Avatar of Terminal

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

I have been writing as a hobby for longer than you have been alive. I have been a regular member and roleplayer of no less than fourteen different online forums during that time (including the old RPG), five six eight of which no longer exist.

I was previously a regular on the Homestuck forums, but I became so sick of thread turnover there that I asked around and eventually found the Guild. Since joining, I have exclusively only participated in Advanced RPs. Before Mahz gave NRPs their own subforum, I used to be an NRP regular in the Advanced Subforum. I am a Guildfall survivor, and know/regularly write with a few others.

If you ask anybody who has written with me in previous RPs, they should tell you that I have a generally open schedule, I post regularly and in a timely fashion, and I never drop an RP once I join unless the thread dies. Some of them may tell you that I have extensive expertise within the realms of Biology, Psychology, and Physics, which I will make no effort to validate since there is no way I can provide hard proof of aforementioned alleged expertise to anybody over the internet (though I am happy to try and answer any questions you send my way).

My favorite fandom is the Myst franchise, which seemingly nobody other than me has ever heard of.

I was a Contest Moderator for the Writing Contests Subforum for just a little bit over two years. I wrote the Moderation Policy for that subforum and I ran a contest called the Twelve Labours; you can still go there and see all of them and the entries people wrote for them in the Contests Section and the Victory Archives.

I have been quadruple secret banned from the guild discord. That is not a joke.

Most Recent Posts



"Nice to know I can still make all the ladies swoon." King preened where he sat as Kleo was bodily hauled away, not even so much as flinching as the blood she spat all over his shirt dripped down his chest. Abruptly, his entire body seemed to ripple with undulating waves of scintillating, iridescent color - and the blood covering his shirt and boots were both violently flung away from him, some of it even splattering against the Invictoid Authority's own shield, causing it to shimmer once more as it deflected the bloody droplets.

"As for our erstwhile Commander - rest assured sir, protesting frequently and often is one of my most developed skills. I will be sure to forward all of that to you in the future." He flicked a lazy two-fingered salute Salvator's way. He did not otherwise make to move from his seated position, with his boots - or the seeming of them at any rate - still propped up on the meeting table. "Otherwise, I am something of a close-in fire-support specialist. Covering and suppression fire, wide-variety energy frequency munitions, aerial, amphibious, and space-capable environmental maneuvers. All of which will mostly be limited by how slow and inept the rest of you are, but I imagine somehow we will be able to muddle our way to realms of disheartening adequacy all the same."
Everything he did not see was a waking nightmare to him.

The nonsensical paradox was quite literal. The sophisticated mechanism at the core of his body that measured the parameters of his phantasmagorical skin in order to provide him with sensation had a fully spherical field of view and never turned off. Before, when he had still been alive, he could simply constrain his field of view to something Human-adjacent for a more digestible experience.

Now though, dead and buried, if he closed his one third eye even slightly, in the writhing darkness beneath its synthetic eyelids he could instead - see the festering, putrescent, monstrous beings pupating inside what remained of his entombed corpse. He swore they moved. Every time he dared to try and examine them he swore their everting maws and pulsating, grime-lathered ventricular pores had pulsated in some edacious fashion that he could not quite commit to memory.

The alternative of a full field of view without end, warped and blown out of proportion by his limited Human experience, reigned as a seductive siren's call promising an end to the fitful night terrors. He knew, however, that is was but one of the many self-imposed facets and aspects of his new form that if he embraced too fully, all pretense of Humanity would abandon him. He would lose sight of what-was and drown in the metamorphic numen, reverse transubstantiation of the mind and soul to mirror the state of the body - the placid, inert fluid being reshaped and molding to the form of its new container. While that might not have necessarily been a bad thing, per se, there was always then the forlorn, insidious notion: If he adapted too well to his new form, he would never be able to return to what remained of his corpse.

Make a heaven of hell to find damnation in paradise, or endure an unending continuation of freakish misery for the distant promise of far-flung catharsis and absolution? The classic dilemma in a new, modernized experience embodied in an exploration of phantom sensation. In their magnanimity, his current hosts had even arranged his living conditions to neatly mirror his sleepless, daylight horror. The Tarrhaidim​ and Vrexul dominated aesthetics of the vessel he had been reassigned to charming him with its rancid, fungal aesthetic at every turn, as if the whole ship was a corpse with industrial-sleek and glittering mold covering every relevant surface. He was not certain whether the convergent aesthetics on display between the two alien species and his own personal torment were incidental or deliberate - all he knew for certain was that they almost certainly saw him in just a distasteful light as he saw them. The so-called bunking arrangements at general quarters aboard the ship, in particular, were insufferably claustrophobic and altogether too similar to the writhing torment that occupied his blind spot.

It was thus no surprise that he instead spent the majority of his time 'patrolling' his new host vessel for the purposes of finding the single least visually offensive vista where he could ineffectually bang his head against the metallic hydrogen facade of contemplative normalcy he tried to maintain if only for the sake of his own withering sanity. There was no salvation to be found - practically every squirming centimeter of the alien vessel churned and seethed with the rush of biomechanical life. The company he had to keep, of course, was even worse. It was as if every single asshole inside of twelve AU wanted to put their own mutagenic excess on display - that most of them were bent and twisted into rough approximations of Humanoid form almost seemed condescending.

Needless to say, after having run what passed for his mouth a few times, the majority of the crew and passengers had come to view him with precisely the same disgust he held for most of them. He had already been disciplined (Ha! HA! AHAHAHA!!!) multiple times for 'speciest proclivities and discriminatory sentiment.' He could clearly see how indulging in such base and distasteful behavior was hindering his ongoing efforts, but what else could he do? He did not even have the relative oasis of his own body to find respite in - or to find the rudiments of civility in. He needed something to ground his Humanity in, and if it won him no favors from his erstwhile 'allies,' they could go find a large mass of anti-neutronium to kick.

β€œKing.”

Yes. That was him. The not-name for his body anyway. He shook off the passing, questionable entertainment of his reverie to continue arguing with the bay quartermaster. He glanced off to the side, behind where the Quartermaster stood, to look at the security-feed displaying the counter-side view of the desk and whoever happened to be on the receiving end of it. It was still him he saw. Approximately 1.78 meters in height and still looking a little too thin, even with the bulked-up ballistics suit he had projected over the display for his skin. His auburn-colored hair was presently being worn in a loose ponytail until he could be assed to devise something really eccentric. The expression on the angular features of his face was still one of vague disinterest however - only the deep-green coloration of his eyes really stood out at the moment. Conjuring up a bid of concentration, he managed to twist the external photon-curtain for his face to resemble an approximation of scornful expression.

"That's my name, don't chew on it too much before spitting it out." He retorted.

He was King.



"Your requisition request has - once more - been denied." The Quartermaster wheezed through the biomechanical equivalent of a respirator. Like everything else on the ship, they were a little too tall, spindly, and corpse-like for King's taste.

"What, all six thousand of them?" King asked plaintively as he leaned elbow-first on the commissary counter.

"It was impressive that you had the patience and commitment to press the 'Confirm and Send' button six thousand times. I can only imagine how much time that took you. However, all the duplicates were filtered and omitted by the governing system."

"So why was the one application that got through rejected?"

The Quartermaster leaned down from across the commissary window, practically butting head to head with King in the process before answering.

"I took such apoplectic offense to your attitude from before that I, in my rage, lost your form. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you personally."

"Nothing to it, scatterbrains, pretty sure they make a pill for that." King made a show of gritting the teeth he did not have while locking what currently passed for his eyes with the quartermaster's own beady, optical lens. "Look, I ask for so very, very little. I do not even eat. Is it so much to ask that you actually do your job and requisition the one, singular item that might make abiding your creepy, insufferable countenance otherwise tolerable, which I have been asking you to get for the last fourteen billion cycles?"

The quartermaster leaned back from across the counter again. "Without even having looked into it, you are asking for a form of physical media that could be perfectly viewed digitally. You could even look at it right now, if what I know about your apparatus is right. Obtaining a physical copy is redundant, risky, expensive - and unnecessary. Do not file a similar request again."

"So on top of being lazy, ugly, and dim-witted, we can now add 'inept' to the lengthy list of your many physical failings." King made a concerted effort to twist the photon-curtain of his face to approximate a contemptuous sneer. "I, for one, cannot wait to get to know you better so I can figure out what is also wrong with your personality. I'll resubmit the form another six-thousand times with unique modifications each time if that's what it takes. Just get it for me you complete waste of my time..." He banged on the commissary counter with the project for his right fist before turning around with a somewhat over-embellished sweeping gesture. Then he made to strut away, taking care to make sure his feet were actually touching the floor and to throw in some exaggerated nigh-drunken sway to really sell the picture of barely-contained indignant rage. He had no idea if the alien quartermaster could even read Human body-language, but it was not for his benefit regardless.

The quartermaster threw something wet and viscous at the back of King's head. It struck and splattered itself against the contours of the photon-curtain for King's hair, neck, and shoulders.

'Get mad. Get really mad. Hormonal, impulsive, completely reckless rage. You are incandescent with hate. Let's go. Get mad. Just imagine it as if it had happened to you for real. Get mad. Get mad. Get mad.'

King's form stood still and rigid for several moments, but he failed to properly approximately the still-but-livid shock that he remembered as coming with being struck by something filthy from an unseen angle. He couldn't quite bend the eyes projected by the photon-curtain to swell with visible hate. He couldn't quite get the photo-curtain's skin to ripple with reflexive shock. He couldn't quite get the set of his jaw to broaden and lower in animal ferocity.

Most damningly, though: He also couldn't quite bring himself to care.

King shrugged faintly, and the surface of his entire body shimmered with iridescent waves of scintillating light as his photon-curtain remodulated itself. He applied a faint burst of ablative-kinetic shock to the residue of whatever the Quartermaster had thrown at him and sent it scattering across the walls and floor. Utterly defeated, he then drifted off - literally. His feet did not even touch the ground as he pulled his host mechanism across the bay and to the nearest juncture, ignoring the alien curses the Quartermaster was flinging at his back.

Before he could ruminate for too long on his failings and contemplate jettisoning himself out the nearest airlock to scream in space for the rest of forever, he received a communique from the Invictoid Authority. The strike team was back. Time for mission debrief and introductions. Time to pretend to care about another mishmash of random assholes out here in the back end of nowhere, space, running aggrandized wetwork for the interstellar political equivalent of a howling infant. There was always the possibility some of them might be Human of course. Or at least look passably Human. He could have reviewed the strike team's profiles in advance but had elected to savor the disappointment in person.

As he made to enter the briefing room, resplendent with its insultingly mundane table and chairs, he was genuinely shocked for the first time in months when he heard a Human voice stained with the very indignant rage he had just attempted and failed to conjure up - and then he beheld the frazzled countenance of one Kleo Alves, attempting to chew out the Invictoid Authority as though she did not know it had been dealing with him for long enough that she would be unable to faze it even if she had spat in its face.

He frowned when she visibly coughed blood on the ground. Did she have internal bleeding? Had the medics not tended to her yet? Typical. Still, she was healthy enough to scream at an authority figure, that meant she was healthy enough to humor a little hazing.

"π™±πšŠπšœπšπšŠπš›πš, 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšŽπšŸπš’πš• πšπšžπšŒπš”πš’πš—πš πš‹πšŠπšœπšπšŠπš›πš. πš†πšŠπš’πš 'πš— 𝚜𝚎𝚎, πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš™πšŠπš πš— πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ? πš‚πš‘πšŽ'πš•πš• πš‹πšŽ πš˜πš—πšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πšπšŠπš”πšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πš”πš’πš—πš, πš πš‘πš˜πšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš”πš’πš—πš πš’πšœ. 𝙸'πš•πš• πš™πšžπš πš‘πš’πš–.. π™²πš‘πšŽπšŒπš”πš–πšŠπšπšŽ."
Kleo Alves

"That..." He said, putting a bit of a spinning, exaggerated drawl in the intonation of his voice as he strutted into the room, "Would be me!"

He made directly for the seat nearest to where Kleo was standing, spun it around, and made a show of heaping himself in it before propping his boots up on the table directly in front of her.

"The name is King, don't forget it." He drew up a hand right beside the temple of his brow and snapped his fingers while twisting the photo-curtain of his face into a familiar, savage smirk. He could not quite manage to perfectly mimic the friction of flesh on flesh to approximate a snapping sound, so he instead emitted the faintest of laser-pulses to generate a plasma-mediated vacuum around the tips of his fingers that would simulate a snapping sound. "And you can checkmate me any day of the terrestrial week you like, Queen, but kindly refrain from coughing blood all over my boots."

Externally, everything about King would have screamed 'civie' to the others looking at him. He was wearing a flagrantly ineffective and eye-catching overcoat over a very light ballistic suit that would not have saved him from a single shot in an actual fight, and he had close to no muscle mass or definition to speak of. He seemed like some 20-somethings spoiled Human brat, for the most part - except...

There was something off about his appearance. An eerie stillness to him - as though he was not breathing. As if no part of him moved unless he wanted it to. More than that, he was a sensory dead patch in the room. Beyond infrared and thermal picking him up as a colder than cold Humanoid-shaped patch, everything else would return a scan of being either completely overloaded just from looking at him, or else make him out to simply not be there at all. To the Etheric sense particularly, it was as though he did not exist.

"Task failed successfully, team?" He laughed.

  • Name : [Redacted] (Answers to 'King')

  • Asset Codename : Apocyan King

  • DoB/Age : Born in 4210. Age 23 years at time of stasis, 27 subjective years presently.

  • Species : Human/Exotic Artificial Construct


Physical Parameters:

Personal History:

Psyche Assessment:

Skillsets & Utility:

Ethereal Capabilities:

Munitions & Armaments:

Stains & Infamy
@Zyx, just giving you a download since you are not on the discord - everybody is still presently preoccupied with Part 2 of the big Olympus meeting which is evidently lasting a few days, and also with a number of adjacent schemes and collabs going on around it in the meantime. If Isaac has anything else he would like to do, now would be the time to do it before the party at Olympus gets out (also because it may be some time before any of the gods are freed up to react to him).

Alternatively: Perhaps consider interaction with some of the lesser members of the cast not presently at Mt. Olympus? Abduction perhaps or something along those lines, I do not know.
I have put together a quick roster of all the current approved characters who were original members of the ship's crew.

Typhon
Hermes
Hades
Demeter
Hephaestus

(Add Eros if they are approved)

Presumably, GULA will be requiring a majority vote to elect a new Acting Captain, so Zeus will need either three or four votes respectively to become the Acting Captain.

Isaac will be abstaining due to being absent, which means Zeus either needs 3/4 or 4/5 votes in order to secure the Captaincy.

Easy enough, one thinks.

Or is it...?
@Zyx, as you are not available to corner on the Discord, I am letting you know that I have sent you a super secret conspiratorial private message here on the guild. Tell no-one, and ensure you are not followed!
A work-in-progress character sheet just to get it cemented in place. I will have something more polished soon.
Terminal


Hermes
Herald & Messenger of the Gods
Former Ship Telecommunications & SIGINT Officer


Divine Artifacts:

  • The Kerykeion
The official badge of Hermes' office as the Herald of the Gods, typically depicted as a Spear entwined with Serpents. Sufficiently important and ceremonial that Hermes is only observed to bear it during formal high ceremonies involving multiple deities. Iconography and depictions of Hermes almost universally depict him bearing the Kerykeion. Curiously, there are few myths or tales involving it, leaving its status as a divine artifact relatively obscure. So little is known of it beyond its appearance that even many priests of Hermes are prone to base speculation and rumor as to its supposed powers, if any.

  • The Aenirdyas
Hermes' feather-patterned cloak, which doubles as a satchel. The cloak can separate at its hem, revealing a vast interior space within which Hermes may secrete numerous items for travel. It is the Aenirdyas which has enabled Hermes to personally hand-deliver vital parcels and items between the gods in various mythos and tales.

  • The Dianmakos
Hermes' distinctive broad-brimmed helmet, rimmed with a solid band of luminous obsidian and wholly encompassing the god's head. A solid lump of polished, faceted diamond obscures his face. Said to grant Hermes his incredible travel capabilities, allowing him both to fly and move with such speed as to be invisible to the Human eye.

  • The Iridyon Oikima
Hermes' mythical residence, mobile and aflight as necessitated by his occupation. His most revered followers are rumored to dwell therein as servants. The location of the Iridyon Oikima is unknown, being even more fabled in its seclusion than Olympus.


Persona:

Hermes is typically characterized as dutiful and punctual, but with a mischievous streak. He has personally hand-delivered the mail and parcels of the gods for centuries with peerless speed and courtesy, but has been known to inconvenience those who are rude to him by dictating the contents of their mail aloud in an obnoxious manner. The patron god of travelers, he is known to occasionally provide lifts, although often only to amuse himself by stranding his passenger in unlikely locations such as atop stylite pillars, at the bottom of ravines, surrounded by lions, or within the covers of somebody else's bedding. Also the patron god of thieves, he is known to steal items and objects from people who do not present him with a token offering for his services, thus giving rise to the traditional custom of presenting all Heralds and footmen with ceremonial obols.

Also known as the God of prophecies and visions, Hermes is known to deliver warnings and omens, as well as to induce both inspiration and madness in others. He can visit dreams to instill either bliss or horrific nightmares, and can alter the senses similarly. His temperament in these ways, as before, is decidedly mischievous. Hermes is generally considered benign, but is not above punishing or humiliating those who make light of him or his prognostications.

Hermes is also one of the most wayward and informal of the gods, known to appear in public at mortal gatherings without warning or ceremony. He is infamously storied to have once appeared at a royal wedding just to tell the bride how utterly foolish she looked in her dress, amongst many other divine gaffes. He is also one of the gods most likely to intervene if prayed to - as long as whatever you want can be accomplished immediately. He is known to spirit thieves or victims away from pursuers and to prevent accidents before they transpire, though likewise he is known to guide lawmen directly to outlaw hideouts and to occasionally cause accidents.

All in all, Hermes is the embodiment of the overly-talented tradesman. He will perform miraculous and professional work - but is just as prone to dalliance when it suits him.


Relationships:

  • Zeus:
One of the many claims as to Zeus' power and influence was thus: Even whimsical Hermes never once made light of him. The Herald of the Gods has been known to formally announce Zeus' arrival and to prepare the site for the countenance of the King of the Gods, and is even stated to have assisted Zeus in many of his more risque escapades. Tellingly, in many depictions of Zeus and Hermes, Zeus is depicted as presenting the Kerykeion to a kneeling Hermes - implicitly conveying that Hermes' station is granted and permitted only by the will of the King of the Gods. Those who have observed the two deities together have observed that Hermes almost seems almost rigidly formal in Zeus' presence.
A work-in-progress character sheet just to get it cemented in place. I will have something more polished once the IC is posted.
Terminal


Hermes
Herald & Messenger of the Gods
Former Ship Telecommunications & SIGINT Officer


Divine Artifacts:

  • The Kerykeion
The official badge of Hermes' office as the Herald of the Gods, typically depicted as a Spear entwined with Serpents. Sufficiently important and ceremonial that Hermes is only observed to bear it during formal high ceremonies involving multiple deities. Iconography and depictions of Hermes almost universally depict him bearing the Kerykeion. Curiously, there are few myths or tales involving it, leaving its status as a divine artifact relatively obscure. So little is known of it beyond its appearance that even many priests of Hermes are prone to base speculation and rumor as to its supposed powers, if any.

  • The Aenirdyas
Hermes' feather-patterned cloak, which doubles as a satchel. The cloak can separate at its hem, revealing a vast interior space within which Hermes may secrete numerous items for travel. It is the Aenirdyas which has enabled Hermes to personally hand-deliver vital parcels and items between the gods in various mythos and tales.

  • The Dianmakos
Hermes' distinctive broad-brimmed helmet, rimmed with a solid band of luminous obsidian and wholly encompassing the god's head. A solid lump of polished, faceted diamond obscures his face. Said to grant Hermes his incredible travel capabilities, allowing him both to fly and move with such speed as to be invisible to the Human eye.

  • The Iridyon Oikima
Hermes' mythical residence, mobile and aflight as necessitated by his occupation. His most revered followers are rumored to dwell therein as servants. The location of the Iridyon Oikima is unknown, being even more fabled in its seclusion than Olympus.


Persona:

Hermes is typically characterized as dutiful and punctual, but with a mischievous streak. He has personally hand-delivered the mail and parcels of the gods for centuries with peerless speed and courtesy, but has been known to inconvenience those who are rude to him by dictating the contents of their mail aloud in an obnoxious manner. The patron god of travelers, he is known to occasionally provide lifts, although often only to amuse himself by stranding his passenger in unlikely locations such as atop stylite pillars, at the bottom of ravines, surrounded by lions, or within the covers of somebody else's bedding. Also the patron god of thieves, he is known to steal items and objects from people who do not present him with a token offering for his services, thus giving rise to the traditional custom of presenting all Heralds and footmen with ceremonial obols.

Also known as the God of prophecies and visions, Hermes is known to deliver warnings and omens, as well as to induce both inspiration and madness in others. He can visit dreams to instill either bliss or horrific nightmares, and can alter the senses similarly. His temperament in these ways, as before, is decidedly mischievous. Hermes is generally considered benign, but is not above punishing or humiliating those who make light of him or his prognostications.

Hermes is also one of the most wayward and informal of the gods, known to appear in public at mortal gatherings without warning or ceremony. He is infamously storied to have once appeared at a royal wedding just to tell the bride how utterly foolish she looked in her dress, amongst many other divine gaffes. He is also one of the gods most likely to intervene if prayed to - as long as whatever you want can be accomplished immediately. He is known to spirit thieves or victims away from pursuers and to prevent accidents before they transpire, though likewise he is known to guide lawmen directly to outlaw hideouts and to occasionally cause accidents.

All in all, Hermes is the embodiment of the overly-talented tradesman. He will perform miraculous and professional work - but is just as prone to dalliance when it suits him.


Relationships:

  • Zeus:
One of the many claims as to Zeus' power and influence was thus: Even whimsical Hermes never once made light of him. The Herald of the Gods has been known to formally announce Zeus' arrival and to prepare the site for the countenance of the King of the Gods, and is even stated to have assisted Zeus in many of his more risque escapades. Tellingly, in many depictions of Zeus and Hermes, Zeus is depicted as presenting the Kerykeion to a kneeling Hermes - implicitly conveying that Hermes' station is granted and permitted only by the will of the King of the Gods. Those who have observed the two deities together have observed that Hermes almost seems almost rigidly formal in Zeus' presence.
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet