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Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 7 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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9 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: PE Fade Between
Skills: N/A


Gilbert gave the most quizzical of looks to his fellow not-really-dead-but-not-truly-mortal companions. He understood that swift and complete changes in environment coupled with a total lack of applicable knowledge could have devastating effects on the human psyche, even to the point of speaking with the same level of randomness that one might attribute to a lack of fitful sleep. Perhaps that was why, despite the seriousness of their situation, he looked at Evelina's latest crop of Paradoxes with an eyebrow so raised that it looked like it was trying to escape his face and make a break for the afterlife. Not so much from Bartholomew's question, as it was valid if a little vague, but in Sophia's attempt at explanation. Especially considering that he was standing right there.

Raising his hand to his noble head, Gilbert tried to manually and forcibly lower the intensity of the eyebrow from Kill to Stun. He was only marginally successful. He kept his voice level and even nonetheless. "When I was born, I was swaddled in rough wool and laid upon a bassinet of ox hide, a common baby of a common family in Sumer. The Hat came later. Long after I waged war on my enemies and drove what few of them were alive shrieking before me, crushed even my kinsmen, and established myself as a ruler of humanity's first great civilization. I was not 'born with a hat', Sophia." There was a distance to his words, as he was beginning to note certain changes in the world around them, aside from the gaping void of absolute nothingness they were walking away from.

"Bartholomew, when I became aware of what I was, I simply knew. The title included, like an archetype of humanity. Maybe one of the first. 'The Hat' is a living metaphor. Considering my arrival with the origins of civilization, I had always assumed I was the first." He sighed, stopped, and actually took a serious look at the running Hellscape around them. Yet, he completed his thought. "...but humanity has existed for far, far longer than civilization, hasn't it? There is much that Emendators do not know."

From the look of what was happening around them all, Gilbert was beginning to believe that the Winchester rifle on his back was going to become either extremely useful, or particularly useless, in short order.
In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: DTB Fade Between
Skills: Tracking


So as they passed along, Caesar kept his attention to the ground around them. Not one to expect more of his abilities than his actual training allowed, he was content to simply observe the ground as it was and attempt to draw conclusions from it, regarding the area. What he found, apparently, was nothing. No tracks of any kind, no evidence of insects, nothing which could have been used as a game trail. Nothing that looked like precipitation had occurred recently, or heavy winds that might have obscured anything. No holes, small or large in the ground, no broken vegetation or any vegetation for that matter including plant litter, likewise no rough or overturned, depressed or disturbed soil, but again definitely, assuredly, no tracks. There was nothing to base any assumptions on, such as he had the ability to tell, anywhere in the basic direction that they were going. A little creepy, but important to know. Okay, a lot creepy. It demonstrated a pressing and basic difference to the environment they had involuntarily left.

Caesar shrugged as the flask was passed back to him. Fair enough. It was an offer for someone doing them a favor and if it wasn't wanted for the reason stated, he wasn't going to take it as insult or find issue with it. "Yeah, staying sharp," he said, echoing their guide's sentiment for any who requested a swig from his personal stash of booze without invite. He slid it back into his vest without further comment about it. He did give a good listen to what Robert had to say about the books and research being done around it. Nothing that too heavily weighed toward what he and his associate were into, though there were curiosities about Adelaide's situation. Missing book from a vault in a secure building, if he read that statement right. Even if he didn't, it looked like things were tough all over, what with the bullshit being slung across everyone and everything even slightly connected with this case. Or series of cases. Looking at everyone who was around him now, it was obvious that all of their individual ventures were connected. Then Robert brought up the topic that they had come to the bookstore to look into in the first place, or one of them, anyway, referring to their mention by his "British Man". Not a great superhero name, if Caesar had any say in the matter. "Mr. Keystone and I were put on the path for the Lunillud Aleae by parties unknown," he said, answering Robert but looking to the others to see if any had a glimmer or recognition. "Celestial Dice."

Partially to answer Mali's question, he continued, "Then our story is like hers. No clown. Yes, shadow creature. My dead daughter came back to life, she killed it with explosives. Now I'm here." Caesar shook his head. Overly simple, but amazingly to the point. He looked to the rocks and noted Kyra's comment about them. It wasn't much, but if it was the only landmark it would have to do as a focal point for now. He might venture settling in and building a fire, but the lack of combustible materials was apparent. But should they even stop? Was there a point to it? "Do we have a goal here? Beside getting back, I mean." he finally said aloud. How would they even start about that little task, anyway? Mysteries abound.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A


In one way, it was nice to see the former Newnanites getting to know the people of their new community. He could say that now, "their new community", as the selection process was over and they had made the cut. The loss of his once trusted confidant, Victor, was a bit of a blow. But to look at things, he had lost Froggy some time ago. Perhaps time would change things for him. Ash could only hope. It was no longer a thing to dwell upon; he had a new life that required his attention. On mustn't forget the old entirely, hence the visit to the gravesites outside of the walls. But visiting the fallen to pay respects wasn't hanging on to the past. Ash did hope that they didn't completely lose the stamp of identity that marked them as being survivors well acquainted with one another prior to coming to this place. Depending upon each other as a ragtag, extended family should not be a thing so easily brushed away. Dwelling in the past was not healthy. Forgetting it completely was as well.

Ash did enjoy the comforting weight of Thana's shoulder against his. Part of the human condition that he had almost given up on was physical contact with someone he cared about, or in this case, loved. It was so easy to write off, once it wasn't a big part of his life by necessity. Now that it was back, Ash didn't want to take it for granted.

He tried to make mental notes about the people that Thana was pointing out to him. Edna, Rosie, Ada. Rosie and Mizrahi were grease monkeys. Moreover, they could read engineering specs and build using them as a guideline. That was an important distinction. Ash smiled gently and nodded when Thana pointed out the younger lady, Ada. That was the official distilling lady. They might have things to discuss later, one professional to another. "If it's convenient, maybe introduce me later." Maybe at the party, or another time down the road a bit, it was all the same to Ash. Nice and all but he was more interested in the present, and present company.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A


Thalia gave a quiet grunt and waited for the short conversation around her to flare up and die out of its own volition without offering anything of her own into it. The offer to join was nice and all, but she didn't know any of these people and didn't feel like being the popular kid and sitting down with the earnest intention of making new friends. She said what she came over here to say and that was that. People in groups who were eager to have a conversation with her made her a little wary, regardless of their actual intent. "Yah, maybe next time," she said, already turning to see what they were talking about when they said that she had someone waving her over. Oh yeah, Alexander. Great. He gave a preset excuse to make herself scarce. Otherwise, she might be in for an awkward meal in which one or another party would be struggling to ask questions or get her to talk about herself, and she really didn't feel the need to have that type of conversation.

Instead, there was a different sort of conversation waiting on her elsewhere in the established Mess Hall. Or if not actual conversation persay, the beginning of one that distinctly ambushed her with sentimentality. It took her a moment, as if she was translating Alexander's sentence from a language in which Thalia could only claim competence, not fluency. First off, Judith? Okay, he explained that one. Hell, he was pretty sure he mentioned in conversations prior to now, anyway, at least she thought he did. Wife. She wondered what that was like, having a spouse. Well, probably not for her, ever. Anyway, pretty name, Judith. Moving on. Thalia had no idea why his wife would have liked her. She was a woman socially crippled by her circumstances and now sported a big, metal hand. Maybe Judith liked broken people, back in the day. It even took Thalia a moment to realize that Alexander meant it as a compliment. While she was figuring this out, she eyeballed the older man quizzically. Finally, it was like she had to remind herself that yes, manners were a thing, and she needed to extend at least a sliver of them back to Alexander, or she really was a socially crippled young woman. "Thanks, Mugsy. Wish I could have met her. She sounds like a patient lady." Wait, was that an appropriate response? Should she have said more? No, if she just fucked something up, she shouldn't keep talking and make it worse. She and Alexander had been "survival buddies" for well over a year now. He'd know she didn't mean anything. She thought, anyway.

Thalia offered a kind of lopsided smile and started to eat. It wasn't the most refined sight ever, watching her consume pasta with her left hand while she leaned on her right elbow, the artificial arm below it hovering near her tray. It looked almost prison-ish when one noticed that she kept an eye on the people filling the room as she ate, keeping tabs and instinctively looking for anything that might be considered a threat. Perhaps that was a compliment on her part to Alex, that when she ate now or was in a potentially compromising position, she didn't put her attention on him, like he was accepted as a comrade, excluded from her steely gaze as a potential threat. Her nonchalance to his presence demonstrated trust. It was a hard fought for commodity these days.
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


The strangeness of the day continued. On an up note, the ferret was okay. It was strange to think about, but the ferret coming out of all this safe and sound really did elevate Vladimir's spirits in ways most imperceptible to others but highly impactful for the ordinarily very open performer. Perhaps it was everything else going on that prevented additional commentary on the subject of the Dieter. Maybe it was the flower, or the haunting voice in the air. Perhaps the stillness of the air which accompanied this next potential development, holding its big pregnant pause as if it would drop an event-baby so massive the doctor would have to get a running start to slap its ass. But then Vlad looked to Veta, and to Virginia, who had already joined hands. He had no idea what they were on about or what was going to happen, but something, something, was. Something potentially permanent. Oh, what little piece of adventure remained to them today?

Virginia handed off the control of her holdings to the lady they had just rescued. Well, good on her. It had a nice round bit of finality to it, kind of. Of course now, it looked very much like the big quest to save Millicent that had claimed lives already, good, decent, strong people who had done much for their fellow Soulled, was a footnote. Not that they had died for nothing, had they? Would their presence or absence have changed anything between the woman and Rutherford? The battle in the Church? Maybe it was for nothing, or merely incidental. Maybe it was to get this set of circumstances together, for whatever good or ill it would cause. But destiny had provided this opportunity for ...whatever the hell was happening, and he'd be damned if he was going to suddenly be the Voice of Reason and stop it. This was just too damned good.

"Circus... vill do fine vithout Great Bazhooli. If ve fall, or if time and distance prevent return of Great Bazhooli, another vill be tapped. Baron Alexandrov vill still run things, sons vill carry line, and there vill alvays be Great Bazhooli." Such a feeling of permanence here, as if operating with the hint of something massive to come. It wasn't everyday that a spectral voice hints at something cryptic and one's sovereign makes an odd request of you in a ritualized fashion while a super rare flower blossoms and wilts in the space of seconds.

Vladimir strode over to Elizaveta and took her hand. He gave a hard flourish with his open hand and snapped his fingers, a handsbreadth of blade sliding upwards from his fingers in the process which he then tapped on the brim of his very fine, very tall hat. A giddy but dark smile began to form on his face and he nodded in the direction of Veta, and then Virginia. This was it. "Ladies & Gentlemen, Madames & Sirs, Ladies & Lords alike, am thanking you for time and appreciation." He chuckled a little, a grave and sinister sound if ever there was one, inflected by decades of practice to build dramatic tension upon a moment, "Final Trick for viewing enjoyment, to vhisper about to friends, childrens, and any persons you vish to give envy, Great Bazhooli presents to you: Gologramma." If this was the end, it was best to go with style.

In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: PE Fade Between (walking toward tree)
Skills: N/A


There was a fierce look in Gilbert's eyes as Judgement spoke. Contained behind a face otherwise seemingly at ease, smiling even, as if one was looking at a tiger pacing back and forth behind the bars of a cage, and that tiger was staring back with ravenous intentions. Pseudo-religious rhetoric that served to delay the outset of their journey, when in all honesty, Gilbert would much rather have been back at the Plantation, training the newer Paradoxes and working on Sophia's new hand like he damn well wanted them to do from the outset. Granted, no one could have done a thing about the collapse of time and space as they knew it, but at this point it was the principle of the thing. And now, he would rather be on his way to this reality's conception of Purgatory, or Punishment, or whatever dark and foreboding corner of metaphysical existence his family was in.

This was a revelation, of sorts. Gil knew full well when Evelina became aware of herself. The idea of Judgement was far older than that. Gilbert himself gained his consciousness at the dawn of human civilization, maybe giving him an increased appreciation for both Humanity and Civilization overall. It could even be said that these two concepts made him who he was, even though he was once a destroyer of both. But more to the point, this idea of Justice was a far older thing than civilization, ergo far older than himself. Which meant older than Evelina. And before this, the stranger in the blindfold was called "The Dice". Were there Emendators before him? He had always thought he was the first. How interesting.

Then again, this sort of conjecture was dangerous. Foolhardy. Immaterial to their present situation, even if a shred of it was correct. Good to file away for later. And yet, this seemed so familiar somehow. It always was, during what he referred to as his "First Lifetime", that whenever he went on some epically heroic undertaking, a woman would preset herself in a cryptic manner as a guide or to test him, even if that test was merely resolve. The full meaning of the words spoken were rarely apparent until some time after.

Wait, was there another Hat before him? What kind of an asshole was he like?

Questions aside, there was literally only one place for them to go now. Choice made. Gilbert tipped his cap in the general direction of the place where Judgement had disappeared, intoning, "Madame," and turning back in the direction he was heading to begin with. "I agree with The Watch," he stated flatly, and looked to the Paradoxes in the group, nodding knowingly before setting back off. Perhaps it was that he agreed with or knew of their confusion, it was hard to say from so vague a motion.

The concerns of Andromeda did draw more out of him, though his voice was more tense than usual as he spoke. "You are right to question, Andromeda. Please do not come to conclusions too quickly. None of us knows how this works. Not really. I can tell you this: That was not Evelina. She is in that direction," he motioned toward the tree in the distance, "and she is very far away by my ability to detect. She said that long before she was Justice, she was called The Dice. The true implications I can only suspect." Oh, but he did have his suspicions.

The idea of Gil becoming Ares did bring a slight smile to his face, though it was short lived. "Ares? Never met her." But he did offer, "In a way, you might be correct. The commonly accepted idea of Ares took a little influence from me. I believe that I am prettier." Sarcasm, disarming or no, probably didn't help their situation. "Apologies. Yes, that happened. She is gone now, and our course has not changed. If you wish to continue discussing it, please, let us do so as we walk." He continued along his path, speaking still, "I do not believe I will ever be deified, if that is what you are asking. Humanity tried the first time, and they were apparently only partly successful."
In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: DTB Fade Between
Skills: N/A


The local girl, if indeed anyone was "local" in this place, seemed ever so slightly put out at the prospect of conversing with the new arrivals. At least that's how it looked to Caesar. Not that he really blamed her, for him to want to converse with anyone who wasn't of use to him (or to whom he was personally close) when he didn't have to was tiresome more often than not. This Kyra, at a glance, seemed to have a distinct lack of fucks left in her fuck-quiver to fire at a quartet of people who appeared in this place with absolutely nothing of use to her. The decision to likewise not fire actual arrows was taken as the neutral half of good news. It worked well enough for him. She had the barest of information for them, they had nothing really useful for her aside from a break from the very busy day she must be having doing... whatever it was that one does in this place.

As for Caesar, what he wanted to do with this place was leave it. First things first, get out of the open and take stock of their resources. Maybe get a lay of the land. There was a way in, and thusly there must be a way out. It stood to reason, and besides that there had to be an overall goal to work toward, if only to keep the more nervous of their group from doing something foolish. Looking back at the people he was involuntarily traveling with, that could be any one of them. So much as someone would have to eventually step up and assert themselves if they wanted to keep the group together, that was not going to be him right now. He would have to have reason to or responsibility for, neither of which he had on him at present. Of course, there was the fact that none of them belonged here, wherever "here" was. And he did know two of them personally, if more of acquaintances than actual friends. And the guy who was with that research lady... fine. That would make them innocents affected by whatever the hell got him, too. That might change things, until one of them pissed him off. Ah, these ethical quandaries did tend to make one's head ache. For now, the person they were following was the wolf-lady. That was good enough for him right now.

Following along with Kyra, Caesar kept his eyes to the ground and shotgun at the ready. He wanted to get an idea of anything that might be native to this place, human, animal, whatever. Figuring that the wolf would likely show some manner of response if a threat was detected, he kept a good chunk of his attention studying the ground. Once, he said aloud with a soft, low voice, "Robert," his eyes glancing in his direction briefly as he moved along, "Your boss find out anything for me?"

Absently, Caesar reached into his vest and pulled out a large silver flask. He grunted in Kyra's direction and held it out to her, flatly intoning, "Tequila." Might as well make some sort of gesture. She was giving them help, after all.

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: N5 (Street) -> L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A


Ash was careful. Not generally known for being the absolute pinnacle of human agility, he was more than competent to hoist a lady recovering from physical trauma into a passable piggyback ride, most especially if that someone was Thana. On the one hand, it seemed a little childlike, offering to carry someone on their back and have them steer you like a horsey, but on the other hand Ash didn't give a rat's hindparts what anyone else thought about it; he was going to make sure that she traveled as comfortably as possible and stayed off that leg. "I aim to please," he responded as she climbed aboard, and when given the destination and a rough direction, Ash was underway as swiftly as he could while still being careful with his precious cargo. Admittedly, there was something morale-lifting about playing personal transport for Thana. And he did like being useful.

Once they reached the building in question and Ash set her down, he took a more subordinate posture. He deferred to her direction upon entering and matching the speed of her pace; nearby in case she wanted help yet not insisting upon giving it. Moreover, he took to her example when getting food for himself. Moderation was something he was a big fan of, particularly as it concerned getting yourself too expectant about a food source. Hunters often went home hungry. It was just how things were. Plus, there was that event later in the evening. He'd said that he would attend and promised a dance. If there happened to be a crab or three that met an early demise, he'd feel obligated not to let it go to waste. It seemed that there was a lot that he could pick up from these people about food sourcing and energy production, and he had all the time in the world to figure it out.

What amazed Ash most was that, in the face of new surroundings and a totally new social dynamic, the people of his group saw fit to separate almost completely and filter into other knots of people. Considering the time they spent covering each others' backs, he might have figured that they would, for the most part, stay close to each other. He would have been wrong. Acclimation or a desire to fit in notwithstanding, the former Newnan group was splitting into component parts. Ash noted it with a sigh. New groups were being formed. It was interesting to see how they came together. Very notably in his estimation was the almost silent buddying-up of Wayne, Hank, and ...Thana's father? Wow, he did not see that coming. As for himself, Ash took a chair next to Thana, otherwise away from the rest of the Camp.

When the topic of securing permission to visit the gravesite was broached, Ash slowly shook his head to the affirmative. "Thank you," he said quietly, in response. "That'd be a hell of a nice thing, if he'd let us." It was a sad truth that they were denied an opportunity to say goodbye to those they had lost. Before he dug into the simple repast on the tray in front of him, Ash reached over and gave Thana's hand a little squeeze. For no reason in particular, he looked into her eyes and gave a warm, quiet, "Thanks." He was grateful for the moment and the circumstances that led up to it, ideal or not.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: M6 (Tram Parking Lot) -> L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A


Thalia couldn't glare quite as good as her father, or God forbid, her uncle. They were cut of a glare-worthy cloth that she merely adopted, ever the reminder that even though she was of the bloodline Thalia would always be something of her own person. The way they handled the Apocalypse was proof of this. Though it wasn't an entirely fair a statement to make, she was still alive and they were not. Hell, for all she knew, her father (the Father) was still alive down in Mexico. She still hadn't gotten the full answers she wanted from Army Captain about how Caesar died. That was something to readdress. A guy like that doesn't go down quiet.

But back to the point, the glare from the woman came more as a sort of potentially aggressive brood than an actual threatening expression. Perhaps that was for the best, though she didn't exactly want to give off the impression that she was somehow psychologically damaged from her time out in the world. It wouldn't be amazingly far from the truth, if she took to the idea with objectivity. It definitely had changed who she was. Well, shaking off the implications of who she used to be and who she was now, along with a rising body count that might have made half of her blood relations proud and the other half horrified, Thalia contented herself to getting in line along with everybody else and figuring out the best way to set up a tray with one working hand and one inanimate steel club (damn spiffy one though).

Joaquin was sitting with others of Mexico Beach. She recognized them all by sight, but the only one she had anything similar to a conversation with, aside from her flamboyant sibling, was Shears. Even then it was rather abbreviated. Thalia didn't talk a whole lot on her best days, and being in the new situation that she was it was even less than usual. But the guy did do a good job with her hair. First things first - She moved to Joaquin and, still standing, addressed him. "Sé que tienes ...negocios... de qué hablar.1" She wasn't exactly sure which word to use to describe their discussion, but as she didn't even have a job there yet it probably didn't concern her. "Quiero que intercambiemos palabras sobre algo más tarde, ¿está bien, hermano?2 Okay." There was a look of determination in her eyes. Not quite impatience, as she'd shown more than a fair amount of patience waiting for conversations to happen over the past week and was beginning to feel very brushed off and a little angry.

Barely stopping, she looked to Shears and gave an almost (but not quite) monotone, "Thank you," motioning to her hair with her metal hand, recently cut and styled into a very respectable pixie bob, "Literally, the best haircut I've had in years." She couldn't remember if she'd shown any courtesy at all after he was done, earlier that week. "Later, then," said Thalia to the table overall, eyes looking about for a decent spot to sit with her back to a wall.


In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


Walking over to where his coat lay neatly folded upon a thankfully untouched pew along with his very tall and dignified hat, Vladimir heard the call from the British fellow who had give water to Veta. He was apparently concerned with the physical well being of those recently engaged in combat. If not so lucky or positioned in this battle, he was at least making a valiant attempt at courteous industry after the fact. Vlad responded as if the man was speaking to him directly, "Spasibo! Da, thanking you for attentions most medical. Having no need! Am Great Bazhooli! Strong in vays of Fal'shbort! Like bear, carved of vood, vith fur of coarse and shaggy irons! Vooden, iron bear vhich stabs and Mamushkas vith grace, vigorousness, and vodka, good sir." He bowed low from the waist and stretched his arms out wide, demonstrating both an apparent lack of injury and the sort of histrionic gratitude that one might expect from the man, if they knew him for even a few minutes. As he rose, he trailed a hand back to take his cot by its collar, ruffle the garment with a quick snap of his wrist, and slide it over himself. "Ah! There is hat..." Vladimir swept up his top hat, and with a flourish set it on his very dignified head. "Much better."

The women who performed the brunt of the acts of badassery seemed content to discuss the ramifications and implications of this creature and the fight against it, trading ideas and doing some guesswork on the topic. Vlad thought it best to stay to the outside of this for the meantime. It did not fall into his wheelhouse anyway. The Grand Duchess was being tended to by Constantin and, be it just a delivery of potable water, William. All the same, he felt the need to walk over to them to check for himself that Elizaveta was okay. At first, just a careful watch from a coupe of paces out, before stepping inwards and asking a series of avuncular questions, were he to see something potentially difficult that he believed she wasn't giving proper attention. But none of that was necessary. She seemed to be fine s far as he could tell at a glance, minus some profound fatigue.

Constantin asked an interesting question, however. "Da..." he said with some regard. "I know not vhat this vas. Astral energies flowing around us at all times, yes? Astral vorld is like reflection of ours, but cannot see. I saw something. This day I saw a thing which has disturbing qvalities; exists as vorld along vith ours, like Astral, but is solid vorld. Nothing vas there - no church, no fight, no person or monsters at all. Felt like had less and also had more inside, heavy on Great Bazhooli's spirit." Vladimir nodded solemnly, finishing up with, "Vhat bothers most? As Gologramma became part of me again, vas not like vhisper and smoke; vas solid. Hit like mule kicking chest. Is not supposed to do this. Something vith energies..." he gestured about, indicating everything around him, ...is wrong." Supposition, of course. But he could not deny that something highly unusual had just happened to him.

Vlad allowed a moment for his words to settle in and for his eyes to take a darker, more ominous expression. Then just as suddenly, his face changed to the optimistic and he declared allowed, "More provisioning vith horse; great Brivaldi animal, Tolstoy!" He had ridden his horse into the church prior to the drama, which he pointed back toward now. "Vill fetch."
In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: PE Fade Between (walking toward tree)
Skills: N/A


Decision made and moved toward. Period. End story. This was what was happening, and Gil was leading the way. For what seemed like only once in their recent careers as Emendators and Paradoxes did they set in the same direction with goal in mind. They were moving as one. So naturally, something had to present itself to fix that. Far be it for Gilbert to shake off or ignore the physical manifestation of one of mankind's primal concepts, despite his determined trudge in the direction of one of the trees nor his desire to get something accomplished in a gigantic sea of sidetracking nonsense. So casually Gilbert stopped, tipped his cap to the scales lady, and smiled in greeting.

The choice she gave to them all, Peace or Punishment, seemed a little moot for him. He was already headed in the direction he wanted to go, anyway, choice or not. The theatrics meant nothing to him. However, Gilbert could not fault the lady on style and presentation. It counted for a lot. He was pleased that the Paradoxes saw fit to choose Punishment. He had the vaguest of guesses as to what Peace might be, but it didn't matter. The other Emendators were not there, so he did not seek to travel toward Peace.

"I am curious, why is this is our decision? But it matters not. If you are what I think you are, then you already know the truth of me; where I go, Peace does not follow. It cannot remain. As sweet and desirable as Peace is, it is ever temporary. This is the truth of Gilgamesh of Uruk as much as it is Gilbert Summers.

He shifted his hat on his head "Our Sisters are in the direction I was headed. Punishment. That answers my requirement. Whether they are being punished or doing the punishing - one, both, either or none, I continue in the direction I chose. Humbly and with respect to you, Lady."
In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: DTB Fade Between
Skills: N/A


If Caesar had been shown all that he was shown at once, he wouldn't have believed it. Perhaps the gradual revelation of this was necessary to allow his brain to process the things he had been made witness to, starting with something that was familiar. A business deal, crime, cover-up. The corruption of those sworn to protect; he had seen a lot of that in his lifetime. The murder of innocents that tore so many more apart. He saw his daughter's corpse upon a table and weeks later, saw her fighting a monster that belonged in a sci-fi film. And the dreams... related or not, he had been dreaming very strange things lately, of darkness and rain and blood; lightning illuminating steel that struck down inhuman foes as celestial beings watched. Maybe they even placed bets.

Had he not been eased into this, if any of those things could be considered "eased", he would have thought himself mad right now. Or dreaming. Perhaps to wake, he would have eaten a barrel of high-velocity buckshot. That would have been counterproductive to finding answers. But did Caesar really want answers right now? Maybe. Definitely, he wanted solutions.

The insurance guy was speaking nervously, using humor and pop culture references to ease his unease. Annoying, but understandable. The bodybuilder chica was being rude. Not helpful, but it hardly affected him. Yet. Superstar couldn't stop talking. Also nervous. Also understandable. Also annoying, and where did she get off staring at him for saying his own name? Oh, take out a leg and she'd make a fine decoy if he needed one to cover an escape. Fine decoy indeed.

With a great sigh on behalf of his companions, Caesar took a quick look around, finally asking a question, "Kyra? Kyra, por favor, is there anywhere we can go that isn't in the open? It is exposed here. I can tell you my story later." His words were still raspy, but polite, for the most part, end even.
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