Avatar of NoriWasHere

Status

Recent Statuses

11 mos ago
Current That was the worst three months of my life. Health is close to normal again. Here's to making the insurance company cry!
1 like
1 yr ago
"Your copay today is $20,000" How about no.
3 likes
3 yrs ago
Well, the "I am but an ally" to "queer af" pipeline is real.

Bio


I have gone by many names over my life, and the one I go by here is Nori.

I am a non-binary individual who has a love of participating in these stories and creating my own. I am incredibly chronically ill. If my illness flares up too much I may be pulled away.

Most Recent Posts

@Dead Cruiser Wonderful to hear!

I am constantly adding things in as they become available as this will serve as the foundation of the OOC as well, I will probably split into 2 posts to start the OOC to make it a bit less lengthy. One thing I have not brought up and wanted to share is the Kingdom section. Our story revolves around seven commanders/representatives sent from the seven kingdoms and in an effort to allow creativity I am allowing you to create your own kingdom. If you don't want to and want one created by me instead let me know. Not a lot of detail will be needed.
@MonkeyBusiness@Haha@Solaris@Valor
Awesome to hear!

I will start progressing towards an OOC soon enough so be on the lookout! We are still open if anyone else wants in.

Sneaky edit, added in some information regarding magic.


It was night time in the City of Ash and it was alive with revelry.

Every table in every bar on every street corner found itself packed with the smelly, sweating, and ravenous patrons one would expect for a night like tonight; for tonight was a night unlike any other. Today marked the anniversary of the horrid War of the Breech many centuries ago after all.

The patrons dug into their food with a rabid intensity as onlookers waited anxiously for their meals to arrive, jealously alive in their eyes, while the rest of the crowd drowned themselves, mug after mug, with the various alcoholic drinks available; mostly mead and Something Else, a local favorite. The floors looked as if they were assaulted by the God of Decay with half-eaten chickens and gods-knows-what else littering the floor while bile and unknown liquids poured forth like a torrent of awfulness. This was expected. This scene is one that many a soul has traveled to be seen. While in normal times owner would be appalled to see the state of his bar, the bartender looked on with a smile on hand for today was the day everyone celebrated, and nobody was upset. Unless of course, you knew better.

No one alive today experienced it yet the stories are still told, albeit seldom spoken in whole, by the bards and by the elders. They spin a tale of monsters of flesh and metal stalking the country-side, whole armies annihilated by great beasts of war, and of the gods returning to the mortal realm, saving us in our darkest time. They know the stories of many a great hero, many that died and fewer yet that lived, that helped curb the tide of the assault on the mortal races. They know the stories of all seven gods that still reside in our realm, placed in fortified temples where they have kept the shield up that prevents the creatures of nightmares from returning. They also know that today was never a day of celebration. Today, to them, is a day of remembrance. Remembering the errors of the all the races that led to the Breach, the errors of commanders who led their soldiers to slaughter, and the greed of the many who prayed on the few still living during it all. Today they remember and look on at the parties with a stern gaze and speak a cautionary tale to those who will listen.

It was such an elder who found himself sitting on a famous corner, deep in the heart of the City of Ash, judging the crowds from a distance. As he sat, he was approached by a young man in search of a tall tale. The man towered over the frail build of the elder, though he approached with a smile and asked if a seat next to the old man was taken, to which the old man responded no.

"I hear you know a story or two about the Breach Wars, old man," the towering individual asked as he sat down.

"Old man," the elder asked, "I'll have you know I am no older than your parents may be, are they so old to you?"

"I meant no disrespect, elder," the towering man said with a chuckle, "I am a student at the great magic school at Itos, and I and my fellow classmates have traveled far to this city to hear the tales of the war. I have been told you know a story or two, and I would like to know where we went wrong in the past."

"Not interested in the parties," quizzed the old man.

"No, especially not if I can learn something to tell my friends back home," the towering man responded.

The old man smiled weakly and pulled his posture straight as he did. "Perhaps there is hope for you youngin's after all," he responded with a wink. "Alrighty, this is a story of heroes who did not know they were such at the time, a story of the gods who gave up their immortal life to shield us, and it is a tale of the common folk who banded together and saved life as we know it. They came from all walks of life, some of the noble pursuits and some not, while the gods themselves were our most holy. The war was terrible in all accounts, but I will start my story off at where we started winning, right here in the City of Ash, three-hundred, and thirty-three years ago. The gods, now walking among us, used their divine powers to seal the breach and thus ending the never-ending flow of nightmares that stemmed forth like a raging river into our real-,, " the old man paused as his head tilted to the left, "realm, that started," pausing again, this time standing up, "what is that awful ruckus?," the old man stopped speaking.

The towering individual turned his head, the same direction the elder did seconds before, and listened. "Heyyyyy, I am soo not drunk guys – Where's my food – where are we- what did – for – somebody needs to -I think you've – did you grab my – what is the mean- how oft- wherein th-" The more the towering man listened, the less he heard and the less he understood. He turned his attention the old man, who was visibly shaking, and asked; "what do you hear old man?"

"Don't you hear it? The screaming," he answered back.

The towering man listened again, and this time he heard it; growing louder every second he did, the sounds of people panicking and shattering objects, blood-curdling screams that filled the nights' air only to be silenced, and he listened as it was getting closer and closer and closer. "Stay behind me elder," the towering man shouted as he stood up and his hands erupted into flames, "I will protect you," he promised. Though promise as he did, the towering man's voice was soon added to the melody of screams, as the chorus of horror began to fill the air and erupt throughout the City of Ash.

From miles around people could see the fires that raged that night, and even further could people see the plume of smoke that trailed over the horizon the next day.

A few days later the city Arcadia, located fifteen miles away, was attacked and destroyed. Then Sev’mo, and then Barin, and so on. Soon there-after reports of a new, smaller than the one told of in the history books, Breach was received by the Council of Seven, and the armies of the mortal realm were quickly mobilized. Any questions as to how this could have transpired under the watch of the Gods were quickly answered, as a God was missing. Without notice Rofella, Goddess of War, had vanished from her temple and disappeared into the night. With her disappearance, the shield that protected our realm waned until it broke allowing the Breach to once again return; albeit in reduced effectiveness. As the main armies mobilized to surround and fight the monsters of flesh and metal, a plan was quickly put in motion. The Seven Kingdoms would each send a small force led by one of their best commanders to find the missing god.

Time is of the essence. For with each passing week, the other Gods grow weaker as the strain of maintaining the shield has already started to drain their energy. With each passing day, the enemy pushes closer and closer to their temples. With each passing hour, smaller Breaches open all across the countryside. The dawn of the apocalypse is here, and the fiery inferno of our end times have arrived.

- - - - - - -

The Basic idea for this story:




The gods of our story:






History: War of the Breach






Kingdoms:






Enemies:


Current information about our enemies is scattered at best. The reports from the front have spoken of monsters of flesh and metal, with varying descriptions. Our enemies seem to be sentient, and unique in their actions. Though the history books have the information in the temple at Intebunie, Yamthurr has yet yielded those books to scholars or tacticians.

How magic works in this RP




Here are a few ideas behind the magic themselves. There can be different variation on each. You can use whatever form of magic within reason, so if you wanted to create a water mage or something new, let me know and we can work from there.




Races


Standard humanoid fantasy races and subraces.

Rules:






Questions:




Post away!


It was night time in the City of Ash and it was alive with revelry.

Every table in every bar on every street corner found itself packed with the smelly, sweating, and ravenous patrons one would expect for a night like tonight; for tonight was a night unlike any other. Today marked the anniversary of the horrid War of the Breech many centuries ago after all.

The patrons dug into their food with a rabid intensity as onlookers waited anxiously for their meals to arrive, jealously alive in their eyes, while the rest of the crowd drowned themselves, mug after mug, with the various alcoholic drinks available; mostly mead and Something Else, a local favorite. The floors looked as if they were assaulted by the God of Decay with half-eaten chickens and gods-knows-what else littering the floor while bile and unknown liquids poured forth like a torrent of awfulness. This was expected. This scene is one that many a soul has traveled to be seen. While in normal times owner would be appalled to see the state of his bar, the bartender looked on with a smile on hand for today was the day everyone celebrated, and nobody was upset. Unless of course, you knew better.

No one alive today experienced it yet the stories are still told, albeit seldom spoken in whole, by the bards and by the elders. They spin a tale of monsters of flesh and metal stalking the country-side, whole armies annihilated by great beasts of war, and of the gods returning to the mortal realm, saving us in our darkest time. They know the stories of many a great hero, many that died and fewer yet that lived, that helped curb the tide of the assault on the mortal races. They know the stories of all seven gods that still reside in our realm, placed in fortified temples where they have kept the shield up that prevents the creatures of nightmares from returning. They also know that today was never a day of celebration. Today, to them, is a day of remembrance. Remembering the errors of the all the races that led to the Breach, the errors of commanders who led their soldiers to slaughter, and the greed of the many who prayed on the few still living during it all. Today they remember and look on at the parties with a stern gaze and speak a cautionary tale to those who will listen.

It was such an elder who found himself sitting on a famous corner, deep in the heart of the City of Ash, judging the crowds from a distance. As he sat, he was approached by a young man in search of a tall tale. The man towered over the frail build of the elder, though he approached with a smile and asked if a seat next to the old man was taken, to which the old man responded no.

"I hear you know a story or two about the Breach Wars, old man," the towering individual asked as he sat down.

"Old man," the elder asked, "I'll have you know I am no older than your parents may be, are they so old to you?"

"I meant no disrespect, elder," the towering man said with a chuckle, "I am a student at the great magic school at Itos, and I and my fellow classmates have traveled far to this city to hear the tales of the war. I have been told you know a story or two, and I would like to know where we went wrong in the past."

"Not interested in the parties," quizzed the old man.

"No, especially not if I can learn something to tell my friends back home," the towering man responded.

The old man smiled weakly and pulled his posture straight as he did. "Perhaps there is hope for you youngin's after all," he responded with a wink. "Alrighty, this is a story of heroes who did not know they were such at the time, a story of the gods who gave up their immortal life to shield us, and it is a tale of the common folk who banded together and saved life as we know it. They came from all walks of life, some of the noble pursuits and some not, while the gods themselves were our most holy. The war was terrible in all accounts, but I will start my story off at where we started winning, right here in the City of Ash, three-hundred, and thirty-three years ago. The gods, now walking among us, used their divine powers to seal the breach and thus ending the never-ending flow of nightmares that stemmed forth like a raging river into our real-,, " the old man paused as his head tilted to the left, "realm, that started," pausing again, this time standing up, "what is that awful ruckus?," the old man stopped speaking.

The towering individual turned his head, the same direction the elder did seconds before, and listened. "Heyyyyy, I am soo not drunk guys – Where's my food – where are we- what did – for – somebody needs to -I think you've – did you grab my – what is the mean- how oft- wherein th-" The more the towering man listened, the less he heard and the less he understood. He turned his attention the old man, who was visibly shaking, and asked; "what do you hear old man?"

"Don't you hear it? The screaming," he answered back.

The towering man listened again, and this time he heard it; growing louder every second he did, the sounds of people panicking and shattering objects, blood-curdling screams that filled the nights' air only to be silenced, and he listened as it was getting closer and closer and closer. "Stay behind me elder," the towering man shouted as he stood up and his hands erupted into flames, "I will protect you," he promised. Though promise as he did, the towering man's voice was soon added to the melody of screams, as the chorus of horror began to fill the air and erupt throughout the City of Ash.

From miles around people could see the fires that raged that night, and even further could people see the plume of smoke that trailed over the horizon the next day.

A few days later the city Arcadia, located fifteen miles away, was attacked and destroyed. Then Sev’mo, and then Barin, and so on. Soon there-after reports of a new, smaller than the one told of in the history books, Breach was received by the Council of Seven, and the armies of the mortal realm were quickly mobilized. Any questions as to how this could have transpired under the watch of the Gods were quickly answered, as a God was missing. Without notice Rofella, Goddess of War, had vanished from her temple and disappeared into the night. With her disappearance, the shield that protected our realm waned until it broke allowing the Breach to once again return; albeit in reduced effectiveness. As the main armies mobilized to surround and fight the monsters of flesh and metal, a plan was quickly put in motion. The Seven Kingdoms would each send a small force led by one of their best commanders to find the missing god.

Time is of the essence. For with each passing week, the other Gods grow weaker as the strain of maintaining the shield has already started to drain their energy. With each passing day, the enemy pushes closer and closer to their temples. With each passing hour, smaller Breaches open all across the countryside. The dawn of the apocalypse is here, and the fiery inferno of our end times have arrived.

- - - - - - -

The Basic idea for this story:



The gods of our story:

CLAIMED: ROFELLA -





History: War of the Breach





Kingdoms:





Enemies:

Current information about our enemies is scattered at best. The reports from the front have spoken of monsters of flesh and metal, with varying descriptions. Our enemies seem to be sentient, and unique in their actions. Though the history books have the information in the temple at Intebunie, Yamthurr has yet yielded those books to scholars or tacticians.

Questions:



Post away!
UPDATED: More information included with this edit.


"Who could have known how our war would change? How our walls would become raked with barbs thrown from monsters with skin of metal, how our towers would crumble from the fire brought down as their beasts roared in the heavens above. Who would have known? Would it have mattered?

Our fortress lay bare, the once-great walls of the Knife's Edge litter the landscape and her towers broken and fragmented. Our home for a decade had finally fallen, and it wasn't even close. This fight was not a battle we could have won; no, no, this fights outcome was settled the day they began this war. With each defeat, they brought new weapons, with each setback new soldiers, and with each passing year, we found that our enemy was utterly unique, and our strategies were all for naught. And the battle at the Knife's Edge made that clear.

Their beasts on the ground sat too far back for our magic to hit, and the night sky hid the ones above. We lashed out like children as our fire mages illuminated the fields with their red and yellow glow while our force mages launched their boulders into the enemy formation. I don't know if we hit a single one. Yet each salvo sent and fire dropped, claimed lives as if it were a sport. I watched in horror as friends after friend met their fate at the end of a barb or under the crushing weight of our collapsing walls. I watched in shock as my fellow soldiers disappeared in a mist of bone and blood as the fire from above hit and exploded around them. I saw it all. It will be the end of us.

I led a desperate retreat from our home into the forest east and away from the carnage. Of all the commanders, only I and Ardur remain because we knew the battle was lost. Now, we must fight our way across enemy-held land with hunters on our heels, for there is a secret crossing into the Land of Whispers. From there, we can return to our home and prepare our final defense.




The Basic idea for this story:




Setting for the story:




Enemies:


Our enemy is a very diverse force in terms of capabilities and threats. Our most commonly seen threat are the various footsoldiers that form their ranks. Covered head to toe in dark plate armor and with thick tower shields, their numbers will always be higher than ours. They are not very skilled, and their morale tends to break rather easy. The next, and most dangerous group, are their ranged core. They too are often armored in the same plate armor but they are equipped with a weapon that has claimed many of our comrades. They come with a repeater bow, a simple name for such a devastating weapon. While it remains an unknown to us how it works, its effects are made clear as bolt after bolt leaves the chamber of this weapon until their magazine is cleared. It appears to resemble a very large crossbow with a strange circular apparatus near the release. They first showed up for war about a year ago and have begun to change the tide of the war. Open fights are no longer an option and we have been forced into our castles and behind our walls.




How magic works in this RP







Nations:





Rules:






If you have any questions just let me know!


The start of something new
@Opposition@Firecracker_


After all this time, S'venia finally found herself back in Swathe Street’s Central Square and it was intoxicating. The people have eventually come together in search of a better world. Sure, they were misguided by their candidates, but the fact that they packed this square so tightly meant that they were ready for more. S'venia could tell they were prepared for a better life but did not know what that meant in terms of accomplishing it. They were just cattle at this point, but soon they could be a herd. One that could rampage through the corporations and politicians alike, only needing to be heard

And S'venia was all ears.

She had returned to this layer of hell on a mission. She wanted to hear the people speak. She wanted their truths, what they saw of the world, and what they thought was needed. While most of what they spoke would be useless as a journalist, she could use their messages to tailor her voice and bring the Truth to the masses. The Truth of this situation was as dire as ever, after-all. Each faction at play for the council seat wants to divide the people into their separate tribes and peddle to the common theme of them. Gatch's tribe wished to maintain a semblance of normal in a world rife with chaos. Walter and Samsara's wish to bring changes to those who want to be free. The sheep that believe in Serena want to play coy with the world and what it will do to their voices. And Chen Dao's tribe? S'venia did not know what they believed, but they sure creeped her out.

They were all cogs in the same machine, spitting out divisions and chaos instead of unity and compassion. That's what brought S'venia back to this accursed square. Not the free perception granted, but the Truth as spoken by the people. Their stories mattered just as much as these so-called candidates.

She needed to find someone willing to make their voices and faces attached to a message. Not an easy task in the reclaim district as everyone here has a plan, after all. For some, it is survival, to make it through the relentless existence that is reality. Others, to have others spread the message they are too scared to speak. And even more, pretend to be embarrassed that they are down-on-their-luck trillionaires reluctant to be interviewed by common trash. Whatever their reason, S'venia was finding it hard to get more than one person for every ten asked to agree to her interviews. While it was encouraging that some wanted to be honest, she knew she needed more. She tapped one of the buttons on the side of her head, causing the red iris of her eye cam to turn off. She required her drone. It was currently busy filming the last of the candidates entering the hotel.

"Return to me," S'venia spoke as the last candidate entered the hotel and vanished from sight, "cut recording."

The drone feed cut from her vision, though her head was quick to locate her little guy floating away from the mass of reporter drones. While this little bundle of electronic goods was not as advanced as the others, it was unique in its way. "Turn on recording on approach, three-second timer," she spoke as she watched as her drone approached. Taking a deep breath, she watched as her drone pulled itself back and stabilized in front of her, starting the timer.

3...2..1

S'venia smiled as a quick blink forced its action. "Hello! This is S'venia from the South City Blues here in the reclaim district, and you are all out in force!" She paused as her drone did a quick panoramic spin showing the crowd. "The last candidate has made it inside, That's probably gonna be it for the exciting stuff. I'm taking a pause from the candidates for now. Might try and get some questions in with those that have turned up here. Stay tuned for the videos," she finished as she waved with a smile before the drone cut its video once more. Quickly, S'venia unfurled her computer and quickly typed a message to her followers and attached the footage from her drone. She immediately went through the video to make sure everything looked decent enough for a quick post. Happy with how it turned out, she sent "Stay tuned for interviews!" and tagged the debate and sent the video out. S'venia wrapped the computer back up, S'venia looked around at the people nearby. Anyone who was following her profile would receive the notification in an instant, and she wondered if anyone nearby would get it.

"Track me; five meters follow," S'venia commanded as she shifted her focus back to the job at hand. Her drone obeyed, turning position until it met the desired conditions. Soon, the left part of her glasses was alight with the drones' feed. She began to move through the masses while her drone captured the bigger picture. From the drones feed, S'venia looked for her next subject. She had already interviewed individuals from each tribe, but she needed more. She thought she could interview some Gatch supporters and see if she could get the attention of the man himself. While the two would never see eye to eye, S'venia fancied herself the savior of the mayor. She danced with the thought for a second, briefly imaging the sweaty and scared face of the politician way over his head, trying to offer her a position. After a few minutes of dancing through the crowd, she spotted an abnormality.

"Curious," she whispered as she slowed to a crawl. S'venia rotated her hand, and the drone followed its command. She pulled her hand back and extended her fingers, causing the drone to zoom in. "Who are you," she mumbled as she focused on this person. The subject of her curiosity was unremarkable at first glance. His clothing was dull, his hair and beard unkempt, and he looked like any ordinary citizen of this district. Yet, there was no affiliation to any tribe on the surface; no way to identify who he supported.

You can tell a lot about a person just from the way they dress. While this is not true for every supporter, a lot of them tend to fall in line with their ideas. Outdated styles probably match an obsolete view that the centrist are suitable for the country. Voguish on the verge of excessive? A little harder to pin down, but S'venia knows to look for the augs to figure out which side of that fence they fall on. Not stylish but still on the verge of being excessive? Pirates. And Dao supporters? Well, she wasn't sure if he even had any but she'd imagine they would wear an orange robe. Every party had a style, an etiquette, if you will, that the brand as a whole has adopted. While everyone dressed their brand, often, people make it all too easy to read.

This man was a hard read. His clothes were dull, but they weren't some bargain brand design that so many centrists bought. They were a combination of this and that and had no rhyme nor reason for their haphazard mix. He wasn't stylish but was also not excessive in his look. So not a pirate, aug junkie, nor was he a violent hippie, at least on the surface. Was he a monk? S'venia focused her attention on his hair. While it was orange, the lack of a calmingly creepy demeanor meant he was likely just an average person here to enjoy the shit show. S'venia wondered what stories he could tell. Most likely he was a follower of Samsara, as his augs were well kept and proudly displayed. Yet that still meshed with how he carried himself. She allowed a small smile as she balled her hand into a fist, causing the drone to retract its lens. S'venia wanted to know a little more about what brought this average joe out to see some boring politicians ahead of the debate?

S'venia began to make her way through the crowd using her drone to guide her to her mark. She slid through the masses mostly unnoticed, though her hair made her an easy spot to those who paid attention. Soon enough, she found herself breaking through and arriving near her mark. She sized him up once more, noticing the stick that once contained some food. Her eyes shifted towards the food cart, lingering there for a second before they moved back towards the man.

At a slow pace, she began to walk towards the man. She moved her glasses on top of her head and smiled as she caught his attention with a wave. "Hello! I am S'venia, a journalist with the South City Blues. How's your day going?" S'venia finished with another smile.




For your consideration, S'venia.




Speaking of magic! Is there a system tied to a mage's ability and stamina? Like an athlete can only do so much before they break down, is magic the same in this universe? Do time and practice hone skills with the random savant still existing make sense here?
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