PrivateVentures

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@JaceBeleren, here's my CS for after you get back from your trip to Rome.

Though Zarif's library of spells is a little over-powered, I hope his innate pacifism and lack of physical healthiness balance him out sufficiently. I'm always open to criticism and suggestions.

Zarif, the Ancient One

Zarif, the Ancient One

Age: 108

Race: Loxodon

Personality: Zarif can be described as an undoubtedly wise and understanding individual, his age and affinity for reading others' emotions contributing greatly to these character traits. The Loxodon is known to always compose himself in an impartial and just manner, able to provide unwavering patience to even the most aggravating Rakdos imp.
The Loxodon's sense of right, heavily influenced by his kind's affinity for white magic and the Selesnyan virtues of green, is a very accepting and naturalistic view of the world. However, with slight hints of blue beliefs and tendencies in his personality, Zarif can also be found with a good understanding of justice and law, along with an astoundingly open mind.
In battle, Zarif will never lay a finger on his opponent due to his almost strictly pacifistic ways. The Loxodon believes magic to be a beautiful art that links people, not an ultimate weapon. The mage, though he is more than capable of obliterating others with his practiced power, will almost always try to negotiate and talk with his enemy. For indeed, although his personal health and stamina may be quickly declining at such an old age, Zarif is still a rather powerful magic user and able to keep his own amongst more able-bodied opponents. Never expect to see the Loxodon play on the offensive, however; he strictly limits his powers into keeping himself and others alive, defensively.

History: Born almost anonymously into the Selesnyan conclave and adopted by a pair of elven mages, Zarif was found to be an incredible prodigy in the magical arts almost from birth. The young Loxodon was known specifically to possess an innate understanding of basic magical happenings, and, to an extent, the complex moral obligations that came with such powers of a summoner. Eager to nurture such talents as quickly as they could, Zarif's parents provided the young Loxodon with the best magical schooling they could muster, intent on providing the child with a large array of Selesnyan, nature-oriented morals and education in order to ensure their son's future use of magical intellect would not go to waste. Through Zarif's early-life studies, however, the Loxodon would slowly become intrigued by the teachings of more traditional magic scholars, including those of the Azorius guild. His parents, in dismay that their son would dabble in the callous practices of the cruel justice system, forbade him from learning outside of the benevolent Selesnyan teachings. The Loxodon's thirst for exotic knowledge would not be so easily oppressed, however.
Zarif thus began a time of mainly self-education, secretly indulging himself in the writings and magical theories of other scholars and guilds in order to expand his knowledge of what the essence of summoner magic meant to so many other people. The Loxodon would also branch out into the fields of philosophy and law, bringing to his mind a very well-rounded and grand understanding of the workings, both mentally and magically, of other people. All of these developments, though they were intended to be kept secret from his parents, lead to an inevitable falling out within Zarif's family as his academic treacheries were eventually exposed. Thus, with his family ties sadly weakened and the conclave's rather zealous moral code frowning upon him, Zarif had no choice but to further commit himself to his studies.
The Loxodon, however, would refuse to ever entirely leave the Selesnyan guild; his roots in white and green mana having been a strong basis for all of his teachings. For the rest of the Loxodian mage's life, Zarif would make great leagues in furthering his personal intellectual development. Through open-minded research and study, the Loxodon became an astoundingly astute and powerful mage, distinguishing himself drastically from the more traditional beast-tamers of the Selesnya guild. Though such a difference in magical prowess may be seen as heretical by some, it is undeniable that Zarif's knowledge is indeed a priceless commodity in the conclave; especially when it can be used to educate others. Zarif now hopes, more than ever, that his age-old intellect and kindness will be of use to Selesnya during these war-torn times.

Associates: No specific persons, other than the occasional friendly scholar from the Azorius guild.

Guild: Selesnya

Rank within guild: 3 - Distinguished Member

Colors: Green and White, with a splash of Blue.

Preferred spells:
(1 CMC) Path to Exile
(2 CMC) Selesnya Charm
(3 CMC) Sphinx's Revelation
(4 CMC) Advent of the Wurm
(5 CMC) Telemin Performance
(6 CMC) Collective Blessing

Preferred creatures:
(1 CMC) Noble Hierarch
(2 CMC) Voice of Resurgence
(3 CMC) Loxodon Smiter
(4 CMC) Meddling Mage
(5 CMC) Serra Sphinx
(6 CMC) Armada Wurm

@Gutshot

a wurm-slinging Elephant-man who could also Arrest you.
Sweet mother of mercy

Give me coffee, give me tea, give me beer, all these things and a computer makes me a happy little writer.

@Hanleth I like you.

Plus, the Hunter is your avatar.

If you want to collaborate, I generally write scifi/fantasy/horror short stories, and you can read some of my incomplete stuff down in my signature.

Please, let me know. No one I've asked so far has responded. I don't know if they hate my writing, hate me, or just don't have time.

Fingers crossed for you!

Mass Effect: Underworld

@Rithy Oh, we haven't. But Margaret Thatcher made a deal with Lipton, so now all the tea that goes into the harbor is Lipton Black and Green Teas.

Not as good, I know, but it's an American tradition.

Like electing assholes to public office.

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@1Charak2 Oh lawdy, the volatility of you two.

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@mattmanganonI feel like you'll be alright. You'll be a weird scientist Markov.

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@Legion02 Azorius, Orzhov, and Rakdos are still ripe for the plucking.

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@mattmanganon Make a CS. GM wont be back until tuesday.

And Now I Write

... -insert witty title here-

@Fubsy Fubs, are you just, like, RPG's welcoming committee?

Pens and Swords (PV's literature dump)

A little unfinished Lovecraftian fun

Tsthogga

Tsthogga

Short story

There are those that say Hell is not a place, but an idea, a concept to describe the torment we humans desire for those who have wronged us, or who we believe deserve it. I cannot say as to the aspect of Hell, but I have seen its effect. It wreaked havoc on our town, and threatens to spread. I cannot even predict where it will go next. All I can do is tell you what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, and what I’ve experienced. It is up to you whether or not what I have to tell will be useful. All I can do is hope you see this before they see you.

It all started with a flash drive. I volunteer at the local library, filing and organizing and occasionally signing up new patrons for library cards. I remember vividly, the smell of the novels I was alphabetizing. I can still recall the exact tone of Edith’s voice when she asked me where the lost and found box was. “I put it in the back office, on the filing cabinet.” She thanked me and went on her way. I didn’t give it a second thought until I was closing everything down for the night. I put the last copy of Duma Key on the shelf, when I heard a rustling noise and a sound like someone shaking a box of cereal behind the door of the dark office. I’d just come from there. There’s no way anyone could have gotten behind me. Besides, the library doors were locked. What if it’s a burglar? My mind asked, and quickly answered itself, A burglar in a public library? More likely some kind of serial killer or something. Oh geez. I did not want to get murdered in a library. I scanned the floor and nearby tables for any kind of a weapon. The best I could find was an issue of Time from a very long time ago, Nelson Mandela smiling on the cover against a cloudless blue sky. I rolled it, tighter and tighter, until I felt it was physically impossible to compress it any more, and held it in my hand like a fencer at a duel. En Garde! I grabbed the knob and twisted. Locked. That’s right. There went my element of surprise. I fumbled in my pocket for my keys, when I remembered that the key I needed was on the Library keyring at the front desk. Great, now the killer has the advantage. I crept on all fours, struggling to keep my breathing silent and my body below the windows. That’s when I heard a doorknob turn. Clickity-clack went the knob, and my head pivoted at astonishing speed, though the world seemed in slow-motion, like a backflip in an action movie. THE OFFICE! The door was open just a crack. And the only way it could be so is if it were unlocked from the inside. Maybe it’s just Harry! It’s gotta be Harry! But I’d seen Harry the custodian leave at least an hour ago. I shuffled forward on my hands and knees, breath stuck in my throat like the thickest of phlegm. I could see through the gap between door and frame now. The light fell in a sheer, narrow line, illuminating a corner of the desk, a quarter of the keyboard, the edge of the monitor, and ran up the side of the filing cabinet, and finally ended upon a white shoebox, the logo crossed out with a magic marker, and “LOST AND” just barely visible in the faint ray. I raised the magazine to my face, ready to jab whatever lay beyond the door and, hyperventilating, slung my foot forward as hard as I could and shouted the first thing that came to mind.

“ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

The office was empty. There were no ninjas above the ceiling tiles, no assassin under the desk. Not even a bomb in the shoebox. All that was inside the Lost and Found box was two library cards, a beaten and scratched Zippo that looked like it had seen at least three World Wars, an electronic cigarette with a well-gnawed mouthpiece, and a little black flash drive with a red button. This last item piqued my interest. Curiosity got the best of me, and I pressed the little switch forward, exposing the silver connector. Seems normal enough, I thought, and inserted it into an open port on the CPU under the desk. The monitor sparked to life, presenting me with several options. I spun the cursor into place, and clicked “Open folder to view files”. Just a folder, titled “click me”. I obliged, hoping to find someone’s homemade sex tapes. Instead, three Microsoft Word documents lay in wait. I clicked the first, titled “Tsthogga”. It opened up to a wall of text, of gibberish. I read, if reading it could be called, the first line:

“ARKHA NI TSOGGA; ARKHA NI SCHIHAAG; RAKN AR CHUN”. A code, perhaps? It continued on for apparently forty-nine pages. I lost interest and clicked the second document, named “WELCOME”. This one proved more fruitful, but not by much:

“WELCOME TO THE NEW AGE” was the sole message of this document. I opened the third, titled “INSTRUCTIONS”, without much hope for any decent content. I was sorely mistaken.

“Catch them in their homes, as they sleep. Open them as you would an animal. Wear gloves, as blood is slippery, and you must not lose grip. Take hold of their arms from opposite directions and pull until dislocation is achieved. Repeat with legs. Further care must be taken with smaller joints. Continue with knees, elbows, ankles, wrists, the 28 joints of the fingers, and the 28 joints of the toes. The eyes must be removed. She will not tolerate failure to remove them, and will not accept the sacrifice unless they are unseeing.
Extreme care must be taken for self-preparation, namely the heating of a steel rod until glowing, to ensure that the removal of one’s own eyes does not lead to waste. Beforehand, a mixture must be drunk, consisting of one part human bone puree, one part Belladonna, two parts human blood, one part Diphenhydramine HCl, and one drop of Her solution. It is recommended that the bone be pre-broken in order to form a more palatable consistency. It is also recommended that a spoon of the proper size be chosen before undertaking, and should be sharpened with either a file or angle grinder for greater ease of completion.

Transcendence will occur in one to four hours, depending on Her desire to feed.
NOTE: A Sigil will not expedite this transaction.”

WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST READ? WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST OPEN- WHAT THE FUCK DID WE FIND? My mind raced, and my heart followed suit. Suddenly, I had the awful suspicion that someone was watching me, and that that someone wanted me to open these files. I also had a feeling that I’d just done something bad. Scratch that. Something very bad.

Against my better judgment, I slipped the flash drive into my jeans pocket, and put the computer in Hibernate mode. I was never sure of the difference between Sleep and Hibernate, but “Hibernate” sounded much more restful, and I’m sure the old Compaq needed a break too.

When I locked the doors again, I found myself staring through the glass into the library, certain that at any moment, a dark figure would crab-walk out of the office and up the wall. Once satisfied that this was not the case, I walked carefully out into the nigh-empty parking lot. Only one car, my car, sat out there, looking completely and utterly alone in the light of a single streetlamp.

I started off toward my car at a brisk walk, whipping out my keys as I went. As soon as they were clear of my pocket, my stride became a panicked sprint, as my brain screamed IT’S BEHIND YOU! IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU! I pounded the UNLOCK button on the remote as I lunged wildly at the driver’s door. The headlights flashed, I slung the door open, leapt inside, and slammed it shut. I barely even noticed that I’d slapped the LOCK switch on the console when I turned, wide eyed, to see what was chasing me. There was nothing there but the library, dark, silent, and empty, the eight windows displaying naught but the dim power-saving lights and literature, stacked, organized, and alphabetized. I took a deep breath, and to my great surprise, and likely yours, I laughed until my stomach hurt. It subsided into high-pitched chuckles and a high-pitched sigh before I heard the rapid ding-ding-ding of a passenger without a seatbelt. I didn’t even realize I’d put the key in the ignition. I reached across with my left, and tugged the belt into position, locking it into place with its usual satisfying click. Still, the ding-ding-ding continued. There was a ringing in my ears that crescendoed to a roar as my eyes slowly rose to meet the rear-view mirror. They saw only a box of books on the passenger side. The car only knows weight. You’re being silly. For once, my internal voice was right. I unbuckled and leaned over the console to tug a belt around the books, covering the word “Donations”, and latched it. I did the same, and the ding-ding-ding ceased. Thank fucking God. Another glance into the rearview mirror told me everything I needed to know about tonight. There were purple bags under my eyes, bags so deep and miserable they could almost be called baggage. I needed to hibernate, myself.

Despite my paranoia, the ride home was fourteen minutes of heart-pounding normality. Journey played on the radio, followed by Foreigner, followed by Joe Walsh. Joe was singing something about his Maserati, and losing his license when I pulled up into my apartment complex’s parking lot, full, as usual. I roamed, as usual, searching for a space. I found one, as usual, by the dumpsters in the back. The smell of rot and antiquity greeted me as it almost always did, (except on Thursday, as Thursday is Trash Day), as I opened the car door, and made my way around the building to the front door. I punched in my code, and the lock buzzed to let me in. The lobby was empty, save for an old sofa and sad looking plastic plant in a red clay pot. I stood, debating between the stairs and elevator when I realized I was wasting quite a bit of time deciding. I chose the elevator, Muzak playing softly as I poked the luminous button marked “3”. A slight stutter, as usual, as the mechanisms whirred to life, and the elevator rose at an unnoticeable yet substantial speed to let me off on my floor. As it typically was, the hall was empty. This time, however, I felt the gaze of eighteen peepholes as I meandered down the hall to my door. I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder as I unlatched the three locks. But when it opened, I could barely force myself to enter my own home. The light switches were only a few feet away, but the weight of the darkness made them feel miles off. Under incandescent light, my fears subsided. There was nothing here except what should be. My couch sat innocently in front of the TV, inviting me to plop down and veg out, and when I declined, it seemed to understand. I stumbled down the hall, to the bathroom, and hit the light in there as well. I didn’t even bother to look inside. A few more steps, one more door, and there it was: my bed, so soft and so warm, and so familiar. I lay upon it without pulling down the sheets, and closed my eyes for what felt like a second.

Then it was morning.