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@psych0pomp You can survive two days. I believe in you!


That makes one of us. I'm kidding. I'm just interested to see if I make it. I was trying to shake up the usual mold of "face" by going "what if their charisma was just arguing with you reddit-style until you quit?" Also, I've been replaying Phoenix Wright for some reason. It's fully infected my brain.

Iunno. Maybe I need to get out and touch some grass... I mean... sleet.
So the deadline for sheets wont be for another few days- I'll just say wednesday and call it at that, however there are enough for me to start making handing out some invitations and whatnot.


"I just wanted to make sure he was receiving attention at home." She said at last. "To let you know that he needs support."

"I assure you. Ambrose has everything he could ever want, and more." Maryann coolly assuaged. "He has never known want."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Violet murmured, acquiescing defeat and leaving the socialite woman to her wine.


Hot damn. Ambrose should apply ice to that burn he doesn't know exists, but I'm sure he can feel it in his soul.


Everything ached but in a good way. Ambrose couldn’t say that was usual. The only thing he didn’t care about was the few scratches on the palms of his hands from handling the wood. They’d heal quickly enough, but for someone that had a “moisturizing routine,” it was a nuisance. After Freyja vaulted off, the child in toe, he found himself swallowed by the night of festivities. The goings-on of the day had distracted him from whatever his brain could pry out. Silence was the crowbar of discontent for him.

He wasn’t paying attention to anyone around him or anything that might have been said in his direction as they were abandoned by his car on the outskirts of the festival. He hit the key fob and opened the backseat, peeling off his dirtied and sweated-in shirt. It was then he realized that the guy from earlier was still loitering around. More so, that he was talking to Ambrose.

Ambrose stood there without a shirt on, the coolish air picking at his bare skin. It was without a blemish, scar, or other imperfection, and perfectly crafted like it’d been sculpted out of marble or some other slick, sexy rock. “Uh. Why would I know your mother?” Violet Cheeseman raised no alarm bells in his brain. She sounded like a character out of a children’s book with that name. Then again Brown Cheeseman sounded like a rare brand of some hard cheese served at one of his mother’s wine tastings. He’d gotten blitzed at a young age thinking it was a weird grape juice and scarfing all the cheese his little mouth could hold. He’d been a solid circle of a child.

He pulled his shirt over his head and slid it over his chest, it was form-fitting, allowing the warm light of the festival to leave little to the imagination regarding his musculature underneath. His shirt was a deep blue, and on it was an anime character of some kind. He didn’t know who it was. One of his friends back in New York had mailed it to him for his birthday. He’d tossed it into the back of his car as an “emergency” shirt. It layered with his distressed khakis and sneakers quite well. As if Ambrose could ever wear something unattractive.

“Ambrose,” he said, “Ambrose Hightower. I’m sure you’ve heard of me before, or at least my mom.” He shrugged. “Sure, I can hang out with you. I’m surprised you have friends.” He paused, realizing how that sounded. “Considering I don’t know who you are or your mom for that matter. Are you new to town?” He gestured to himself. “If we don’t find your friend, we can find some of mine. Mi… uh… friends… es… su… friends.”


Competition makes adults out of children. :3

Iunno. When faced with competition, I made Miles Edgeworth in space. I think it may have done the opposite for me.
I am become writer, destroyer of scenes, ender of the Good Times, beginner of the Prologue. I'll have the post out today transitioning us forward.


Wait... ender of the good times? Oh no. What have we done!?!
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘



▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
𝕹𝖔𝖓-𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘
𝕹𝖔𝖓-𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘



NAENIA BLACKWELL
NAENIA BLACKWELL

T H E S K E L E T O N
T H E S K E L E T O N


_______________________________________________
"You'll find that death by my blade is a gift as opposed to what awaits you."
T H E S K U L L
T H E S K U L L

N A M E Naenia Blackwell
A G E 28 (99977 TK)
G E N D E R Female (she/her)
R A C E Human
S U B -R A C E None
M A G I C


T H E S P I N E
T H E S P I N E



T O W N Frontier Town
R E G I O N Northern White Wasting
P O P U L A T I O N 2,214
C E N S U S Humans
T R A D E Travel
N A M E S A K E Last human town before White Wasting

✦ ✦ ✦

P A R E N T Acantha Blackwell (Deceased)
P A R E N T Ryder Blackwell (Deceased)
S I S T E R Xanthe Rasc-Blackwell (Missing)
B R O T H E R - I N - L A W Ozul Rasc (Alive)


T H E L I M B S
T H E L I M B S

W E A P O N Crooked Consecration (Large Rapier)
A R M O R Priestly Heavy Armor
T R I N K E T Rosary of Dhorbris


T H E F L E S H & M U S C L E
T H E F L E S H & M U S C L E


𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙
𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙

S U B L C A S S GRAVE INQUISITOR
The priests of Dhorbris come in all styles. Most tend to funerals and other services for the dead, but all of them make sure that the citizens of Goan eventually find death. The inquisitors enact the rites of nulla immortalitas to make sure that magic is not being used to pervert the cycle of life. While liches and thralls do not fall into their prevue, that doesn't mean they don't hunt those that wish to emulate that lifestyle. Or liches that take it upon themselves to enthrall someone against their will. They are here to snuff out those that do not allow for the cycle of life to complete.
▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮


Y O U R B R A I N & N E R V E S
Y O U R B R A I N & N E R V E S

S T U D Y
/// FRONTIER TOWN MILITIA Every teenager learns how to fight at a young age considering that the town is up against White Wasting.
/// 99989 - 99994

/// DHROBRIS SANCTUM - FATHER MARKUS Traveled to Ordai'el, learned the rituals of the God of Death, and took an oath to uphold them.
///999995 - 100000

E X P E R I E N C E
/// PILGRIMAGE Worked as an inquisitor for the Dhorbris Sanctum and traveled throughout Goan finding those that have evaded the circle of life and death.
///100000 - 100005

Y O U R S O U L & H E A R T
Y O U R S O U L & H E A R T

RELENTLESS MORALLY AMBIVALENT LOYAL INSENSITIVE

P E R S O N A L I T Y
Naenia has seen the best and worst in people. But the irony is that she knows people only show their best when put upon to do so. True altruism is rare in the world. So, she doesn't let anyone rest on their laurels. She will lambast them with her less-than-charitable nature until they show their true colors. If they are actually one of the few good people left in this world, then she'll more than happily show her loyalty to them. Kindness begets kindness and wrath begets things that are far worse than wrath, are the tenants that Naenia follows.

✦ D H O R B R I S ✦
✦ D H O R B R I S ✦

D E V O T I O N
When Frontier Town was destroyed by a plague that seemed to only target the older members of the community, leaving anyone in their teens and under alive--the only priests that came in the aftermath were those of Dhorbris. Many had come before, but when they realized it was a lost cause, they left. When the children were left to tend to the dead, did the priests of Dhorbris show up. They ferried what children wished to leave with them to the various temples around Goan. They aided those that wished to stay until their dead were tended to. It was an act of kindness Naenia never forgot. So, she honors this commitment by helping those through times of death and making sure that no one prospers off of the pains of the living. To see the cycle of life through, and then to aid those left behind is her mission.

M O T I V A T I O N & I M P E T U S
M O T I V A T I O N & I M P E T U S

When Ordai'el was invaded by the fog and cut off from the rest of Goan, Naenia was away on pilgrimage. When she returned, she found that no one could enter. Her heart ached for her surrogate father figure, Father Markus. Yet, she knew that the best way to honor him was to continue with her duties and finish her pilgrimage.

Unfortunately, four years later her sister Xanthe would be one of the many that would volunteer to delve into Ordai'el. She said it was because her goddess, Ikphine, told her to come. She'd been summoned to aid the goddess in her quest to save Ordai'el. While Naenia had her doubts, there was no talking her sister down. A year later, Xanthe still hasn't returned. Naenia has decided to go look for her.

T H E T R A P P I N G S
T H E T R A P P I N G S

A P P E A R A N C E
Naenia stands a little under six feet, with pristine armor with a lot of filagree and design layering her body. She wears a long dress underneath it, but it's less cosmetic and more so hides her armored legs and allows for swifter movements. Her hair is a deep brown and cut below her chin. She'll braid it back if needed but seems to have no problem wearing it down. Her eyes are a deep hazel, but not wide or attractive. Instead, they have an intense stare that can undress even the most clothed of flatteries. Her clothes and weapons are pristine with the exception of the worn rosary around her wrist, which has the symbol of Dhorbris made of a strange metal hanging from the end. She stands needle straight and smells of lavender and incense.

I N J U R Y



NAENIA BLACKWELL
NAENIA BLACKWELL
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
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PRIEST//GRAVE INQUISITOR
HUMAN/NONE




▷ PLAYERS
PLAYERS



▷ NPCS
NPCS



Ambrose tried not to look aghast at the thought of a simple raft “keeping the demons at bay.” Though the color drained out of his evenly tanned face. Anyone that knew that young Hightower man would know that he was wildly superstitious. The more supernatural it seemed, the further he wanted to do with it. Someone had witnessed him scoop spilled salt in his hand and throw it over his shoulder once. Mostly because it blew into a woman’s face and screaming commenced as salt in the eyes was not a pleasant sensation. So, he tried to keep his superstitions to a minimum.

He followed her, looking over the boat as they moved towards it. The entire affair reminded him of certain ceremonial displays he had seen in museums or preserved landmarks whenever he and his mother would visit Ambrose Hightower the First. They represented something far away and not at all to be found downtown in the small, rural town he currently called home. He’d lived here for several years, but never really taken part in the festivities. Usually, he was abroad during the summer. This one had been different as his parents had both become too busy to plan or fund such a trip. So, here he was.

There was a sort of a reverence held by the townspeople that made him keep his hands firmly rooted in his pockets and his feet one right in front of the other. As if one foul move would ruin the entire celebration and send demons clattering onto the docks with unbridled fury. He refused to be the bull in the china shop that released the End of Days upon the Earth.

He glanced down at Freyja as she admitted to being the star of the entire song and dance. Ambrose nodded in approval, as if it was warranted or wanted. When the older woman sniped that it wasn’t a silly tradition, the chills returned back to his spine. “I don’t want to think about the fact I’ve been swimming alongside demons,” he said. A wince bubbled up at the edges of his smile.

Ambrose focused on the fisherman with the beam, not wanting to think about the literal hell that was their lake. While he may not have been the sharpest knife in any drawer, he wasn’t stupid enough to throw his back out by refusing help. With a bit of grunting and sleeve rolling, they were able to get it up, and there Ambrose held it still. This is the part he’d show off. He had the stamina to hold something heavy for a while. There were implications there, but the ones that crossed his mind mostly had to do with highlighting his strength and balance. Not that he couldn’t be a horny teenager, but his brain was too busy making sure that he didn’t sweat too hard. He didn’t want to lose grip. His feet bit into the ground below as he became oddly silent with the task at hand.

It was then that an inflatable tube man of a boy came up, floundering about like a fish begging for water on the shore. Ambrose wasn’t too interested in him now, as he seemed to beeline to Freyja. Maybe he had a crush? And speaking of crush… the beam was trying to do that to his spine. Yet, Ambrose’s thoughts ricocheted away from muscle strain when he heard the other remark on his height.

“Dude…” he grunted, “we’re like the same height. “ He exhaled. “You can help if you like, but don’t throw me off balance. The lake demons will eat us, otherwise.”


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