Sigil

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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After having removed the apparel of the late Lord Bardolf and laying him back upon the table, Swamp, out of what might have actually been a touch of prudent decency, draped a cloth across the man's unmentionable shortcomings. His servant in life was present, as was a lady of polite refinement. The Doctor himself wasn't affected one way or another, it was merely protocol if one was being viewed whilst mid-operation. Swamp procured but did not immediately tie on a simple surgical mask. One never knew what horrors might splurt from an otherwise still corpse, be they humours or merely vapourous. Well, others might not know. Swamp was a professional. An artist, even. Just ask him. Still, it would be necessary when he knew what to look for more invasively.

The Doctor gave a simple visual appraisal of the corpse, occasionally giving a prod with a cadaver probe. He checked the usual places on the exterior first, hands and fingernails, occasionally giving a little push on his abdomen with gloved hands. He checked the exterior and middle ears and even directed what light he could to view into the man's nasal passages and into the back of his throat with a reflective disk. "Hmm..." he pondered aloud, stopping his stride around the body for a second. His lips were moving, as if sussing something out for himself. Slowly at first, he began moving his hands in a manner that indicated discussion, were he to be actually speaking to someone else and trying to diagram something in the air. After a second or two, the movement of his mouth became vocal enough to be heard by any near him, "...evidence for a foreign agent introduced at sup is... mumbleindistinctmumbleagain ...with so many witnesses right there someone must... incoherenceblahblahshuffle ...and then there is, of course, the question of lividity. Hmm. Quite the conundrum."

Swamp's eyebrow arched wildly as a thought came to him. Carefully, he bent over the dead Lord's face, turning it this way and that, before gingerly opening his eyelids with his thumb and middle finger. The index finger twixt the other two prodded and moved the eye a crucially small amount. The Doctor stood suddenly. He held up a finger, pointing it upward and sporting a boyish expression of impending triumph. But he explained nothing. Instead, he picked up a large, crescent-shaped cutting tool and a chisel, setting them next to the body. "Oh, Chanteuse?" he called with spirited demeanor, "I believe that I've this part of the examination handled. If you would please be as kind, however..." A grin split his face. Mischievous, almost. "I should dearly appreciate some Autopsy Music, if you would, please. Yes! Something powerful, that I may engage with my post-mortem operation with vigor. And that I may boast to colleagues on a later day that I had the honor of such a serenade under these conditions from someone as revered as yourself. If you would please indulge me, Amaranthine, I would be in such bliss."

Upon uttering these words, Dr. Swamp donned his mask and began the first cuts into the Lord, moving into his torso to confirm his suspicions. Upon reaching the sernum, he absently lay his hands upon a flat blade and a mallet. Whether anyone else knew it, one suspicion of his had already been confirmed. What would he learn among Lord Bardolf's innards? Oh, he would find out soon enough. Yes, yes indeed.

CRACK CRACK CRACK SNAP

"Excellent."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Outside Gate)
Skills: The Hat, History

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Gilbert quirked an eyebrow at Giosue, specifically because of his choice of title for him. Naturally, he remembered the conversation with Drem. It was almost a curse, knowledge. Like the other Emendators, he was cursed to know and remember everyhing in human history, but be unable to directly access unless he concentrated on a specific point. Being that this was a thing that happened to him personally, it was an easy recovery. Such was life for an Emendator. Instead of bringing up the obvious, The Hat instead made comment about the name used to describe him. "Now Gio, I have not been a 'Sir' in a very long time. 15th Century France; Sir Guilbert du Casque. His helmet still resides in that plantation house," he informed, motioning his head in the direction of the main house on the grounds of the former Loop. "...along with other things of great antiquity. Likewise, many items of practical use, such as money, clothing, weapons, and the like. Things we will require. The biggest cache of the things we need, regardless of the nature of the upcoming troubles."

But where were his manners? As a sudden break to the point he was making, he spoke to the recently resurrected Paradox. "Peter, I do hope that the cane is satisfactory to your needs. Tell me if you have use for anything else, please."

That being cleared, he returned to his point. "Provided that we are successful in locating one of these ...hidden creatures... the means to defend ourselves in a physical sense is vastly decreased, but not altogether lacking." He motioned to the lever action rifle still in a sheath on his back. He had put the other one away hours ago, but retained the other and had honestly gotten so used to its presence that he slap forgot about it. That and a pocketknife. "Provided that this is jaunt is only to test your theory and that we return here thereafter, I accept."

Gilbert stepped toward the portal and gave a small chuckle as Bart walked through. The guy had some trust, he had to admit. Without giving much away in terms of where and when, Gil answered Sophia's question in a rather cryptic manner, "We go to a place that claimed the life of a Paradox, Sophia. One who now miraculously stands among us. Step discreetly." Gil tipped his hat to the rest of the people around him and, with a mischievous smile, stepped sideways into Gio's shimmering doorway to the Sands.

Roll Request

Character current location: Outside Gate
Characters attempted actions: Looking Around, area past portal
Any and all skills being used: Observation
Why each skill is being called: To take in the sights, paranormal or otherwise
Desired location of the character: Other side of Portal

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Outside Gate)
Skills: N/A

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James's eyes got a little wider and a little wider the more that Andromeda spoke. Yes, they had heroes. Super ones, at that. They had enough to form into teams. Not only that, but epic, world-altering events that came with it. Organizations and counter-organizations, fed through the application of money and politics. Then something about the Devil. And an entire town dying. Suddenly, James felt like a little man in a much, much larger multiverse. "Miss Andy? We get us some breathin' room, you gonna have to tell me some more 'bout where you're from, aight? I still owe you a story 'bout me, too. Somehow, I'm thinkin' yours're a lot more interesting, though." One task at a time. Stories later. Portal to the unknown presently.

The wheels and gears operating inside the stubborn grey matter located within James's skull shifted in unison, one cog pressing against another cog as details from previous conversations pieced together. The dead British Paradox that he officially met for the first time a little bit ago, the circumstances of his initial, quite deceased nature being apparent. Moreover, the cautionary tale that his story became, with the moral being, "You must NEVER go back." James remembered where "back" was for this man. It was a place and time that still wasn't so good for his people, though for slightly different reasons. He wasn't dressed for it, either. Or was he? A different era, perhaps, but overalls and his style of headwear had been timeless for over a century. He could easily be mistaken for a railroad worker. And if the rest of the group hadn't figured it out yet, James spelled it out for them.

"Cairo, muthafuckas, or nearabouts. Egypt. Nineteen and Twenty-Somethin'. Any y'all speak Arabic? I ain't got shit." Issues of language barriers aside, Gilbert brought up an interesting point about being able to defend themselves. James possessed two items that might be useful in that regard; a Bowie knife claimed during training that he ordinarily kept in a tool pocket along his leg, and a hybrid seax (that he won from Gil after slapping him) that he wore openly like a trophy. He had gotten pretty damn good with a short blade, though if they were looking for what he thought they were looking for, they wouldn't be of any use to him at all.

"Miss Andy, we get where we goin', you remember the offer of that hat, ok? My people done evolved to deal with the sun there, and it'll still rip the hide offa me." If he was correct, she'd need more than just that hat, but it was a start. He had another back in his room in the Main House, but concerns for safety kept them from immediately going for it. Why then were they on a monster hunt? The logic there was horribly flawed, he thought. But who was he to question? Shaking it off, James was the next to step through the portal after The Hat. "We better be comin' back for what's ours," he mentioned, just before arriving ...wherever the portal actually led.

Roll Request, DITTO edition

Character current location: Outside Gate
Characters attempted actions: Looking Around, area past portal
Any and all skills being used: Observation
Why each skill is being called: To take in the sights, paranormal or otherwise
Desired location of the character: Other side of Portal

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: Engineering, Codes/Ciphers

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With gluteal crevasse finally free of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, the Lord Major attempted to give the wall markings a decent once-over, confident that his training with the Royal Armed Forces might shed some light upon this mystery, if it mean discovering a pattern that more classically trained eyes might have missed or providing greater insight on the ancient engineering present with these sliding walls and trapdoors. Ah yes, the trapdoors, like the one that claimed Bella. Or did it? There was nothing remaining of the woman, no trace of her passing through at all. No sickening splatting sound and no cries of alarm as she fell. No matter what anyone had ever written in the annals of history nor fiction, there was no such thing as a bottomless pit. He shook his head. No, this will not do. Nor especially would it do that, even after shaking her head, the very stone around them continued shaking, as if his bobble continued despite the now stationary nature of his head. It was quite disconcerting. It also made the appraisal of the tiles pointless, as the mystery had been sussed out by the intellectual of their abbreviated group. All the same, something didn't set right with him.

"Madames and Sirs, if I may?" he said, raising a finger as if he were in a making a point at a dinner party, "I am never averse to venturing into places dark and unknown, as I have regrettably proven to my and others' dismay just recently, but I should think us quite callous, yes, quite callous indeed, to simply abandon the fine lady who led us here up until this point, deceased or no. It's perilously ungentlemanly. Perhaps if we could shed some light on the situation, if only to confirm the worst, before proceeding with the remainder of our epic questworthy undertakings? Must we continue this puzzle immediately at the cost of our humanity?" He felt a bit foolish right at that moment, suggesting the proper course of action when he had just been guilty of extreme foolishness.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Cabin)
Skills: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage

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Oh dear, it sounded to him like somewhere in his nigh incoherent but strangely detailed run-on sentence describing the day's events from the Clarke-Reddish Party point of view, the Corporal had given the young Starlet an insult, or disservice at least. (Wait, Clarke-Reddish? Yes, Reddish-Clarke sounded like a highbrow paint hue set aside for fancy automobiles or debutante themes. Clarke-Reddish sounded much better. He might suggest the other to Josephine later for acquiring copyright, provided that both of them survived the adventure and she still wanted a thing to do with him.) The fine lady deserved an apology. And before they moved a step farther, he was going to give one appropriate to their differences in social stature, no matter what.

Reddish paused in his movements toward the door and swiftly turned around. He held up a finger, nonverbally requesting a moment for himself and beginning a long, arduous intake of air. Like, massive. Significantly moreso than the one required to get out the huge and continuous description of their activities, earlier. It seemed painful at first - one could almost see his brain firing with the sparks of a man about to wax with extreme and unnecessary garrulousness. After he had properly readied, a crazed smile flashed across his face for a second and he began to speak:

"I am quite sorry, Miss Clarke." His voice was cultured, calm, polite, and subdued. "You had mentioned this earlier; my repeating the statement has burdened you with unneeded insult. I shall make it up to you later, should you allow me the opportunity." He dutifully bowed his head in supplication of the lady's favor, again stressing, "My sincerest apologies, madame."

Raising his head again, a very different Reddish opened his eyes and, with hurried confidence, peeked out of the doorway and into the space beyond. He held up his hand, waiting for his moment, before beckoning them onward. "Quick and calm now, m'Lady, Miss Clarke. Remember, we're looking for help for the good doctor." With passable nonchalance, Reddish slyly made his way up the deck, noting the potential break points and possible movements of the staff, seamlessly circumventing the door in such a way that was just as effective (though far less dramatic) than Josephine's impressive doorsplosion from earlier. Ushering the women (should they have chosen to follow at the moment) into the room, he stood ready to react to whatever threat might lurk within.

But the joke was on them, it seemed. The room appeared empty and untouched. Purely in order, he began to wonder whether he had gotten the right room in the first place. No, this is what the paper clearly stated... something was off. Be it the situation or the paper in the infirmary that was misleading, something was off. He carefully closed the door and spoke very quietly, his hand moving behind him as if reaching for something, "Perhaps this requires a search - light touch, if possible." This was the elite deck. These rooms had a private lavatory. His eyes went in that direction first.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat (Unnamed Stateroom)
Characters attempted actions: Arm self and surreptitiously check bathroom
Any and all skills being used: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Investigation to investigate the area, Stealth to do so without being detected by anyone who might be in a position to detect
Desired location of the character: N/A

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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Ash felt a little tingle as Thana brushed her lips against his. For his sense of professional decorum, he couldn't help but smile wistfully at the woman. He lay a hand on hers as she cupped his cheek, leaning into it and whispering, "And I love you." Following the tender and meaningful exchange, much like his Navy counterpart, Ash straightened back into a seated attention pose and waited for whatever was coming next to happen.

It didn't take a very long time until Gunny entered the room, folder in hand. This was beginning to feel a lot less like an apocalypse scenario and more like a standard briefing; one of many that he would have been a part of prior to new orders or on the outset of a mission. It was lulling, in its own way, for someone who had chosen the Army as their career prior to dead people eating most of the living ones. Ash wouldn't allow himself to be seduced simply by the structure and order presented to him thusfar, nor the relative bounty of supplies they could produce, though these were amazing selling points. Fortune favored the brave; fortune favored the prepared. Take all that away, if Thana was there, this place could be a fortified cave where they would survive on an infrequent diet of mushrooms and lizards, he'd still give it a shot.

Listening carefully to what was being divulged, Ash began to put together a story. Rather, part of one involving the group that assaulted Eden so many months ago. If it was any indication of how the rest of the briefing was going to go, then it wasn't going to be a a very cheerful or sunny one. Ash gave a subtle glance toward Thalia and her new prosthetic. The girl was tough. Considering the family she came from, that might have been expected. But what really began to get to Ash was the description (presented with an amazingly flat and sanitized tone) was the lengths to which Thana had gone to help and protect the people under her care. This was further hammered home by the description of her injuries sustained, the lengths taken to keep her alive, and the pictures... The images were physically haunting. To his credit, Ash remained solid throughout the briefing, his emotion detectable by the details in his face. The eyes expressed more than the rest, but an alternating tightness of lips and the small swallow every now and again, or a tiny, sympathetic movement betrayed that his calm demeanor was being challenged by the news, even though he knew the outcome was eventually positive.

The fact that Gunny seemed to be singling him out for inspection in regular intervals wasn't exceptionally pleasing, either. Ash supposed he had the right, though. She was his daughter, after all, and Ash was the guy her father had never met, but probably heard about.

In the end, Ash merely nodded with an accepting look on his face. This was the way things were, and the decisions made were done for the preservation of human life, directly or indirectly. Even the mild stretching of the truth or misleading by assumption had a purpose. Betrayal was not an issue here - in order to betray there first had to be an understanding, or some element of trust. There was no such provision between the ruling members of the community and Ash, nor anyone else who came in with him. Ignoring the stare that he was getting from Macsen, Ash's eyes went to Thana. He gave her a small smile and a single, slow nod. He held no grudge and gave only his support, and that was only if she needed it.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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"Holy shit, I lost my arm on April Fool's Day? Worst prank ever." Thalia's eyes widened and she looked around with a sudden sense of alarm; for the life of her, she didn't know if she had said that out loud. Not usually the joking type, Thalia had been in elevated spirits in the short amount of time since they had discovered that Thana was alive. That, and just sometimes her inner thoughts became outer thoughts whether she approved the vocalization or not. Ordinarily this wasn't a big issue. This time, under a formal-ish setting in a manner that might show disrespect to both Thana and her father, it was different. Thalia understood the concept of a close family, especially when they favored one another like these Martins obviously did. It kind of made her homesick. If the tables were turned and she was the one sitting in front of this gaggle of misfits she referred to as friends (if only to herself) down in the family's complex in Monterrey, she'd be a little miffed if someone interrupted her father while he was filling in serious gaps in their information.

Lucky for her, she only got as far as a quiet mumble and a glance down at her prosthetic.

Taking out the personal nature of what was being passed along, this greatly reminded Thalia of the briefings that she would have to sit in on, and occasionally speak in front of, where they discussed procedure based upon specific assignment at her uncle's security firm. Nepotism might have played a part in getting her hired, thinking back on it honestly, but it sure as hell didn't affect her professional/threat ratings or occupational certifications nor did it have a damn thing to do with her position. All that was earned the hard way, just like Thana. She was already the woman's friend, but the more she heard about her (now from family), the more she was impressed. The two of them had more in common than she initially thought. Rather than being close despite differences, it looked more like it was because they instinctively saw similarities in one another that they just hadn't discussed in any depth.

Thalia remained respectful and still, if not as rigid as Ash or Thana with their uncanny ability to soldier on command. Every so often, upon listening to what their former group leader had done to help them and had to endure as a result, Thalia would let out a quiet, unobtrusive remark like, "Damn, girl," or the like. This was a bit louder when it was her turn to view the images of her injuries and recovery. She looked again at her partially missing arm, up to Thana, and back down to her arm. The similarities kept coming.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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A good chunk of Hank's flagging consciousness wanted him to remain awake and see whatever it was that Wayne was putting on television next. Hank wouldn't have claimed to be a huge Mel Brooks fan, though he had seen a lot of his stuff before. It was okay. Of course, a functioning television with actual movies? Hell, Hank might be inclined to sit through some Candace Cameron something-or-another that had something to do about feelings or ... eh, womanly complaints, maybe teach some lesson with strong religious overtones that sounded more like chunky tofu-fueled hypocrisy. Then he remembered that, even the world had gone to shit, he still had his standards. Mel Brooks movies were alright. But the bottom line was, he mentioned that he was going to take a nap, and a nap he was a-taking.

The spurts of random mental flashes began to give way to a more structured thoughtform, lining up and materializing in his visual subconscious. He was a slightly less mature and cranky bastard, coming home from one of the fairly lighter days at work. A quick shower and a change from his uniform to some jeans and a flannel, and Hank had a little time to relax before his dear Mrs. Wright finished preparing supper. Yes, it was idyllic in a sort of 1950's way, if that was your thing. Not something that Hank had planned for, his life just kind of worked out that way. They had a daughter who wasn't quite a woman yet, still convinced that video games were the best way to occupy her time after school (provided that homework was done, of course). She had just gotten into a very retro-looking one based around a short, knightly fellow with a proclivity for beating down villains with a garden spade.

He walked in to see his little girl giving the unholy smackdown to an array of oddly shaped enemies with a shovel. She liked this game. She kept saying, "He's like you, Daddy! He fights the bad guys and keeps everybody safe!" Tears spilled from Hank's face. When he lived through this the first time, he didn't know what would happen a few days later. Recalling it in a dream, he did and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hank would get a call around 4 p.m. while attending a Law Enforcement convention in Michigan, telling him that an undiagnosed heart condition claimed his dear wife while driving their little girl home from school. The resulting crash killed them both.

"You're my Shovel Knight, Daddy!"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Grimm Indiana (Tinder's Place, exterior front)
Skills: Seek The Guilty, Tracking
Skills: General Observation, Security Procedures

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The skills picked up a solid lifetime ago, back when the elder Mexican was an upstanding (if horribly violent) member of the Mexican Federal Police, were still just as sharp and valid as they ever were. It was old hat, falling back into his manhunting skills even after time had passed with him being a businessman (also, if horribly violent). While little of a specific nature peeks out at him to begin with, in a moment or two Caesar notices marks on the front door. Whatever is and/or was going down here, it wasn't 100% with the owner's best interests in mind. Then who do these vehicles belong to? There lay the question. Cop car or not, something funny was going on. Not "haha" funny, but "some bitch gonna get stabbed" funny. To that end, Caesar palmed a blade and drew his pistol. Something wasn't right here.

Meanwhile, Keystone was getting two amazing pieces of information from the scene: Jack and Shit, with Jack having left town without forwarding address. Wait, maybe not nothing - he did step on the business end of a garden rake, its tines carelessly left pointing UP for some unsuspecting dolt to plant a foot upon, rocketing the wooden deathhandle on a collision course with Keystone's nose and/or teeth. With nigh-telegraphed awesomeness, Keystone's intense physical conditioning halted the progress of the Shaft O' Doom, prompting a victory speech from the gargantuan Brit: "Ha! Me powerful pecs've rendered me bloody immune t'your fuckstickery there, Rake! You can jolly fuckin' well bite it then, can't ya? Yeaaah!"

Briefly, Caesar gave consideration to turning his weapons on Keystone for being such a motard, out in public, while they were on a case. Obviously, stealth was not the big man's priority, as whatever advantage in that regard they may or may not have had was more than likely just obliterated, thanks to his epic victory against yard tools. This man was supposed to take care of his family? Better observation: This man put his genetics into his family's line? The thought was sobering.

Sobering suddenly turned to alarmed, on the older man's face. Not just alarmed, but he looked like he had just seen a ghost. As it turned out, that wasn't a very far assessment of the situation. Caesar sheathed his blade numbly and felt his gaze snap back to Keystone. "GET IN THE CAR!" he bellowed, stomping back to the SUV himself, pained shock painted across his face. He was looking absolutely pale.

"Ah, c'mon Boss, it ain't all that ba..."

"No, we're out, pendejo! GET IN THE FUCKING CAR NOW!"

"Pullin' outta the lead? We just got 'ere!"

Caesar was ready to shoot the man. "CAR. NOW." He was already climbing into the driver's seat. By the time that Keystone was in and closing the door, Caesar was already halfway back out of the driveway.

"Y'mind tellin' me what's what, Caesar?" He remembered to use his first name this time.

"Look, I'm not asking you to believe me or understand, but one of two things just happened: I just heard M'hija and I need to go to the asylum, or I just heard M'hija, and I need to go to the asylum. Okay?" The driving was still faster and he'd have liked, given the circumstances, but it was becoming less erratic as Caesar's calmer, yet somehow more murderous and deliberate impulses took over. "Navigate." The word was chilling, final. Keystone scrambled to locate a map or something useful to his endeavor, finally settling on the onboard GPS of their vehicle and map feature of his satphone. Navigate away.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Gretna Green
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English, General Observation

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The quest that Vladimir was placed upon was admittedly not as glamorous as the one he had just finished. The last one took him over land; roads, fields and forest. It took him over sea; a great body of water he had not the privilege of crossing over until that very moment. He had met interesting and exciting people; a noble French lady who disappeared into her own mission, a strange scarred fellow who up and vanished, a Mr. Nigel Ownerand (Proprietor of this Inn) with sideburns and eyebrows that might have scared away Soulless, and a Captain of a La Canela ship that he might have wanted to associate with much greater intimacy. Vladimir had witnessed the accidental shooting death of his guide from London, looted his corpse, and stood ready to give the swag over as wedding presents. He had vomited upon the main deck of a ship in such a way as to inspire epic poetry, as everything he did was with the utmost of panache, and he had broken his nose not once, not twice, but THRICE in the same hour.

Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, heir to the Baron Alexandrov and the one and only reigning Great Bazhooli had experienced all of these things for the sole purpose of helping three very important women crash a wedding. His life was AWESOME.

In comparison, this order to find a church just didn't measure up. Or at least he thought it wouldn't. Oh, it was short-lived, as he just had to go into town a ways and point in a general direction and BAM, there it was. Vlad was just about to turn back to tell his corpsified, canvas-covered ally that they had located the place wherein his remains might be sanctified, when he realized that he was pointing not only at a piece of holy ground, but the very image of The Lady Virginia Crypt, Mistress of Wenwynith. It stood to reason, she was another of the three that left together. But why were they apart now? Well, these were questions for after he made a scene.

"HA!" he exclaimed, and not for the first time today. "AH, HAHAAA!" Okay, that one was new. Vladimir again flipped from the back of his grand, ebon horse, rising with arms outstratched. He began to stride confidently toward the pale woman, shouting, "For yes! Most elegant and beauti..." He stopped for just a second to look back at his horse, ordering him with a blurt of пятка, Толстой!", prompting the horse to follow at his heels as he continued, without missing a beat, ...ful Lady Crypt, stoic and intense, dangerous young volf ov alabaster skin and eyes like sword-iron under cloudy vinter sky." He stopped within a pace of Virginia, sweeping his hat off and taking a knee to bow in a grand gesture, next to the open road, in clear view of any and everyone nearby. "Am still, and alvays, villing to make servicing for Lady Crypt."

Vladimir rose, "But just for the now, my mausoleum flower, must place fallen comrade upon holy ground, on order of Grand Duchess Elizaveta and return. Please forgive."

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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"I agree, dear Chanteuse. I agree indeed." There was a twinkle in his eyes and his voice was, in contrast to the dry wit he had been expressing for most of the evening, hopeful. Commanding, even. Dare one say, optimistic? Yes, please dare. Optimistic. "I too have come here for a matter of personal difficulty, as I can only assume from the facts presented everyone else has as well, only to have the situation muddied by the malice and venom of... other factors." Swamp was looking about the room as he spoke. He had picked up a leather tool satchel and was collecting various items from around the room. "Hmmm... bone saw?" he asked himself, "Shall I require a bone saw?" He shrugged, a smile growing on his face, "Better safe than sorry!" he exclaimed, tossing it into the bag. It was one of many items of uncertain nature he had procured.

"While I gather this, Amaranthine, I do wonder if you would be as kind as to locate a tray, ah... it would be something like a table with wheels on the legs, that it might he moved easily. Oh! And this part it a little offputting at first, but we must divest him of his clothing just prior. Hopefully before his innards fully unclench, if the persons of the household wish to retain use of his pants ever, ever again. Hmm, nice tie..." He shook off the thought, but returned to the examination table and plunked the satchel of tools upon it, next to the Late Lord Bardolf. "Worry not, madame. I shall assist as best I can with that last task, most unsavory for a person of your obvious refinement. Just one more quick look about the room, and we should be ready to set to it. Madame Chanteuse?" He was smiling. Smiling. The Doctor actually had a nice smile, be it a bit wiry around the edges. "You are doing fine. Thank you for your assistance with this." Distantly, he was reminded of the last person who assisted him. Swamp hoped that it was not the same kind of help; he didn't think he could survive it again.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Outside Gate)
Skills: N/A

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The shimmering in the air, all of the air, was enough to give Gilbert a surprised raise of his eyebrows. He had seen many, many things before that were fantastic in nature, possibly more reaching and grandiose than even this in his long years, but it was a different matter when it was completely unexpected. Like someone went to open a can of peanuts and instead was treated to a container full of orange marmalade. He blindly reached in, expecting salty, roasted peanuts, only to draw back a handful of sweet and tangy orange gloop. Oh, there was nothing wrong with the citrusy biscuit-topper, but when you expect nuts instead you cut a surprised, disgusted face and find someplace to wash your hands. Maybe find a biscuit, too.

Everyone seemed to have the same question in mind: Was this normal? They phrased it in different ways, but the intent behind it was all the same. Likewise, the answer for all of them was a broad, sweeping, "No. No, this is not normal." Gilbert's voice was distant, as if he was pondering some vast mathematical quandary that had fallen onto is lap. In a clearer voice, he continued, "As with so many things that has happened since the arrival of our guests, I am without knowledge nor precedent for this. It is a very curious happening." He turned around to face the remaining Emendators and Paradoxes present. "Sophia, I believe that our plan hasn't changed much. We still need as much help as we can get. We must locate the other Paradoxes. If possible, we must reestablish a Loop, or otherwise create a haven. For right this moment, I believe that we should determine if the Plantation is safe to enter, and if so, scavenge for any equipment and supplies we may need. I do not know if we should remain for very long." There were other considerations in play. Dangerous ones.

Continuing, "What I know of this is minimal. I encourage the opinions of others, but I encourage them as we move."

Roll Request

Character current location: Outside Gate
Characters attempted actions: Check human history, get Peter more mobile
Any and all skills being used: History, The Hat
Why each skill is being called: Scan events of history to see if the shimmer was a temporal paradox, i.e. if events line up as they should on a broad level - Also, pull a good, stout cane out of his Hat for Peter. Something strong and classy. Maybe with a weapon in it.
Desired location of the character: N/A

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Outside Gate)
Skills: N/A

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The plantation still stood, meaning that the horrible set of clothes and the rope belt were probably still perfectly okay, back in his room. That was a downside. On the upside, there wasn't a whole lot of things that he overly needed on those grounds, despite the advice of The Hat to return and scavenge, but a few additional items to help them not die would have been great. "Look here, I ain't needin' needin' nothing, big, really. And if'n Mr. Hat can pull stuff out his Hat, then I says we get gone from this place til we can get us a couple trucks we can throw shit into, 'fore we return. IF we can, y'dig? Them carnival folk might have the right idea, travellin' in caravan and keepin' they asses movin'." He shook his head, "Imma miss me that General Fuzzy, though."

James looked over to Andromeda, a soft quality coloring his voice. "Hey, I ain't meanin' nothing by it, Miss Andy. Tryin' to put some funny in a fucked-up situation's all." He replaced his cowboy hat on his close-cropped head and reminded, "Aight. It gets sunny, this all you... But hey, you had Superhero teams in your timelime? Like actual superhero teams, or was it like the comics an' movies in mine? I mean sho', we had us the Livin' Dead, but wasn't nobody who could fly or, or... um, blast muthas with no eyeball freak-beams." Sure, it seemed like a stupid question. But in his world, it used to be a stupid question to ask if you put a knife through a dead person's skull so they wouldn't try to eat anybody. Sometimes, stuff just happened to change the game. Like now.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: Fortitude? Dexterity? Britishness?

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It was with no small amount of heaving and tugging, not too horribly unlike the story of a silly stuffed bear with an unfortunate sounding name (by today's standards) that had consumed too much honey and became lodged in the doorway of his friend's domicile, that Reginald was removed from the horrible situation within which he had placed himself . That feat of Hundred Acre Engineering took quite a bit to accomplish, in hindsight, and it most assuredly did NOT involve a proper Gentleman and Lord of the British Empire hanging from his unmentionables over a deep deep dark dark deep dark pit. _{(Kudos to anyone who gets that reference.)}

The direct insults as hurled by various LAUREN members of their party, though extremely well-founded, were shuffled off to the side of his thoughts as they were voiced mainly while he was suspended by his crotch over a gaping chasm of death. Certain things might be forgiven in hindsight. For at least as long as it took for the rope burn on his anus to heal, anyway. After he finally got back up on solid ground, however, he quietly gathered his belongings back from Lauren.

His undergarments were still mostly outergarments, technically, though he maintained enough of his British fortitude to prevent the horror and indignity from etching itself upon his face at the time. He did take to heart the advice of young Miss Benaszewski, considering that, in this instance, hanging about by his fundies was indeed the best case scenario. Visibly, anyway. In truth, he didn't put a lot of stock in the value of his own life, except for what he might do for others. And if he died in the process, hell, that might be a blessing. Still, the adrenaline of the moment, coupled with the continued goat-getting of the young American grated the hell out of his nerves enough to launch him into a row of unrestrained faux laughter as her "joke", with a hearty, "HA HA HA HO HO HA HA HA!" followed by a snarky, "You slay me, madame! Harrumph!"

He sighed. His undergarments were still a touch exteriorized, which he needed to attend presently, but first he softened his tone and said broadly, "Thank you, thank you all. The bad habits of an lifetime soldier, I'm afraid; please forgive the blundering of an old man." And more specifically, "Quite right, Mr. Zalil. Very inappropriate. Perhaps my time shall be better spent with differing pursuits, until my passing may actually accomplish something." Reginald took a step or three back, and while he wrenched his clothing back into something less barbaric to his entire pelvic region, he gave something of a once-over to the tile puzzle that the intellectuals were pouring over. Who knew? Maybe something from his days in Engineering or Codebreaking with the Royal Armed Forces might be of use here. I mean, all of this had to be based on something, right? Like modern mathematics came all the way from ancient Greece and Persia, and still of perfect use.

Reginald shrugged, shuffling his coat, hat, and sword back in their rightful places. He'd heard of worse ideas. He'd just lived a worse idea. Damnit.

Roll Request

Character current location: Athribis (Underground)
Characters attempted actions: Examine the tile puzzle from a fresh perspective
Any and all skills being used: Engineering, Codes/Ciphers
Why each skill is being called: Engineering to examine the area from a physical/mechanical perspective, Codes/Ciphers to objectively find a possible pattern or useful arrangement
Desired location of the character: N/A

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Cabin)
Skills: N/A

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"Why, thank you, Miss Clarke! I do so intimately enjoy being a person worthy of asset-dom. Lady Munn, do lean if you find it necessary, and have no qualms about positioning me betwixt or between yourself and danger as a fully serviceable meatshield, if it please m'Lady. Any family of the Lord Major, whatnot and et cetera, you see." He gave a quick wink in the direction of Josephine, though whether it was a sly wink reinforcing the redoubling of his positive inclination toward the woman or an indicator that if (heaven forbid) he were to catch some ammunition she might use her newfound powers of amazingness to prevent his troubling and messy demise. Perhaps a thing to inquire about later. Or not. The thought process of the errant Corporal was a minefield full of surprises that a classically trained mentalist would pass a kidney stone trying to navigate.

As much as he did feel obligation to assist Vera, as well he should given the considerations above, the mismatched adventuring pair of himself and Josephine did not initially come down here for the purposes of seeing to her needs, specifically. Now that she was joining their party, Reddish felt the need to summarize. "I shall be succinct, Lady Munn," he began, apparently still not quite able to refer to her as "Vera" without a threat otherwise from a higher-ranking officer or similar, equally offputting condition. He took in a lingering, deep breath in preparation of his summary and began: "Miss Clarke and I went to the Bazaar to locate her grandfather's watch, likewise hoping to find out who took it on the chance that this person was involved with the constant harassment aimed at the Fellowship, only to have the beauteous young starlet assaulted by a shopkeeper because they don't take kindly to women haggling in these parts, the result of which was a slash to her face (which simply will not do, you see) that would have made one justified in setting his place ablaze and micturating upon the ashes afterwards (yet I digress) nonetheless prompting a return to the boat to have the physician see to her injury, only to find that Miss Clarke engaged some form of divine witchiness to close her wound herself, causing the Doctor to collapse in a faint, giving me the opportunity to locate a paper indicating yet another person aboard two doors down that might have the watch..." The color of Reddish's face was becoming quite, well, reddish at this point, but he was bound and determined to get this out in one go. "...ergo causing us to pass near the stateroom just in time to hear your calls for assistance, responded to posthaste by the..." He held up one finger, indicating that he was nearing completion and to please not interrupt, but politely as he didn't figure anyone was about to anyway. Nonetheless, his vision was starting to get spotty and he was slowly going down to a knee as he continued, "...sudden surge of preternatural strength from Miss Clarke, yet again evidence of her possible connections to forces most eldritch, only to find you alone in this room; meaning the object of our search and further answers about our plight very well might be two staterooms over." His hands were shaking and he was down on both knees now, wavering back and forth as if beaten to a standing knockout by an expert pugilist. Reddish thanked his lucky stars that he had come to the end of is sentence.

The shuddering sound of his lungs refilling was accompanied by his bloodshot eyes flying open wide. Simultaneously, his legs both spontaneously unfolded, springing him back to a standing position with naught but a slight bobble to his head indicating that anything amiss had just occurred. Summary down, next came the plan, such as it was. "Seeing as the doctor is or was unconscious, naturally we had to exit to go get help, yes?" he laid his finger next to his nose and nodded, a clear signal that here is where the chicanery was taking place in the monologue, Which, m'Lady, is precisely what we are going to let on if discovered. Now, this is a small boat, and it's naught but a small space of time until we're discovered if we're not already, so... two doors down? Hmmmm?" Reddish cocked his head to the side as he hmmmmm'ed, raising his eyebrows in the process. "As the item belongs to the lovely and talented Miss Josephine Clarke, I shall follow her direction on how to proceed, yet I must insist on ensuring the safety of you both in the meantime. That is to say, madames, command me from behind, yes? Let us go."

With that, Reddish peeked his head out of the doorway, attempting to remain hidden while determining if safe to proceed unnoticed.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat (Lauren's Room)
Characters attempted actions: Ascertain the viability of moving about undetected, and do so if possible
Any and all skills being used: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Scan the deck outside of the room and hopefully make a move two doors down
Desired location of the character: Door to other stateroom

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room -> Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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People were talking. That was to be expected. People were talking about him, specifically. Much of it was sarcasm, which was fine with Ash. He had broad shoulders and thick skin, and moreover spoke fluent Sarcasm. It was a rarity anymore that he dipped into his knowledge of the sarcastic arts, but it was in there, buried. Whatever. The people in that room had every right to some small talk about the utter shake-up in their Quarantine guests. Far be it for him to say anything to the contrary. Ash merely maintained his stance, though he couldn't help but gaze in Thana's direction with a look of contentment on his face. She was reuniting with her people from the road, the former Team Eden. Looking at them, Ash wasn't sure that it was an appropriate descriptor for them anymore. Sure, it was a label to hang on them collectively and people would know what he meant by it, but the assault on Eden was just the origin of these people's association. They had come from such different backgrounds and had only met the day that they left together. Ash almost envied what they had, a closeness that few people outside of a military unit at time of war would ever understand. He hoped that they could hold onto it now that they were in the relative safety of a community.

But the wheels of bureaucracy continued to turn, as they ever would with any organized group of people. Even in an apocalypse. The touching reconnection with her team was nearing a conclusion, and Ash had taken a step or two in Thana's direction again when another member of CMB entered the Conference Room. It was Panama, and he had a list. This was interesting. Considering the names on the list, Ash was a bit confused. It took him a moment to realize that the last names spoken belonged exclusively to what remained of the Eden group, plus himself, and Thana's callsign here. That didn't seem to altogether make sense. They had little in common except for Thana and that they were outsiders here. Whatever questions he might have would probably be answered shortly, so Ash kept quiet and followed the man down he hallway with the others.

Briefing. The sight of the word on the door gave Ash the slightest feeling of mirth. Briefing, or the reciprocal Debriefing had come to also mean something else for him, though nothing that he should get into here. This was serious. For purposes of entering this unknown situation, Ash quickly righted himself and got into a more "On The Clock" demeanor; his eyes becoming hard and observant and his posture retaking something more soldierly. Whatever the purpose of their presence in this room, Ash was meeting it as a professional. Upon direction to the seats, Ash took a center one in the semi-circle and sat patiently at attention. They were calling in the settlement's Executive Officer. This was important, whatever it was.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room -> Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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Thalia could hear herself being swept away by a range of emotions that she hadn't wanted to really share with anyone yet. Seeing Thana had let her guard down some, though the particular way in which the chose she her words to Thalia put the marginally younger woman right back on it. Not only that, but no matter how much they had to discuss or shoot the shit about in private, Thana had more people she had to speak with individually. Every so often she would sneak a peek in Ash's direction (because she wasn't stupid) but for the most part she just enjoyed being in the presence of her dear friend while they all shared the moment. Even if she was more guarded and self aware at that point.

There was a moment that drew her back out of it. Thalia thought at first that she might have been seeing things, a second of wishful thinking that had gotten away from her combined with a piece of personal history that stretched back to the first day of their unity as a group, just a mere trick of the light reflecting off of the can to make it look like something it wasn't... But it was. Someone found The Os.

Shifting into a predatory gaze, Thalia slowly began to change her position, moving with quiet determination ever toward Beatrice and her gifted can of machine rolled pasta. Her face was calm, expressionless except for an unobtrusive smile that could easily be taken for happiness in seeing her friend again, but the eyes - she had the ruthless glare of a cat sizing up an unsuspecting grasshopper, readying for the proper moment to pounce and devour merely for the crime of being noticed on a tall blade of grass. She stalked over to Beatrice, thinking back to the last time that Dem Os were up for grabs. It was the day she lost her arm. Oh, but that didn't count. It didn't change anything. Sympathy Os were not part of a playbook that brought any lasting resolution to the situation, though she had to admit that she consumed them readily enough when offered. And here they were again. Tempting. Mocking. O-ing. She was going to plant her face in those Os one way or another.

While moving somewhere behind Beatrice, Thalia heard her last name called among a list of others. Aware that attention may be placed in her general vicinity, she had to abandon her present course of action. Inwardly she cursed the timing, but her face showed nothing except for a casual surprise at mention of "Carmichael". She beamed a gentle smile toward her friend, the act in defiance of the inward but unspoken thought of, "This isn't over yet." Indeed, the O Wars continued.

Thalia tore herself away and filed in line with the group headed toward Briefing. She selected a chair to one side and slid into it, crossing her arms in front of her and leaning back. She waiting with a determined gaze, curiosity mixing with guarded caution.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Hank's more jovial attitude as of late, while yet considered uncharacteristic of the man, did take a backseat for a moment. He was carefully studying the reactions that a lot of the people were having, seeing as some of them were beginning to understand the implications behind their separate interviews. Considering Hank's own, he believed that it was possible the nature of each one was different, and if the people of Mexico Beach counted themselves as organized in the least then they had to have been sharing notes, probably both before and after the interviews took place. Perhaps that was why he found himself looking to the older French gentleman who a lot of the people there knew. He was having some sort of fit or another, and Hank appeared to be hanging on every word he was mumbling, though he said nothing about it himself, taking a page from the Army Captain's playbook about keeping things quiet, lest too much information be spilled unnecessarily. My, but that was interesting, for whomever else might have picked up on it.

What did could not quite get was the Little Mermaid reference. Hey, whatever worked for his buddy Wayne. He wasn't hurting anybody and Disney was Disney, after all. Hank did feel a twinge that was birthed of memory, though. He had a little girl, once upon a time, that did like The Little Mermaid. It was a bittersweet recollection but did not stop Hank from joining in when the song selection in the jukebox of Wayne's brain selected "Les Poissons" as the featured act. Yeah, that was funny stuff. Hank was going to hyuck it up while he could.

After the room cleared out a bit, from the six names called for some group session elsewhere, Hank looked over to Wayne and casually mentioned, "I think I'm going to catch me a nap there, Maldonado. Let me know if the Pope shows up. He has some explaining to to." Reaching a hand down, Hank levered the footrest of the recliner in which he was ...reclining... and leaned back into it. Within a short span of time, he was already grumbling and snoring lightly, visions of French chefs and poor, unfortunate fishies meeting their end for his amusement.