ship itself is almost completely stock, the hyperdrive works perfectly - which has made much more of a difference than maneuvering capability.
• Cosmopolitan - Some of the stories Seris follows are so old that even books mentioning them as doubtful rumor have crumbled to dust. And, of course, none of those are written in Galactic Common. She is conversant in a large number of languages, fluent in Huttese, and at home almost everywhere.
• Thief - There’s no point in kicking down the front door if a window’s been left unlocked - or can be unlocked. Seris has an…unorthodox perspective of personal property laws, and some treasures have returned to the Archives from an officially-anonymous donor, regardless of how incensed their former owners might be about the matter. She’s rather accomplished at disabling security systems, sneaking past guards, and, in general, doing things without getting caught.
• Educated - Seris is a University graduate, learns quickly, and still has the kind of adaptable mind that doomed her career in academia.

Personality/Motivation: Many Miraluka are calm, cool, and even reserved, but Seris has always been the black sheep of her family. While she is charming, articulate, friendly and witty, she is also ambitious and proud. Seris can be strong-willed and stubborn, though, as they say, her heart is always in the right place. Seris is immensely proud of her affiliation with the Order, cognizant that they don’t let many “outsiders” close, and she believes that the Jedi are a force for good. She is familiar with the Order’s philosophies - even to the point of having attended lectures - and has, on more than one occasion, called out a member of the Order for their behavior. She realizes that, on further reflection, those may have been some of the most dangerous things she’s ever done.

Biography:

Bullet point version:

- Family has been involved with the Order her entire life - maybe a sibling taken to be trained as youngling, or other familial connection.

- Never entertained thoughts of joining the Order for a variety of reasons - never having been asked, belief that they wouldn’t want her, desire to see the galaxy, whatever.

- Did extraordinarily well as a student at university, but troublesome enough that she got a lot of “field assignments,” so her teachers wouldn’t have to deal with her.

- Graduated, found work with the antiquities trade, started collecting stories about what sounded like Force-related artifacts

- Actually started finding these trinkets, not sure what to do with them, kept them on a shelf

- Eventually found something interesting, brought it to the Archives (probably something interesting enough that she didn’t take “proper channels” and more or less barged in saying “you guys really want to see this.”)

- Worked with the Jedi Archives since as a field agent, recovering some of the things lost over the Jedi’s long history, or even finding the truth behind stories of Dark Side artifacts, etc. etc.

- Learned a smattering of things from Jedi over the decade or so she’s been working with them - how to harness the Force to do basic Jedi force-things (As I’m assuming Miraluka aren’t born knowing how to do that because why would they), sitting in on lectures about Jedi philosophy, that sort of thing. Maybe she knows how to build a lightsaber, but has been expressly forbidden to do so? I have a short story I wrote ages ago that goes well with this character and that idea, but maybe not. Thinking out loud! :3

- More later, got to run!

Secrets:

Relations:

Parents alive, sister alive on homeworld, sibling(?) maybe alive after Jedi Purge. Maybe not.

Ianus Congreatio: Secret societies, horror, and mystery in the shadows of Prague.

Hiya!

As I mentioned, I sort of love the idea you've got going here. :3 I do have a question, though -

- Is there a particular year or decade of the 1800s that you're thinking of? I ask because that was an...eventful century. :3 You have Franz Mesmer (And his attendant Mesmerism) in the early 1800s, the Heroic Era of Medicine up until the 1850s, where bloodletting and the Four Humours dominated medical thinking, the invention and patenting of the telegraph in the 1830s, and the development of automatic firearms in the 1890s. I'm guessing by the way you've written the OOC that you're meaning this to be late-1800s - after telegraphs have become common, after utility-scale electricity has come about, but before the turn of the century proper. Sort of an 1880s-1890s feeling - Alexandre Eiffel has left the world spellbound with his iron-lattice tower at the Champ de Mars, and perhaps Daniel Burnham's White City is only months from opening.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

Mmm. I've always had a deep love for the Star Wars universe, and I'm reading Aftermath as my airplane novel today. If you'll have me, I may very well write something for this. :3