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survivedsarchived · 1 year ago

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he regrets naming the man as it leaves his mouth, and lukas wishes there was some button on this console that would allow him to rewind. to return their conversation to talk of butterflies, winged creatures in a multitude of colors so bright that it makes his head hurt to look at the photographs. he wants to know what kind of environment is necessary to support those things - if one of these fifty silos houses them, or something similar. or if they could survive the wastelands miles above his head, if somewhere out there, in air riddled with a thousand toxins, they still exist, a bright rupture of color amid a brown sea.

but some part of him - maybe some innate human knowledge from before, somehow preserved in the depths of his mind - tells lukas that it's impossible: that nothing lives out there. there is only the shattered buildings, and the dry, windswept bones of the cleaners rotting on the hill.

he had feared himself mad with grief when her voice had first emitted from the headset. she made it over the hill, but there should have been nowhere to go from there; lukas had believed, for a tense beat, that he was hearing her ghost. he still fears that, to some degree - that jules is little more than a product of his grief - but this reasoning never lasts long, because he knows bernard heard her, too. that he fears her, the harsh red light in a sea of green that represents her - the only physical thing lukas has of her.

lukas taps his finger against it, softly, and exhales loudly into the mic, mouth pulled to a frown. “there's so much, but it still feels... incomplete.” what happened? the question consumes him - as he attempts to settle in to sleep, it sneaks into his thoughts, and lukas spends another hour flipping through pages, hunting for clues. these journeys always prove fruitless, and lukas always finds himself frustrated: how can there be so many books, yet this seems to be in none of them?

just over the hill - it seems as distant as his stars. lukas rolls his neck to the left, the right, feels the satisfying pop of bone. he clears his throat and squeezes his eyes closed. “i wish you were here, too.” it's a scratchy whisper in his throat. lukas doesn't wish it just for himself - but for her friends, too. he wishes it would somehow end the violence, but any of it - jules' return, or alerting the rest of the silo to the truths they've uncovered - would only escalate it. on that, he agrees with bernard. (this is something he can't bring himself to say to juliette, fearing she'll cut their call short, and perhaps never come back.) “i sometimes wonder... if i had gone with you,” he says abruptly. lukas presses his hand again to his shirt pocket, feels the hard edge of her identification card. it doesn't cease the trembling of his fingers, but it helps soothe something in him. “i could have said it. that i'd go out, too. then you wouldn't be...” she isn't alone, he has to remind himself - but solo doesn't exactly seem helpful. (would lukas be?) “-i don't know. forget i said that. i'm sorry.”

bernard. the name makes her tense the second it's uttered. thoughts of colourful beasts called butterflies and everything in between was so easily shattered in her mind; leaving nothing but anger behind. he had done this. he had orchestrated it the moment her name had been brought to light. in his mind, she was going over the rail or out to clean before she was even sworn in. before the sheriff's outfit had even made it onto her body. the sad part was . . . he had gotten his way, in the end, using a lie made up to toss her out. but instead of perishing next to holston and his wife, like he assumed she would, she had defied all odds. she had lived. she had discovered all the little secrets bernard had been fighting to keep buried.

and yet, she was trapped. stuck. almost completely cut off from her home and her family. lukas was the only tie she had to her entire world ( and god, she'd never be able to repay him for keeping her sane ). despite surviving the outside, bernard had still won every step of the way. he had taken everything she loved. she wanted to utter all the terrible things she would do to that man if she ever had the chance but she knew it wasn't fair to lukas. wasn't fair to waste what little time they had together uttering threats. for half a moment, she could feel the warmth of his hands resting around her own ( contrasting the coolness of the bars that had been beneath it; between them ) and it calmed the anger from her bones quickly.

for now, she could focus again. focus on him.

she clears her throat and shifts slightly to sit up a bit straighter; rolling the tension from her shoulders before lifting to drag a hand through her messy hair. she needed a shower. she needed a nap. she needed to go home. " there's so much to read. i don't know if we'll ever know all of it. " or maybe he would. he had all the time in the world. in a way, so did she. but her mind was too unfocused to take all of it in . . . to really understand the full magnitude of the world before. to understand what they'd done. she just needed to get out of here. he could tell her everything later.

" just over the hill. " she's reminded of her trek outside. of the fear that had filled her every second she was exposed to the elements. the tape had saved her. supply. walker. oh, she missed walker. " i would never wish for you to go outside, but . . . you should have seen it, luke. it was . . . it was crazy. we've been surrounded by other people this whole time. it was never just us. " she picks anxiously at one of her nails as her brows crease together slightly; head tipping back against the wall behind her. their entire lives had been a lie and she couldn't tell a single other soul in that silo. her voice softens as she speaks again. " i wish they all knew. i wish . . . i wish things were different. i wish i was home. "

#he's got it so bad for her... (i understand)#flxmekeepr #ch: l. kyle.#threads: l. kyle.

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guywhowritesgay · 3 years ago

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Dragon!Simon lore and shit

(Obviously some ppl have their own versions but here’s my idea)

Facts about dragons

Dragons are an endangered species; they’re considered dangerous, and are hunted for sport. Not much is actually known about dragons, as nobody— no magekind’s knowledge— has taken time to study dragons and get to know them

Dragons can easily pass as human, since every dragon has a human form and a dragon form. What kind of dragon (eastern/western, fire breathing, flightless, big or small, etc.), they are depends on region and family lineage

Given that dragons have two forms, there are two ways a dragon can be born. Human-born (born in human form by a dragon in human form) or dragon-born (hatched from an egg). A dragon will generally favor the form they were born in for the first several years of their life

Being a magical creature, dragons obviously have an innate magic. But most can’t do magic the way Mages can

Lifespan and maturation

There’s been no research on the lifespan of a dragon, so as far as Mages know, they’re immortal, though they CAN be killed.

The dragon will age at an apparent human rate for its human form (an 18 year old dragon will look the same as an 18 year old human) but in their dragon form, it’s really evident how old they are in dragon terms. A 10 year old dragon is roughly the same as a 1 year old human in terms of maturity

This doesn’t mean that as a human they’re childish or ‘underage’ or anything. An 18 year old dragon is just as mentally developed as an 18 year old human, though they may have more rambunctious tendencies and be a little more impulsive, with little regards to instincts

A 10 year old dragon in dragon form is small. Like house cat sized. A dragon won’t reach full size until they’re roughly 200 years old (for some smaller species, this may happen earlier) How big they are all depends on what species

Behaviors

Dragons will have instinctive behaviors that follow them to human form.

Hoarding. Dragons have a natural instinct to collect things that mean something to them, but also just anything they can get their hands on. (They don’t do it in a mindless haze, though. It’s more like trying to clean out a room but being unable to throw anything away because what if you need it later.)

Nesting. A dragon must have a den. Dragons that choose to live in the wild will often have a nice cave suited to their needs. Dragons integrated into society consider their house their den. Specifically their bedroom. This results in the next behavior…

Territorial. A dragon is VERY territorial. Only trusted people (partners, family, best friends) are welcome into a dragon’s home. And don’t even think about taking something

Protective. Dragons are loyal to a fault. Expect the wrath of a dragon if you brush with one of their kin (be it a friend or family)

NONE of these behaviors are done in a mindless haze. Like a dragon won’t go on a stealing rampage because they need to have those things. Dragons very much pass as any ordinary person, and generally are pretty conscious about their behaviors. It’s only a problem for some younger dragons who have a harder time controlling their instincts.

Abilities

Misleading title, this subsection is just about little things that happen

Like when dragons get angry in human form, if they aren’t careful they can get some dragon features, like a change in eyes, teeth, claws growing, stuff like that

While shifting forms is as easy as breathing, it takes YEARS for a dragon to master partial shifting and have it be stable. Partial shifting includes things like having wings all the time, or something similar.

Heightened senses, even in human form. Specifically sound and smell, but some species get a sight boost as well

Dragons have different body temperatures while in human form. Most dragons run warm, except ice dragons

Simon snow, dragon edition

So Simon’s situation is as follows:

The Salisbury’s are a family of dragons. Not many know that about them, as it’s dangerous to be a dragon in this day and age (given the whole ‘hunted for sport’ thing.) Lucy was born with a really condition hardly ever is seen in dragonkind. She was human-born and unable to shift to her dragon form. So the excess magic within her showed up in a way similar to that of Mages, but she isn’t considered a mage (though again, for safety, she says she is.) She attended Watford as a low-powered mage and met Davy.

Davy knew nothing about Lucy being a dragon. So when he tried to create the Greatest Mage, problems occurred. Dragon magic and Mage magic aren’t tremendously compatible. So Simon was born, and Davy tried to get a reading on his innate level of magic, but learned instead that he was a dragon. Due to the magical complications, Lucy and Simon were both weak, but Davy was enraged at Lucy for not telling him she was a dragon and so he killed her. But because Simon did in fact have magic, Davy spared Simon’s life, and he simply gave Simon to the foster system to wait until he was 11.

When Simon gives his magic up to the humdrum, he ends up altering his human form to have wings. He can still shift to and from his dragon form with ease, but his human form has wings, tail and on some days he has horns and scaley patches of skin. He can make all this go away, and look 100% human again, but it takes a great deal of mental and physical energy

I am definitely going to edit this as I think of things, but please I want people to write dragon!Simon fics. And send me some if you find good ones

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paperanddice · 2 years ago

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What at first appears to be a simple ooze quickly reveals itself to be far more intelligent and dangerous than most. Capable of brute force and incredibly durable, the additional threat of the ego cannibal is to reach into your mind and copy a portion of your memories. These copies are short lived however, fading away after not terribly long, and the creature is thus driven to constantly hunt for more, seeking knowledge and experiences for itself to explore. They have the intelligence and capacity to work with other creatures, though these partners need to be able to provide new memories on a regular basis or the ego cannibal will lose patience and turn on even its allies for new thoughts. Unfortunately, taking these memories is always damaging to the target, causing some who might be tempted to willingly give otherwise to change their mind, if the process doesn't incapacitate or kill them the first time.

Outside of Dreamblade, the ego cannibal would most likely be an intelligent, magical ooze. Most likely an artificial creation, but perhaps some kind of natural evolution led to it instead. They might also be more patient and flexible in their dealings with others, without the innate dream drive to action even if it's inefficient in the long term. I will admit, I'm a little unhappy with the 5e version of it's ability to copy memories, but I really had trouble making it work. This was the third version I made, after I eventually gave up on trying to figure out how to let it steal any class feature or other abilities. I borrowed from the 4e oblivion moss to help figure out how to format this ability, but 5e's natural language and lack of power tag type features just made trying to write out something so broad a huge pain.

Originally from the Dreamblade Base Set. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I'm working on, consider backing me there!

5th Edition

Ego Cannibal Medium aberration, unaligned Armor Class 8 Hit Points 178 (17d8 + 102) Speed 20 ft., climb 20 ft. Str 18 (+4) Dex 7 (-2) Con 23 (+6) Int 17 (+3) Wis 12 (+1) Cha 18 (+4) Saving Throws Int +6, Wis +4, Cha +7 Skills Insight +4, Stealth +1 Damage Resistances acid, bludgeoning, piercing, thunder Condition Immunities grappled, prone, restrained Senses blindsight 120 ft. (blind beyond this radius) passive Perception 11 Languages telepathy 120 ft. Challenge 8 (3900 XP) Mind Blindness. Each creature that starts its turn within 5 feet of the ego cannibal must make a DC 15 Wisdom saving throw. On a failure, the ego cannibal becomes invisible to that creature until the start of that creature's next turn. Actions Multiattack. The ego cannibal makes two Punch attacks. It can then use Copy Memories if it is available. Punch. Melee Weapon Attack: +7 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 11 (2d6+4) bludgeoning damage plus 7 (2d6) acid damage. Copy Memories (Recharge 4-6). The ego cannibal targets one creature it can see within 25 feet of it. The target must succeed on a DC 15 Wisdom saving throw or take 13 (3d8) psychic damage and the ego cannibal copies some of the target's memories. For 1 hour, the ego cannibal gains proficiency in one skill or tool the target is proficient with, and can understand and write one language the target knows. Additionally, if the target is capable of casting spells, the ego cannibal steals one spell as well. It chooses one spell the target has prepared or knows, and gains the ability to cast that spell for the next hour. If the spell requires a spell slot, the ego cannibal gains one spell slot of the target's highest level, or level 5, whichever is lower. This spell slot can be used to cast any copied spell the ego cannibal still knows. The ego cannibal uses the target's spell attack bonus or spell save DC for the spell. If the spell is a cantrip, the ego cannibal can cast the spell at will, and casts it at the target's level.

13th Age

Ego Cannibal Double-strength 5th level spoiler [aberration] Initiative: +5 Scouring Punch +10 vs. AC - 15 damage plus 10 acid damage Natural Even Hit: The target also takes 10 ongoing acid damage. Miss: 2d4 acid damage. R: Steal Memories +10 vs. MD (one nearby enemy) - The target is dazed, hampered, and takes 10 ongoing psychic damage (save ends all) Effect: Choose one at will spell or power the target knows. The ego cannibal can use that power with simulacrum attack until the target succeeds on a hard saving throw (16+). Miss: The target is dazed until the end of its next turn. Limited Use: 1/battle, recharges when the ego cannibal has no stolen power to use with simulacrum attack. Simulacrum Attack: The ego cannibal can make an attack using a power it has stolen with steal memories. This attack uses the range of the original attack, targets the same defense, and deals damage of the same type. Any effects of the attack activate normally. This could be a spell, a power, a flexible melee attack, or any other proper ability. If the power would let the ego cannibal heal using a recovery, it instead regains 10 hit points. The attack is made with a +10 bonus to hit, and deals 35 points of damage. Ooze-Like Traits: The ego cannibal is immune to opportunity attacks and most conditions. It can be dazed, but all other conditions don’t affect it. AC 19 PD 17 MD 16 HP 176

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vampireshdtw · 3 years ago

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Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)

Tonight Henry, Eve, and Matt watched Only Lovers Left Alive!

Only Lovers Left Alive is a movie that explores the deep, romantic relationship between ancient vampires Adam and Eve, who reunite after Adam’s depression becomes apparent. The two reminisce about their centuries of experience, while simultaneously encountering the struggles of a modern vampire.

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The vampires in this movie are patient, knowledgeable beings who, despite honing many skills during their long lives, prefer keeping their influence on human society subtle and unnoticed. It’s likely that those who are less subtle don’t survive very long.

Vampires are immortal creatures that hunger for human blood, whether it’s fresh from the body or stored in containers, but they’re incapable of consuming food normally eaten by humans. Their fangs are normally retracted to ease hiding among the human, also commonly referred to as ‘zombie’, populace, but extend at the sight or taste of blood.

To ease their hunting, vampires are equipped with various heightened senses such as smell, hearing, and touch, although they’re known to wear gloves when among humans- likely to suppress their innate bloodlust when confronted with their warmth and pulses. Among other vampires, it’s considered a deliberately intimate gesture to remove another vampire’s gloves.

Additionally, they have more supernatural abilities such as superior speed and the power to send messages through dreams.

In their daily lives, vampires must be cautious if they wish to live as long as their immortal lives allow. Vampires avoid sunlight and sleep during the day, rarely waking before the sky is completely dark, and they can be made seriously, sometimes fatally, ill by contaminated blood. With their caution also comes common superstitions, such as believing bad luck will come to those who enter a home uninvited, or that garlic is harmful- however this seems more prevalent among older vampires.

Vampirism is passed on from vampire to human, involving a process that begins with a bite, however the exact ritual is unknown.

The only certain way to kill a vampire is to impale them in the heart with wood, either in the form of a classic stake, or a more modern bullet.

A noteworthy aspect of vampirism is the effect blood has on its consumers- mirroring a near-euphoric high often compared with the use of drugs. While all vampires enjoy the sensation, some crave it more than others, which has the possibility to lead to volatile situations that could risk the discovery of their kind.

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Holy shit guys. This movie is absolutely gorgeous. The pacing is slow and intentional, with a melancholic atmosphere typical of modern vampire media, while simultaneously being extremely comfortable and loving. Conflict happens, but there are no highspeed action scenes. The characters feel real and romantic, and I adored every moment of it. Admittedly, it is quite a long movie and might be boring for some people, but I highly, highly recommend giving it a watch. (Matt)

This movie was excellent! I love the mood of it, it's very laid back in the same way that the characters are which makes their interactions feel more deliberate. Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton have such fantastic chemistry and dialogue that I could have easily spent longer with them and not gotten bored. Special mention as well to the music, if the soundtrack isn't used in our next VtM session, I will be disappointed. If you like slower movies then definitely give this one a watch! (Henry)

This film is gorgeously intimate, and it approaches vampires from a distinctly human angle. Required watching for any fans of vampire media. It's languid, romantic and feels... Strangely familiar- like it's reminding me of a dream I had once. The two leads do an incredible job together, and their portrayal of eternal romance feels genuine. 10/10 Best film so far. (Eve)

#only lovers left alive #tom hiddelston #vampire #vampire movies #vampires how do they work

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walker-journal · 4 years ago

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Legend of the Vermilion Bird (Adam +Leah)

Characters: Leah Ramirez (Phoenix- Julie), Adam Walker (Hunter-Tapir)

Location: Just outside the Vural Property

Timing: Shortly before the events of And From the Ashes

Summary: After killing a Torple, Adam consults a wary Leah about the nature of phoenixes

Content Warning: Woerm gore

The forest road was alive with the subtle rustling and animal calls of spring as Adam skinned a large Torple that’d shuffled onto the Vural’s property, instinctually drawn by the taste of spellcraft that practically saturated the area. The Hunter supposed such predators were a hazard of having so much mojo concentrated in one place. Being a muggle himself, Adam wasn’t in much danger from these lumbering magic-eating worms, but the Hunter felt it behooved him to quietly take care of threats to his significant other’s family.

The Torple looked like the big-mouthed lovechild of a naked mole-rat and an earthworm with massive human teeth. Even seated on a hefty moss-covered rock, Adam was barely taller than the corpulent segmented creature. It’s webbed limbs were spindly in comparison to its body while its enormous yet unsettlingly humanoid mouth made it a wonder the Torple could move at all. It jaws were immovable once latched on, but it was the thick glistening layer of magic negating mucus covering the magivore that made Adam preemptively take a machete to it outside the boundary of his hostesses’ wards, lest its mere presence unravel them.

Adam worked a curved ulu knife down the dead Torples’ sides, scraping the anti-magic slime off with the skinning blade and scooping it into nearby barrels. He vaguely felt Leah’s approach before he heard her footsteps, the icy-heat of her paranormal presence growing stronger as she approached. Once he caught sight of the familiar face, the Hunter took his hand off the handle of a hidden blade and got back to scraping Torple slime.

“Hey Library Warrior, could I have a minute? I need to ask you about something.”

Having Bea back in town felt like relief. When she died, Leah had been so caught off guard that she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop now that she was back to life. At any given moment, she expected another phone call from Nell or Felix or anyone telling her that it happened again, that there was no way to fix it this time. And New York felt so tauntingly far away, especially to someone who had barely ever left White Crest. And so the news that her best friend was coming back to town made the tension ease from her neck- had she been holding her shoulders that tight the whole time she’d been away?

Maybe she had been spending too much time at the Vural Sister’s house that weekend (to be fair, one-third of the sister trio would have said any time Leah spent there was too much, but that’s besides the point), but for the tension to truly escape her, she need some real, tangible time with her friend.

While Bea was busy inside cooking, Leah chose to explore the property outside, eager to soak up some sun and enjoy the chill of winter finally breaking. She grimaced when she happened upon Adam, and watched him with an unamused expression. It was kind of easy to ignore that he was a hunter, most of the time, but not when he was slicing something up right in front of her. She let out a breath when he called out to her, sitting on her hip.

“What’s up?”, she asked. She was sure he was just curious about a book, or something- maybe he lost his copy of Green Eggs and Ham.

“What is that there?” she asked, gesturing to the creature he was scraping. Damn her and her innate curiosity and thirst for knowledge.

“I need to ask you about Phoenixs,” Adam replied with the blunt directness that frequently came when one was focused on multiple tasks at once. “There is a fire chicken that’s gone supernova in a valley. Luce is like...a fire scientist but she isn’t sure what would make em go..” Adam made a sound in his throat evocative of an explosion. I was wondering if you’d heard of anything like that,” the Hunter asked of the Not-Spriggan.

Adam patted the enormous human-mouthed earthworm with a gloved hand as he scrapped more slime from the corpse into a bucket. “This is a Torple, they hunt people who do magic,” Adam supplied. “The Vural place is kinna a beacon with the Hogwarts stuff going on.”

Leah felt her eyebrows furrow at Adam’s statement- both at the boldness with which he said it, and the statement itself. She felt heat rise to her cheeks- did he know about her? Was the knife he held over the creature actually intended for her- her tears or information or life? But no, Nell wouldn’t let that happen, right? Nell would have at least warned her if he found out. She felt herself visibly relax when he explained more, swallowing before she responded. “Luce told me about this, but… what makes you think I know anything about phoenixes?”, she asked, trying to remain stoic and unblinking. “They’re just about the rarest known creatures- information is pretty rare on them.” The last time they spoke on the subject, Adam himself had thought phoenixes only ever spent time in their firestate, which was laughable, at best. “You want to explode them? I don’t think Luce is down with that idea. And neither am I, if you’re taking my help. You need to find a way to cure them, not kill them.” Killing the corrupted phoenix would be very, very easy. Adam could take notes from Dorothy and the Wicked Witch of the West, if he wanted to be cruel like hunters tended to be.

She pressed her lips together, unable to look at the slaughtered earthworm for too long. Torples. She’d heard of them, but not a ton. She’d have to see if they had anything written up on them when she went home later tonight. “Well- it’s good that you got it, then”, she said with an awkward nod, glancing at the bucket. “Is the slime useful, or something?”

“Because you’re like... a supernatural librarian lady,” Adam pointed out as if this somehow gave Leah some form of nerd-omniscience. “I figured that you’d be a person to ask about something that rare y’know?”

Leah seemed to misinterpreted his amazing sound effects. “Hey hey hey,” Adam exclaimed with a note of petulance, holding up his slimy free hand in a staying gesture. “Look, that Phoenix was already exploding when we found it ok,” he asserted with boyish pique. “What I mean is that I was wondering if you knew how we could switch them into I dunno... unexplode mode, like a song, some herbs they like, an off button, we’ll take anything.”

Adam went back to driving his blade into the annelid’s side, exposing the yellowish nerve cords beneath its ridged skin. “It interferes with magic,” he explained. “Honestly, because of how many damn Chickcharneys there are around here, I end up dunking alotta people in this slime to try and bounce the Chickcharney curse off them.” Adam chose not to mention the part where he’d erased a wizards wards with this slime and accidentally become an accessory to murder.

Leah let out a slow breath, watching Adam carefully. He wasn’t… wrong. But what were the ethical implications involved with helping a hunter learn about one of the rarest, most vulnerable species that existed?

What were they if she let someone like Adam try to figure it out on his own?

She rolled her eyes at his defense, but held her hands up in apology. “Sorry- I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” Even though it was so hard not to with a hunter. She walked closer to him as she continued. “I told Luce that I have an idea of how the phoenix got so out of control, but up until now, I thought it was only a myth.” She paused- could she really trust him? When she thought about it, she wasn’t sure, but maybe it didn’t matter. What difference would it make if Luce and Adam were working together in this? One way or another, Adam was going to find out. Better it be out of the horse’s mouth.

“We call them corrupted- it means that their ashes were on corrupted ground when they were reborn. Sometimes the corruption happens right away, and other times the phoenix could be well into adulthood, with a life and a family before it happens. There are no warning signs, either. I don’t… I still haven’t found a cure in my research, but…” She took a deep breath before continuing, and her next words came out faster than she intended. “If this phoenix doesn’t survive…whatever you end up doing... the best way to help them in the next life is to keep their ashes somewhere safe and sacred.”

At that imagery, Leah couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Are you telling me you make a habit out of performing Torple Slime Baptisms, so to speak?”

The palpable feelings of otherness intensified as Leah got closer, there’d been a time when Adam would have immediately gone into fight or flight mode when his Hunter senses reacted. But in White Crest he’d had to acclimate. That conditioning was an asset when hunting alghoul out in the sticks, but here it could end up him going all kill-zone on a librarian.

Adam paused his gory worm skinning and listened to Leah as she spoke. He noticed the use of the word ‘we’ but kept silent and impassive during the explanation. It turned out that Luce had already tapped Leah on this matter, which was unsurprising. But while he’d hadn’t doubted that she was knowledgeable, Adam’d already suspected that Ramirez wasn’t your average bibliophile, but she knew even legends of the legend.

“We ….as in the Maine librarian’s union?” Adam’s question was playfully phrased. There were many species, secret societies, and so on that did not appreciate their ways being pried into, and Adam didn’t want to start shit with the one person who seemed to have solid intel on Chernobyl phoenix.

“I would rather they survive,” Adam assured. “At the end of the day I’ll do what it takes to protect civilians, but from what you’ve said it sounds like this is some demon radiation juju that they didn’t have any say in.”

Adam inhaled. “But, if it does come to that, has your research given you any idea of a holy place that’d work for keeping the ashes safe? Maybe some place sacred to uh...I don’t know if Phoenixes worship any gods,” he admitted. “But maybe somewhere that means alot to their culture?”

The unexpected jocularity of the question, from Leah especially, took Adam openly off-guard, teasing a sheepish smile from him. “Uh yeah actually,” he admitted while scrapping some more slime off the giant mage-eater worm into a bucket. “It’s not glamorous and the clients always hate it, but the Torple-dunkage sometimes works for really minor stuff like that.”

Leah blanched, blinking at Adam’s question. Had she been so careless to say we? “I uh… we as in, me. Of course. Me,us. And the other people who are interested in supernatural history.” She swallowed, unsure if Adam were picking up on her status as a phoenix or her status as a scribe. Possibly both, right? This close, he had to be having those creepy senses that she wasn’t as human as she appeared. Either way, it was bad news.

“I’d rather that too, but I don’t think it’s unrealistic to prepare for the worst, either.” Something Adam said struck a chord in Leah, and she couldn’t stop herself before she commented. “I mean, that’s true of most supernatural creatures though, isn’t it? Born or bitten, werewolves, zombies, and vampires didn’t have a say in. Do you grant them the same courtesy when they’re out of control?”

“I know a few places that could work”, she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Whether she would tell Adam unless he absolutely needed them- that was another story. “Not necessarily a culture to be had per say. Because of their rarity and ability to blend in, it’s not often a phoenix ever meets another like them in their lifetime.” She and her family were so incredibly lucky to have each other to love; to grow and learn from when they were the most vulnerable. “I...know a family that would take care of the baby once they’re reborn, too, so-... if it comes to that, it’ll be all covered.”

Leah let herself get a good look at the creature, taking as many mental notes as she could to write down later. Sometimes Adam wasn’t as bad as he seemed. “I think most people would be pissed if you dunked them into a baby pool of slime and sludge. I certainly would.”

“It depends,” Adam answered without any attempt at dissemblance. “Gotta measure their life against the lives of those they’d kill when outta control,” the Hunter continued as he got down from the rock he’d been perched on to move his flaying blade to the Torple’s lower portion. “Most humans just get ripped in half if they meet a vamp that's gone all hunger frenzy, but I was born strong enough to match them,” he reasoned. “In the ideal scenario I wrestle the vamp or whatever off the civilian and get them to snap out of it.”

Adam took the long strip of worm skin over to a tree and slung it over one of the branches to dry in the sunshine. “But uh, reality doesn’t give ideal scenarios most of the time y’know? Sometimes you have to make a split-second judgement or alotta people die,” the Hunter admitted. “ But yeah, I guess the best answer I can give you is that I try.”

“That uh...sounds pretty lonely, being all human torchy and not having anything to relate to what the hell is going on,” Adam admitted, as he walked back to the Torple corpse. “Do you do the supernatural foster care stuff alot Leah?”

Adam rolled his eyes amiably at the resistance to necessary alien-worm slime dunking. “Hey Chick-a-Curses are worse though. Like all of their hexes are bad, but the one your head twists backwards...gah! I either have to bribe a witch to visit their hospital room and decurse them, or I have to sneak in and pour worm slime over some poor bastard in a hospital bed and hope it works.”

“Most vamps get stabbed if they meet an egotistical hunter”, Leah countered immediately. “I appreciate your attempt to be civil in the way you handle things, but I don’t find the same to be true for most hunters.” She couldn’t help but get into these debates with the hunters in her life, and if she were being honest, she didn’t really tire of them, either.

“It’s not all bad. I know you assumed at first that they’re literal chickens, but like I said- phoenixes spend most of their time looking like humans. And while a lot of them end up growing up not knowing what they are until they sneeze some smoke or look for a reason feathers are popping out of their foreheads, they’re not lost for companionship. I’ve even heard tell of families who are able to stay together throughout their cyclical lives, raising each other generation after generation. This is incredibly rare, of course.”

She blanched at Adam’s next question, opening her mouth and closing it. She thought of the golden goose egg, still safely incubating in her basement, surely ready to hatch at any moment. “I… how did you know I meant myself?”

Leah couldn’t help but laugh at his anecdotes, no matter how much she wanted to disavow them for being those of a hunter. “That doesn’t sound like a fun way to wake up- are witches so untrustworthy of you that they don’t trust that your slime is for good?”

Adam rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Y’know, if I made the same argument in reverse about ‘most vamps’ being violent and evil you’d call me out for generalizing and being a bigot Ramirez,” he pointed out.

Adam decided not to point out the fact that statistically the deaths on humans at the hands of vampires were uncountable orders of magnitude greater than vampires dying to Hunters. But frankly, it was pretty fucking obvious that Leah considered one supernatural life precious, but human lives were just numbers to her, devoid of emotional significance unless she knew them personally.

It’s pointless to argue with people like that.

“You don’t know ‘most Hunters’ Leah, not even close,” Adam pointed out bluntly, “Look Ramirez you hate people like me for reasons that are obviously personal. I’m fine with that.” the footballer said with a shrug of his broad shoulders, as if he felt this truce of hate sufficient. “It’s chill.

Despite the slip into harsh words, Adam continued to listen patiently to the talk of phoenixes, families, and cycles of rebirth. It was all pretty surreal honestly. What would it be like to be with his family across a thousand lives over and over?

He wouldn’t know. Adam had grown up being raised with the knowledge that every moment with his family was precious, that he needed to learn how to survive on his own before they fell one by one in the line of duty.

Adam hacked into the Torple with an unnecessary force as his chest constricted.

“Do they line...remember each other each rebirth? Or are they all new different people each time?”

Leah’s unexpected motion of surprise caused Adam’s attention to flick to her instinctively, but her following question dispelled the moment of tenseness. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “I more meant that you seemed to already have homes in mind as if you were a supernatural social worker or somethin.”

“You….really down to be a fire mom Leah?”

Adam considered Leah’s question for a moment. “I think that magic, like all resources, should be used for the betterment of society,” Adam said, hinting at a certain level of utopianism behind the memes and crass commentary. “But I can’t force everyone to think that way. If I’m going to bug a busy sorceress to leave her research to cure some rando she doesn’t know, I need to be able to pay her. Just how it is.’

Leah rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Adam was ignoring the fact that the violence that came from vampires was out of their control, and many of the deaths that came from them were for a need to survive. Hunters, however, had plenty of control over what they did, and though there were a few gentle ones like Adam or Kaden, most would do what they did for sport, if given the chance.

“Neither do you”, she shot back. And he’d never had to fear them, either. She’d read countless stories about the atrocities they’d committed, and so excuse her if she didn’t trust a hunter as far as she could through them.

Again, his questions about phoenixes gave her pause. Was this information relevant? “It depends”, she explained. “Not always concrete memories that you or I might have from last week or last year, but it’s more like… glimpses or feelings. Sometimes even that doesn’t pop up right away, either. Most phoenixes end up with a touchstone through most of their lives to help them connect.” The touchstones didn’t always work. She felt an invisible buzzing pull from the stone around her neck, taunting and teasing.

She blanched at his elaboration, embarrassed that she’d assumed so quickly. She didn’t hate the idea of that type of job, if she were being honest- supernatural social work sounded extremely fulfilling. “Maybe I am on the side”, she teased.

“If it came down to it, yes. But even if I couldn’t, there are arrangements I could make, if I’m being completely transparent. Do you think you’d do the same thing, if you needed to?”

“I agree- but sometimes an idea like that is hard, because the idea of a better society can be so subjective and even divisive, you know? What you and I think might be wonderful isn’t going to be the same as Joe who works at Excalibur.” It was true, Excalibur Joe had told her more than once that he thought the world would be better off without traffic lights. “That’s not to say I don’t think betterment can happen- it’s just that the hard part is figuring out exactly what that betterment is for everyone.”

“You're right,” Adam allowed with the rueful triumph of someone who felt pain after a headbutt but took satisfaction in his opponent getting the worst of it.

“Hmmm that sucks,” Adam mused as Leah explained firebird memories. “Guess that’s why we haven’t just solved all history questions with a few Phoenix interviews,” he reasoned.

Adam was quiet for a time as he flayed off more worm skin and yellow cutaneous tissues. “Maybe that’s better though,” he admitted after a while. “Dealing with one lifetime of going through shit is hard enough to deal with,” said the young man who trained and exercised himself to exhaustion in order to sleep. “Having to remember like other lives of horrible crap too? Don't think I could deal with it, i’d completely lose it.”

Well ok, lose it sooner than most Hunters, Adam admitted to himself, knowing that after a time the human brain can only see so much before you start to break inside.

“I think you’d do good at it,” Adam noted, meeting Leah’s joke with earnestness. “A foster advocate for kids i mean.”

“Mhm. My parents adopted Hunters who were orphaned or whatnot, and I’d do the same,” Adam explained, to the question of whether he’d adopt as if there were only one answer. “Whether I take in kids or am a father, I’ll teach em how to survive,” said the Hunter, something in his tone suggesting this grim promise was the purest expression of parental love.

“People are never going to agree on betterment,” asserted the young man born into a world of war with a shrug. “We just gotta decide what parts of our ideal world we have to get by force,” and when talking things out is better,” said Adam.

Leah had her mouth open, ready and willing to argue more, when Adam said that she was right. She closed her mouth, sending him a resolute nod. She sure was. If only it were this easy to convince Kaden.

“Maybe, but I think it’s more the fact that they’re so rare. Knowledge about them might even be scarce on purpose, in order to protect them.” Did Adam know about the healing tears? Would he understand why they needed protection? “Perhaps every life doesn’t have to be horrible, though. It must be torture to know you’ve lived, say… three or four lifetimes before but have no idea about everything you learned throughout them”.

She smiled sheepishly at his compliment, pressing her lips together in earnest. “Thank you”, she started. “It means a lot.”

Adam raising children into more hunters was decidedly not what Leah was talking about, but his comments about his parents intrigued her. “You had a lot of adopted siblings growing up, then?” She didn’t want to delve into what he might have meant by ‘teach them how to survive’.

“I guess I just wonder who gets to decide”, she mused, turning back toward the house as she heard her name called in the distance. “My ideal would be to not have to do it by force, but I suppose that’s why Luce insists I’m an optimist.” She let out a breath, pressing her lips together in a smile. “Did you have any other questions… about phoenixes?”

Adam nodded. “I mean I have alot of family in general like siblings, cousins, so on. As a kid it didn’t make much difference which ones had my blood or not. Some little Hunters were adopted fully, others just came to live with us and be trained for a few years,” the Hunter shrugged, indicating perhaps that his household had been a lively place full of both laughter and endless preparations for war.

“That’s always the trick huh,” Adam affirmed with a grimace. “With Democracy you just get mob rule and decisions made without long term planning. With some elite body you get corruption and unaccountability,” the frat boy noted with a salience his professors would never hear him express in class. “I don’t think anybody’s solved that question yet.”

Adam glanced toward the house and looked back to Leah, brown eyes intent for a time, hands dripping with the slime and blood of the massive witcheater.

“Thanks Ramirez, I think I have what I need,” said the Hunter with the soft finality of someone who’d just come to a decision. “....sorry for keeping ya,”

#And From the Ashes #Torple #Phoenix #phoenixleah #chatzy #Adam #Leah

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sebastianshaw · 4 years ago

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Shaw & Skadi for the kid meme!

Name: Sigvid Skadisson Shaw. I know it should be Shawson BUT FUCK THE RULES. “Sig” is a pretty standard prefix for a lot of Norse names from the word “sigr” meaning “victory” and “vid” from the Old Germanic “widu” for forest. Gender: Masc and male-presenting but beyond that I’m not sure? Trans man? AMAB non-binary? Look, he uses he/him (maybe they too) and people THINK ‘man’ when they look at him, that’s all I know General Appearance: Tall and beefy, he couldn’t NOT be. Medium pale skin that gets even paler in winter but tans easily in summer. Black hair, or so dark brown it might as well be black, and very dark eyes. His hair, unlike both parents and most of his Asgardian brethren, is actually kept short, and while he has a beard, it’s not the big one. The reason for this is functional; short hair is better if you’re spending a lot of time in the wild. Stuff gets stuck in long hair, it can get tangled in branches at the worst times, it’s hot in the summer, and it can literally freeze in the winter if it gets wet. His attire is very much out of a Viking fantasy, but less on the “heavy armor” end of things and more on the “wearing lots of furs and skins” side. He doesn’t look like someone you want to fuck with, but he also doesn’t look like he’s going to war. He carefully avoids any kind of dangling amulets, charms, or other jewelry that could get caught on anything, but he’s got a sort of leather toolbelt containing various survival tools made from wood, bone, etc. Personality: Sigvid, as you might guess from his attire and the reasons for it, is an outdoorsman. Not as a hobby, not as a lifestyle, but an EXISTENCE. He thrives in the natural world as Sebastian does in the business world, finding ways to survive in even the most adverse of situation. Whatever Mother Nature is doing around him, he can not only make it through it, he can work it to his advantage. His closeness to the natural world, his close observation of it, means that he sees both the facts and errors in his father’s mentality. He sees that the strongest predators will pick off the weakest prey, that the winter will take those who do not prepare, that mother animals will neglect and even devour their young if they’re sick or runty. He also sees that prey are more aggressive than predators, how some creatures will adopt and nourish infants that are not their own or even their own species, how some will share their kill with no benefit to themselves, and how even the smallest and most humble animals can make it through things that the larger, so-called stronger ones did not. Sigvid is very pragmatic, like his father, very practical, very self-preservationist. He has to be. But he’s also very spiritual, not in a way that connects to some distant god, but the world around him, to earth and nature. Not some idealized hippie-dippie conception of nature as a loving mother that is always in balance, but an acceptance that it is a greater power that he cannot control, he can only hope to survive at best. It keeps him humble. It also gives him a much wider, more relative perspective on things that is not human-centric, or Asgardian-centric for that matter. My Shaw often says that he admires human accomplishments above all else, that no other animal has built cities, computers, cars, and so on. And he is correct in this. But Sigvid always points out, how many termite mounds has man built? How many times do humans migrate thousands of miles using an innate sense of the Earth’s magnetic fields? How many fish have we hunted by literally sensing the electricity in their bodies? Yes, humans are “the best” if we judge them by standards HUMANS MADE. Judge us by the base standard of any other species, and we flop. Same for judging any species by the standards of any other. Nothing is “more” or “less” evolved than anything else, more complex does not mean better, and nor does being bigger, stronger, meaner, or even smarter mean a species is “better” or “more evolved” either. Survival of the fittest is not about that, nor about individuals; it’s about how well a species fits its environment and niche. A slime mold is just as evolved as a person. Sigvid is very passionate about this, though he’s not the type to speak up most of the time; he’s stoic and saturnine, used to keeping his mouth closed and his thoughts to himself, because most of the time there’s no one to talk to. And that also means he’s learned to exist without the validation and approval of others---ironically, something that is much like his father, learned in a completely different environment.

A lot of this, obviously, comes from Skadi. He was at side her since infancy learning to hunt and track, learning the difference between wood sorrel and white clover, how to tell when a moose is about to charge, and what it means when the woods go quiet. This connects deeply to Skadi’s Jotunn side in particular, which in Norse lore are thought to have symbolized the inherently chaotic and uncontrollable nature of, well, nature! Though Sigvid would not, nature it’s chaotic, it’s actually very ordered, people just don’t bother to understand what’s inconvenient to them. But where he differs from Skadi is that he’s not a Disney princess. Animals don’t hang out with him. He doesn’t nurse injured creatures back to health. He doesn’t keep pets. He does not see them as friends. They are not less than him, but they are not allies, they are beings he co-exists with, avoids, or eats. At least, until a thylacine started hanging out with him. Yeah, a thylacine. The extinct Tasmanian tiger. Who knows where it came from or why he’s attached itself to him, but he’s very adamant she’s not a pet and he hasn’t named her, but she is THERE. Sometimes. She isn't at his side like a dog, it's more she's following him from a distance and she pokes her head out from the trees somewhere. She's not a pet. She's more a parasite. But unlike Shaw, Sigvid doesn't use that term in a bad way, and he's fine with her presence. He's just curious where the hell an extinct Australian animal came from? Obviously, Sigvid is not interacting with people a lot, but when he does, he’s far less awkward or boisterous than people expect. He doesn’t have the overt weirdness people expect from a hermit, nor the bombastic warrior cliché of an Asgardian, or the vicious stereotype of a Jotunn. He has a quiet but overwhelming elegance, not like an aristocrat but like a great stag emerging from the forest. He chooses his words carefully, and can say much with just a few. He walks the middle ground between judging by individuals and judging by species; he does a little of both. He has preconceptions and generalities that he believes in about each group, but also believes in room for exception. After all, he’s not what a lot of people expect, is he? Despite this, he’s frequently misread as disliking people, but he doesn’t. He is utterly neutral on them, he just prefers his own way of life. Likewise, he tends to be very neutral towards individuals, and this also is often misread as dislike. One thing he does dislike though, is when people try to endear themselves to him by talking about how they agree animals are better than people, or say stuff like you know only man kills for pleasure. . . .this actually just annoys him. Firstly, a lot of animals do kill for pleasure. Secondly, when people say animals/nature is better than people. . . .they’re forgetting that people---humans, Asgardians, Jotunn---are animals too. This is just another way people, of any sort, try to insist they’re something special and different, whether in a negative or positive way. It doesn’t impress him. What impresses him tends to be how well people work within their niche, whatever niche that is. Like Shaw, he doesn’t really judge in terms of conventional morality, but a person’s success----Sigvid’s definition of success is just much wider. Like, maybe you dive for a living---are you a good diver? A great cafeteria worker? The best toilet cleaner in the tri-state area? He admires that and he commends you. When he is angered, he stays quiet, and his response is swift and physical; he either leaves or strikes physically and then leaves. When he feels sufficiently bonded with someone. . . he is still quiet. He appreciates a person who doesn't need to be filling the silences between them to feel comfortable and kinship. And kinship for him is rare, but he's not lonely----just also not adverse to it, as many assume he is. People assume a lot about Sigvid, and most of it is wrong, but he's also very chill with it. Sigvid is a very chill guy.

Special Talents: Besides the obviously mentioned talents for hunting, tracking, foraging, survivalism, and nature knowledge? Many people think he’s some kind of seer because he’s good at predicting storms and such, but actually he’s just very good at reading the signs most people aren’t attuned to. He also presumably has the attributes of Asgardians and Jotuns (super strength, etc) but if he has a mutant power, it has yet to manifest. Also cannot assume a Frost Giant form. Who they like better: Skadi, though eventually he does respect his father for performing so well at what he does

Who they take after more: I think both equally in different ways Personal Head canon: -He really likes amethyst geodes. -He finds a lot of manufactured foods, like chips or snack cakes, to be WAAAAY too strongly salty or sweet for him to stomach, is allergic to Red Dye #40, and he finds the taste of domesticated animals to be weird. - Not much of a dairy person, but ghee is good -Dislikes when people stereotype hillbillies as stupid; as in like, people who are genuinely living in the hills and mountains of the American Southeast, they're an interesting people with their own unique culture like any other group that lives off the land in isolation---which he respects---and not interchangeable with typical rednecks. -He doesn't typically carry anything with him that's not a necessity, if he knows he's going to be seeing people soon, he will pick up knick-knacks he finds in abandoned places and distribute them like a weird Santa Claus. Who, he's met, by the way, and according to him, Father Christmas is something of a badass. - He will always buy your homemade soaps, and I have no idea what he's doing with them. Yes, maybe he's using them in the normal intended way but IM NOT SURE?? - Pops up in art museums. People never expect him to be here, in these cathedrals dedicated to human creation, but he is. I think he views art a bit differently than the average person, but he's there all the same. - He's an Aquarius but there is a LOT of Saturn in his chart - The first Midgard movie he saw was Forrest Gump. He was expecting it to be about something else because of the title, but he enjoyed it and LEARNED THIS DANCE Face Claim: n/a

#sigvid #kids #kid meme

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

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In the beginning was ROMILDA ALTIER, a GIFTED loyal to the cause of the MORTALS. She is said to be TWENTY-SIX and uses SHE/THEY pronouns. In this New Testament she serves as a MEMBER of the ROUND TABLE. Blessed be their name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

It is at her will that they dance for her, it is at her will that their heart beats and pounds. The movement of their muscles bow and bend to her will. Her ability to puppeteer others - to make their blood boil, their heart beat faster - is one that she does not enjoy implementing often due to how invasive it feels. In a bout of anger she discovered her abilities, causing the subject of her attention great pain as their muscles twisted and bent into shapes at Romilda’s bidding. However great these powers are - and she’s quite aware they are capable of being developed further - they come with dire drawbacks if she overextends herself, that being the near-bursting of her own heart if she doesn’t take care. It makes this gift a great disadvantage when engaging, unprepared, in combat. And, as all who have suffered and survived the Blood Plague, Romilda’s scars are obvious and unsettling: she looks as though claws have been dragged from her right eye, where her birthmark colors her face, down her cheek, along her neck, and to her chest. The flesh that has knit together looks as though it is iridescent and shifts in the light.

THE HISTORY.

For as long as she could remember, she had hoped to swallow the sun. Not to cast the world in darkness, no, she hopes to swallow the sun so that she might be the one to fill it with light - what a blessing it would be, to shine upon the visage of each and every one of her loved ones so that she might warm them to the marrow of their bones and guide them through the harrowing darkness of the night. As a young babe she seemed intent on doing so, her howls of protest quickly turning into coos of delight, eyes shining in wonder at the world about her, hungering already to illuminate it with her light - though the wet-nurse quickly marked her as cursed, seeing the birthmark that marred her face, that colored it in a way that was thought to be unnatural. Cursed in the eyes of all except her mother, who held her daughter’s face in her hands and could see her as nothing other than blessed. And how young Romilda longed to share her blessings, practically blistering and bleeding with unerring warmth, with the entirety of the world. Though such dreams are lofty and often short-lived, it has never been one that she has quite let go of, keeping a white-knuckled grip upon it despite how foolish it seemed. Her mother had often whispered into her ear, tucking a lock of hair behind it, that she was meant for such a destiny of unparalleled greatness, despite what her others might say in contradiction. A blight, they would whisper, while her mother would laugh- as loud and melodically as a lark, saying that children such as hers could never be; they were creatures made of prophecy, of legacy, of gold-tinted glory - Romilda was made to swallow the sun.

All too soon she learned that the tales of heroines were woven with tragedy, woe, and heartache - that few of them were ever truly happy. So she took the grief and anguish that life gave her, the beginnings of hardships budding at a young age, starting first with her father, robbed from her far too soon - his face becoming nothing more than an ever-shifting memory of kindness and affection. A good man, her mother reassured her, that was far too tender to survive in a world such as this. Perhaps that is why she married a man made of iron and metal soon after, whose voice was as harsh as his hand. He taught young Romilda the importance of discipline, the value of a quick-striking blade and an even quicker wit. Under his tutelage she was molded into a striking figure - and still, she hoped to swallow the sun, to press it between her lips and bask in its decadent, scorching heat so that all who met her might know of its warmth. How could she not when her young sister deserved nothing less? The moment that the pink-cheeked babe was placed upon their doorstep and opened her eyes, she knew, in her heart that this was who her destiny would be forever tied to and shaped by - the two of them, the strings of their fate knotted together in an irrevocable way. Such knowledge, though, such companionship did not make the loss of their mother any easier to bear. It did not make the wound of her loss any less raw and aching. Even numbness came with its own peculiar brand of pain.

Yet she knew her story was not meant to end in this chapter, so, with weary fingers, she turned the page. It was in the tall trees of the forest that she made herself at home, the cries of its night-birds becoming the sweetest of lullabies. They were driven there like crows from wreckage and ruin, their father muttering to himself of the abhorrence of the winged creatures that walked upon this earth. He bemoaned the loss of an earth that was never his to begin with, while her sister longed for the earth that she still had yet to discover. Romilda, however, was content with the lot that fate had given her, taking to the life of a hunter as though it were second nature. And soon, it became Arianne’s as well. For a half-moment she thought that life might stagnate in this way, repeated patterns that might have been mistaken for tranquil if it were not for the blood that stained their hands each day. Then the Blood Plague descended upon her sister, lakes of red welling in Arianne’s eyes as she realized what their father might do to them, hate-filled as he was for those that he considered other. She did not doubt it when she felt his hands wrap around her throat, sickened and fevered as she was. She did not doubt it when her sister skewered him like the boars that they hunted, nor when she slid her knife across his throat as she looked at him, blistering with rage at this madman. Was this to be her gold-tinted glory? Was this to be the story of the girl who swallowed the sun?

The moment they were well enough to, Romilda packed her and her sister’s bags, embarking upon a journey with an ending that seemed nowhere in sight. She watched as her sister took to society as a bird takes to the skies, wings spread and wind catching beneath it easily. They left whispers in the wake, traveling from village to village, city to city - the story of the return of the Altier sisters catching like flames. The story that the sisters wove was an intricate one, their deranged father -- broken by the weight of grief, they mourned -- driving them to the point of bone-deep exhaustion until they were well practiced in the art of hunting the unnatural, until they knew nothing but the company of the creatures in the forest, erasing any notion of the legacy that they carried and the weight of their family name. A name that was revered and treasured within the mouths of the populace of the Holy Land, a city that was a sanctuary to angels, demons, mortals alike was like a newborn fawn, tottering upon weak and inexperienced legs - it could fall to the wolves so quickly, the ravenous greed of fallible creatures eager to sink their teeth into something so tender and new. Yet, the populace had embraced them both with open arms, heralding them as grand, legendary, blessed, even. And it was then that Romilda realized that this chapter of her life was to be the one rendered in ink. It would be the story that minstrels and bards would sing about, that mothers would tell their young babes when recounting the harrowing adventures of the great Romilda Altier, a woman that was the sun incarnate. She would set the world alight with her blistering glory - and she might yet raze it all in her fire and leave the world in ruins.

THE CONNECTIONS.

ARIANNE ALTIER & REVNA VOLK: The Trinity. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb - and they are bound by the blood that stains their hands and the water that they shared as they grew older. They spilled the blood of their father, embraced their sisterhood as though they were two parts of the same soul, and embarked upon the journey of their Fate together. It came as no surprise that when they realized the gifts bestowed upon them by the Blood Plague reflected their counterpart nature. Where Romilda blisters like the sun, Arianne stirs the soul like a full moon; where the elder Altier edges their words as bluntly as their blades, the younger sweetens hers like honeyed cakes. And when Revna entered their lives, it was as if the stars of the skies began to populate their world, adding to it a wealth of novelty and color. She added a pensiveness that quieted their volatility, a methodical deliberateness that rooted them in their ties with one another. In Revna, Romilda found kinship in their belief that there was something greater for the Gifted -- in Revna, she found a brother-in-arms, the two of them utterly fixated in giving the world a reckoning. With Romilda’s determination, Arianne’s magnetism, and Revna’s ruthlessness, it is the wonder that the entirety of the universe has not fallen under their thrall already.

LUCA RICHE: Kindred Spirit. It was inexplicable, what drew them to one another so innately -- yet neither of them has ever thought to question it. Why should they ever think to question what is so clearly a blessing? What is so clearly something to horde and keep safe when Fate was so benevolent as to grant it? They are two blistering, burning souls that dance around one another in perpetual harmony, laughter ever present on their faces, secretive smiles shared as they glance at one another from across the Round Table. As of late, though, he has noticed how their own light blinds them -- how they are so consumed with the fulfillment of their destiny that they are blind to the darkness that is slowly surrounding them, seeking to stifle their innate goodness and virtue. Romilda only ever seeks to protect the Holy Land from an onslaught of anarchy, but Luca? He only wants to protect them from the oncoming promise of a perpetual night.

RAPHAEL: Pygmalion. When they had asked him to instruct them in the art of healing, it was with their head held high and their eyes blazing. After all, she had only ever been told of the atrocities angels had committed -- their father all too eager to instill in them the fear that would make celestials so hateful in her eyes. When he had looked upon them, it was with the enthrallment that consumes an artist looking upon their muse, with the singular, fixed intensity of a predator encountering their prey. Still, though, they did not balk and stared right back, determined that, if they were to endure this Gift, they were very well going to remake the world into something greater than it had been before. So they had sought out the most highly regarded healer that had been lauded in the Old World and in the New -- and if what they must endure is the bending of their pride and the shudder that runs down their spine whenever he lifts his gaze to theirs, then so be it. There are times though, when they look at him, that they see the excitement and passion that paints his face. They think that he looks almost human, rather than something cut from marble. They tell themselves that they have faced monsters worse than this -- but that is so far from the truth.

MAMMON: Hound. When Mammon first sloughed off the darkness that had clung to them, they remembered that relief that had pervaded them. Then the hunger had set in. An insatiable craving had overwhelmed them until, for one fleeting, hope-filled moment, they had experienced a semblance of satisfaction. And they have hunted for it ever since, ruthless and obsessive, snarling in frustration until their gaze dragged along the profile of a figure who seemed suffused with an inexplicable warmth of spirit that they offered the singular relief of satiation. Bedecked in gold armor, brows drawn together in confusion, she had looked back at them -- quite obviously annoyed by the attention she was receiving from the infernal demon, a Vice no less. In that spiteful look, they immediately knew that this was the delectable rabbit that they would perpetually chase after, relentless as a hound that has caught the scent of their unexpecting prey.

Romilda is portrayed by Taelor Thein and was written by ROSEY. She is currently TAKEN by ROSEY.

#literate rp #lsrpg #biblical rp #new rp #rpg #cnb #c #nb #g #romilda altier

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 2 years ago

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Magic, or rather, spells are the result of a being exerting their will on the universe. The forces guided by this will differ based on what effect one wishes to produce. Presence, for example manipulates gravity and therefore comes from said gravity.

It's thought that the Nine races' nine types of magic are a direct adaptation for the environments of their homeworlds.

As everyone is born with one type of magic the Nine see it as an inherent, though not exclusive, part of their identity as a species. Many preferring mages who were born with the desired magic even though sorcerers are just as capable.

Some of the most successful creatures of the realms are those that utilize magic. The firedrakes use Zeal to breathe skyfire (lightning) for hunting as well as defense from any potential prey that also uses Zeal. It's generally accepted that lifeforms from the same realm will have the same kind of magic if they have it at all.

Every member of the Nine is born with their races' branch of magic. However it's quite common for members of one race to charge an enchanted object so that anyone can cast spells of that magic type. The Veiao infuse their illusion casting Glamour into Glamour-glass which allows others to communicate long distances, craft illusions themselves or even store memories.

Magic is an innate talent but using it with precision requires skill. The more offensive magics like Zeal and Rhythm have to be managed carefully or they will hurt the castor. This generally takes the form of slowly building up tolerance for how much they can channel all at once. While other magic like Glamour and Presence require concentration. A complex illusion must trick all the senses at once and the fact that they cast no shadows means the lighting must be perfect.

Using magic becomes very instinctive once mastered. But many still choose to perform certain triggers to use magic. These can be a word or gesture but it's usually subtle. This is done to prevent accidental use of magic. A Veiao who has a nightmare for example could Glamour that nightmare into the waking world. Making a phycological key avoids this issue altogether.

Transportation and Construction: Presence's use in lifting heavy objects makes it ideal for building tall structures. This also allows for heavy airships to fly as the cancelation of gravity eases lift.

Agriculture and Healing: Grace accelerates the natural processes of a living organism. Accelerating healing in animals and maturation in plants. That is, speeds up the harvest. It is however energy intensive and overuse can result in exhaustion / barren fields.

Communication and Entertainment: as stated above Glamour can be used to communicate long distances. But it can also store entire libraries worth of knowledge in a single pendant of Glamour-glass. Glamour is used as the "special effects" of a play, or in place of things like puppet shows. But it is also used to craft dreams. A medium just as popular as books or plays.

Magic is said to have begun when the first of the gods cast their first spell.

The Nine Worlds of Nammu are not different dimensions but rather planets connected by the Nibiru portals. Which work by bending space. This technique can also be used to pull whole regions into a pocket dimension whose entrance is fixed. Time and gravity may function differently within these Domains.

The Dreamscape is both the land of imagination where one goes to while sleeping and the afterlife of the dead. It is an unphysical place that manifests the combined hopes, fears and desires of the Nine as environments. The River of Sorrow for example is the manifestation of the Nine's combined sadness.

Time is a very malleable substance. Many of the realms' gravity and orbits makes time flow faster or slower. The presence of extinct animals also implies that the Nibiru can be opened far into the past of another realm. However changing history appears to be impossible. As once a Nibiru is opened to a new realm no subsequent portal can go further back in time.

There is also the Providence of the Vadaradav. Which allows them to predict the future. Though it is generally accepted that their precognition is more akin to calculation.

As stated above channeling offensive magic can be detrimental to the user. Even Experienced castors who channel all their Zeal into a lightning bolt can be burned by their own magic. Rhythm vibrating at the same frequencies as flesh and blood can rupture the organs of the singer.

Resurrection is a technique lost to the gods. However a soul must be kept intact if it is to work at all. The Dreamscape is the adopted afterlife of all the Nine races save the Earthborn and the Unikanun, the gods. Adopted in the sense that it was originally only accessible to the Veiao through their Glamour. While the dead cannot travel past the dreams of the living they can still interact with said dreams if they so choose.

During the time of the Tenth Cleave the gods are gone. Leaving the angels and demons of the Krr as the ones closest to perfection. Whether this is perfect good, perfect evil or something else depends on one's viewpoint.

While the Nine Worlds of Nammu hold many dangers the civilizations of the Nine have strived to craft their realms into paradises. Despite the vast stretch of wilderness dotted with ancient ruins the nations of the present have been largely successful. The loss of family members is as much a product of the Nine's artificially long lives as it is a result of dangerous beasts. Realms themselves are not hospitable to all races. Kantu'uth is a realm of eternal night that the Fesi'eh call home. They are perfectly comfortable in such an environment but the lack of sunlight would kill a Veiao.

Best magic system stuff I have:

- where does the magic originate from?

- who has magic, who doesn’t, and why?

- how do people view magic?

- are there creatures other than humanoid that have some form of magic/are inherently magical?

- how do people get magic? Are they born with it?

- do people have to practice magic to get good? What does practice look like?

- does magic require a mental, verbal, or physical command, or is it like moving a limb?

- how is magic used in transportation? Construction? Retail? Food related stuff? Fighting? Other stuff?

- did magic always exist? If not, why does it exist now?

- are there other dimensions that are relevant? Can they be traveled between?

- is time travel/breaking the laws of physics possible? How? Why?

- What kinds of quantifiable consequences does magic have? Can people die from those consequences?

- what does the afterlife look like? Can people be brought back to life? How?

- are there sentient forces of good and evil? How involved are they? Why aren’t they more/less involved?

- how dangerous is this world? Are there a lot of widowed ppl and orphans?

#creative writing #worldbuilding #fantasy world #the tenth cleave

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ranposlittle · 4 years ago

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match up please? I have short teal dyed hair, grey eyes, I'm 18, 5'1 and a gay trans boy! My signs are sun ♊ moon ♐ rising ♊, entp, 7w8, Ravenclaw, sanguine, have depression and aspd. I tend to have a thing for redheads but personality and motivation is most important to me. I like adventuring and singing and I love birds. I'm not afraid to pick a fight with someone and I'm pretty fiercely protective. I can be childish but I give off good vibes and want to help everyone I can. (1) 🌹

anonymous asked: I tend to talk a lot and I hyperfix hardcore on things. I have a lot of odd facts, especially about classic authors and crows. I need someone who is patient and can handle my loud and optimistic personality and my need to help others. Thank you in advance! (2) 🌹

I ship you with...

──────〔 MARK TWAIN 〕──────

You were out on your usual search for an adventure when all of a sudden, you heard a loud bang in an otherwise peaceful hill. You rushed to see where the noise came from and there you see a redhead man, armed with a hunting rifle, taking aim on birds resting atop some branches. Feeling a sudden wave of courage to protect the precious beings, you shouted at the man to let him know that what he was doing was wrong and should just leave the innocent birds alone. He was surely pleasantly surprised with such an act, for he never had anyone come up to him before to stop him whenever he goes hunting. He wanted to tell you to mind your own business, but seeing the teal color of your hair accentuating your bright grey eyes, his playful flirtatious personality took over. He put down his firearm and began asking for your name and if it hurt when you fell down from heaven. A crow cawed at the distance as you just stared at him, dumbfounded.

In fairness, Mark (as he later introduced himself) never went bird hunting after he met you. He listened to why you love the winged animals and even took in every single one of your odd facts about crows. He respects you and what you believe in so he started to just practice with non-living things instead to keep his aim sharp. Mark was honest from the start. He admitted being attracted to you, not just by your beauty, but also with your confidence- to the point of picking a fight- in order to protect what you value. Even if it’s just little creatures like birds. He truly admires this somewhat childish yet strong personality of yours, never being afraid to stand up to challenges; a true reflection of your 7w8 personality.

Being the carefree man that he is, Mark just loves how you excites him and always keeping him on his toes. As an ENTP and a Ravenclaw, it’s not unusual for you to spark a friendly discussion with him out of the blue, so he feels the need to be prepared to take you on. Even if you’ll just agree to disagree sometimes, it’s always still an enjoyable conversation for him. Given you have Gemini as your sun and rising sign, you’re naturally quick-witted and doesn’t find it hard to communicate your thoughts. In fact, you love communication. It allows you to feed your innate inquisitiveness about life in general, taking every piece of knowledge you get as a valuable treasure. Your Sagittarius moon makes adapting to different people and differences a walk in a park and your Sanguine personality further enhancing your social skills. You don’t shy away from crowds and you just possess a certain kind of charisma that attracts other people towards you. Mark just looks at you in awe of how amazing of a catch you are and seeing how likable you are, his ego immediately inflates upon thinking that it’s him that you chose. He feel like he found another version of himself in you as you basically mirror him in being an intelligent, confident, and courageous person, all the while maintaining a sense of spontaneity and positive disposition towards life. He’s very proud of you and would often show you off to other people without a care of what they might think.

Overall, I think Mark is your guy because he can definitely handle your loud and optimistic personality as he is one as well. You just have a very outgoing personality and he would love that he can take somewhat risky adventures with you (as you would with him). You’ll feel equally comfortable to be yourselves with each other, knowing that you have an inner understanding of each other’s characteristics. He would support you in your need to help people even if he doesn’t understand it sometimes and would actually love to gain some wisdom from you on how to be more compassionate towards others. He may be a bolt of energy but he does know when to slow down and take things seriously. Your journey to commitment will be slow, but if you would be patient with him as he would be with you, you’ll be unbreakable. You’ll be each other’s ride or die. Mark would be there for you, thick or thin. Whether you just had a bad day or a strike of depression, he would show you that he supports you no matter what. If you want to have some time alone, he will respect your space. If you allow him to be there for you, he will never leave your side until you’re okay. Just say the word and he’s willing to make it happen. Truly, the beauty in your dynamic is you’ll have a balance between being best friends and doing fun things together, and being seriously committed to each other. Odd facts would be your thing. Both of you would constantly look for one and once you find something that sounds really interesting, you would just get that itch to immediately tell the other hoping that they don’t know about it yet.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

▮ ❝ Hey, anon~ Here's your matchup! 💗 I hope you liked it because I really think you're compatible with Mark hehe aside from all the things I said above, your zodiac signs are polar opposites which is a plus! That's all! Take care! ( ｡>﹏<｡)~♡ ❞

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs imagines #bsd matchups #bsd matchup #matchup #bungou stray dogs matchup #matchups #bsd mark twain #bsd twain

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corinthbayrpg · 4 years ago

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NAME. Micah Wright AGE & BIRTH DATE. 27 & April 21st, 1993 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Shapeshifter ( Anaconda ) OCCUPATION. Personal Trainer at White Stag, Police Cadet, and Hunter FACE CLAIM. Gavin Leatherwood

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, violence ) Born in Maui, Micah’s early childhood was quiet and unassuming, he never knew his birth mother, and most of the boy’s formative years were spent with his father, a single parent. The women that his father would bring home were hardly the maternal figures that Micah quietly longed for, some tried, some did not, but none of them lasted for very long. When asked, his father would tell him that he didn’t have a mother, that she had run off to live a life that was anything but one burdened by a family. She was a witch, one who left before Micah was even a year older, his father, a fellow reptilian shifter, was not shy in telling his son what it was that he was destined for. The pain that would come with the boy’s early transformations.

Micah was seven when they first began, excruciating, painful, but his father was there through every moment of the transformation from man to beast. His father told him that their responsibility was an ancient one, a sacred one, but the long lapses in his school attendance, followed by the beaten up shape Micah was left in made officials innately suspicious of the single-father. They moved to New York that year, eager to start a new life now that Micah’s transformations were becoming more seamless, controlled, and less painful. The shifter was a curious child, but stubborn, he disliked following any sort of established order, and no piece of him wished to carry the torch of a destiny that his father was all but forcing upon him.

He learned well of the cubi, the vrykolakas, the things that went bump in the night. It was their duty to safeguard humanity against such things, which turned to a bitter irony when Micah’s father fell for one such creature’s deception. They consumed every piece of his father’s soul, but neither Micah nor the older man were any the wiser as to what happened to him. Instead, Micah simply watched as the man he had always known to be strong, certain, kind, slowly deteriorated into someone that the young shifter hardly recognized. At the age of ten, his father left one night and never came home, it was the police who informed him first what had happened. Distraught and with nowhere else to go, Micah was pushed into an unforgiving system where he was little more than a number in a long list of foster kids.

Anger quietly burned within him, a desire for vengeance was all that Micah could feel when he went to sleep at night, it haunted him through every waking thought. A month passed, then another, and Micah deduced that the person that had come home with his father that night - that night it all began - had been a succubus. Micah ran away from the home where he had been placed, tracked the demon to the lair where his father had met her and had plans to kill it, but he was young, arrogant, hotheaded and unskilled. He was beaten and nearly killed before Micah could even shift.

It was then that she appeared, Nemea. All teeth, claws, and an impenetrable hide. She tore through the succubus and as Micah watched the creature wither and die, he was overcome with an immense sense of respect and admiration. He told her what happened, that he had no family, no real home to speak of, no one that would miss him - but that he felt purpose. That he wanted to learn to fight as she did, to be strong, to hunt the creatures who had taken his whole world from him. He would fill his father’s mission, he would protect humanity as the shifters were intended. But more than that, he would tear apart every cubi he came across.

Nemea did not need to, but she took him under her wing just the same. Told him of his heritage and relation to Scylla, how once his family had been blessed and given the strength and power to hunt the cubi. She trained him on how to fight, and loyally Micah devoted himself to hunting at Nemea’s side. Nemea even went so far as to introduce him to her siblings, Phoenix, and Scylla both. The snake shifter had never known his mother, had never known any sort of maternal affection, but she came close, she was stern, but she could be fun also. Soft, though Micah soon learned that was a face she rarely showed. By twenty-one he would occasionally leave to go on hunts as Nemea directed, a son, but a soldier first.

When Scylla died, Micah felt the loss immediately, it woke him in the dead of night with the knowledge that she had been murdered. Nemea told him that she had been summoned to Corinth Bay, though he was in the midst of a hunt, it was not until the Summer that Micah was able to follow. He arrived shortly after the storm and continued to work for Nemea’s company, he quickly learned that the Cult of Persephone had all but overrun the town, and the city had been turned into a battleground for the Veil.

PERSONALITY

+ motivated, hardworking, cunning - dogmatic, stubborn, deceitful

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#gavin leatherwood #micah wright #male #shifter

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theangrypokemaniac · 5 years ago

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Since no one cares about Alola I can therefore say what I want.

Team Rocket's Pokémon are all worthless toss. That's such a surprise from this oafish writing team.

Remember when Jessie and James had two each, to offer variety? Permitting them even that is too much focus nowadays.

We don't what anything interesting going on, thank you. Repetition is what we and they deserve.

Arbok, Weezing, Lickitung and Victreebel are spinning in their graves.

Stufful was missing for three years and she displayed not the slightest pang of concern until its belated invention. Given her temper she ought to have torn the island apart searching for her baby, but no.

Not bothered about Bewear. It shouldn't really be in this list as it didn't belong to them, although catching has no value anymore.

A bit thick are we? Or conforming to the usual parental standards?

Well, she's sufficiently neglectful that she let it out of her sight long enough for it to be crushed under a tree, then was too idle to come to the rescue. In consequence he was obliged to wait days until one of Lusamine's lackeys arrived.

She's 'Mama Bear' though, isn't she?

It's based on a red panda, is partly the colour of a black bear and as strong as a grizzly, but all that is a mere cover for its true nature as a Bear-Face Ham.

The modern pretence is that everyone's a vegetarian (are they balls), and Ursa Major lives on fruit, not, you know, flesh.

Just because it there's no hibernating in the tropics doesn't mean it can get by without a salmon now and again.

The name is stupid, since a red panda is not a bear. A play on words isn't clever if based on what it isn't.

They should've called her 'Pandamonia', or 'Pandour', which is a brutal soldier.

It is at least redeemed by battering the klepto cockroach into the next dimension. Good on 'er.

Mind you, this is Alola, a cesspit of incest, so it's probably some sick arrangement, like Bewear being slipped the length by that previously unmentioned Oakie-Dokie clone.

He's the spit of Jimmy Savile, thus every depravity is on the table.

Where's Stufful's dad? He buggered off too?

What kind of name is 'Stufful'? What's it made from, 'stifle' and 'suffocation'? 'Stuffed'?

Thanks for that. Whenever I see its ovine face I'm reminded of taxidermy.

Were Ursa Minor and Bewear described as mother and son, or were they 'friends'?

A series of games involving breeding and the 'anime' is too squeamish to even imply animals live in families.

I don't care either way for Stufful, but I'd like it better if its mouth wasn't a camel toe.

I understand it's a sea creature, and the contents of the oceans are their own brand of peculiarity, but looks like a limbless, undead spaniel plagued with extra teats. Its 'ears' resemble distended mammeries.

Hey, remember that interesting, original Pokémon James had called Victreebel? Let's do it again! And again! AND AGAIN!

Victreebel is a venus fly trap: an anomaly in nature as a carnivorous plant. It makes sense that the Pokémon version would be a bit more full-on in catching a meal.

New law: Team Rocket are required to collect monsters as ugly as themselves.

Hurting James was its personality quirk, particularly to it, fitting its nature, its 'thing'. It was never meant as a template for most of what he caught in the future.

Something is funny if it happens once, and can be now and again if done with a least a little flair.

Nothing repeated as a constant leaden thud is remotely amusing, but this is an unknown fact to Nintendo bone heads. They think certain events are utterly hilarious in themselves and require no finesse in application.

They have a checklist of moments obligatory to each episode, which explains the plodding lifelessness. Tick 'em off to keep the fans from being ticked off. All we supposedly care about is each gong struck, not how we got there.

At least Victreebel used to vary its behaviour:

Occasionally it even did as told without any chomping preamble.

It didn't do the exact same action every single time it was involved!

Mostly it swallowed James.

How long was it once Victreebel was chucked out on its leafy arse before Cacnea arrived?

Oh look, it's a Grass Pokémon and attacks James!

Sometimes it ate Jessie.

Carnivine got in on the action before Cacnea's run was even up: kick 'em when they're down why don't yer?

Oh look, it's a Grass Pokémon and attacks James!

Now we have Mareanie. Wasn't there a few in between? No, shush, they don't exist anymore.

Every bloody time it came out, it turned round and punctured him.

Every bloody time.

Ah, it's not a Grass Pokémon. That makes it totally new!

Oh yes, it's the complete opposite of Victreebel. It's Poison instead. Not like it at all.

Every bloody time it came out, it'd gnaw his head off.

Every bloody time.

That's endearing.

Oh but it is! It's just showing him love!

As that makes it alright!

If a muscular man squeezed his girlfriend so tightly he cracked her ribs, is that 'sweet' because he 'meant well' but his feelings overwhelmed him? Or is it A.B.H.?

Every bloody time it comes out, it injects James's head with toxin until it swells up into purple pustule of disease.

Every bloody time.

I never took Victreebel's assault as affection. To me they were real attempts to devour James, especially with the accompanying frenzied screech. Interpreting that as a positive emotion is bizarre to me.

At soon as James found it wedged in a Breeding Centre cage and opened the door it grabbed him, which appeared to be Victreebel lashing out in anger for what'd happened in the intervening period.

What Mareanie does is worse than the other three put together. At least they delivered mere bite marks or pinpricks, but it infects James!

Whole episodes of this programme have involved a Pokémon falling foul of Poison Powder and being on the verge of death, with all done to preserve it until Ash hunted down the cure, but now it's a big laugh, apparently.

Not one character ever has the wits about them to carry an Antidote, otherwise the writers wouldn't be able to fall back on the tired old race-against-time scenario, which is no such thing as we know they won't die.

Is it likely that James is always going to end up picking a violent Pokémon, of all the individuals of a race, of all the lifeforms in the universe?

Aren't his allowed to come with their own personality, or is there a set pattern they must follow, and when caught they absorb it, for fear they might be memorable?

Mind you, it's interesting the reactions these abuses provoke:

Victreebel eats James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Cacnea impales James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Carnivine chews James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Mareanie poisons James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Meowth claws James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Jessie beats James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Jessibelle whips James: EEVUL BITCH!!!

Mimikyu should be opposed for breaking it's own world.

To us, Pikachu is the most famous Pokémon, belonging to Ash, the protagonist, and the franchise's mascot.

To them, Pikachu is just another middling Pokémon hundreds of young Trainers catch, and holds no greater value.

It's blatantly a reference to Pikachu's real-life status, acknowledging itself as fiction. No Pokémon would hold the same significance for this design to work but him.

Otherwise why would Mimikyu, when it has the choice of every Pokémon that exists, and, if meant to be a believable world, every Pokémon we don't know exists, choose Pikachu to ape? Why wouldn't it pick a Legendary?

Alola Pikachu is looking off colour.

It's not even this specific Mimikyu, it's the entire species!

What, they work to a hive mind, incapable of individual tastes and opinions?

Do they all hate Pikachu too, even though the entire mouse population of Alola has been rounded up by that loon and trapped in a valley, or were we lumbered with the lone demented obsessive with a severe complex?

Is it well jel that Pikachu's a real one, whereas it can only manage to knock up a bog-standard costume with a face daubed by a chimp paralytic from scrumpy?

Well stop imitating it then! Invent your own design!

Oh come on. The animators can't even do that, hence its creation. You can hardly expect it to display inspiration if born from its absence.

I wonder if it hates Raichu. And Pichu. And Plusle and Minun. And the rest of the Pikachu derivatives, although it is one.

(As an aside, I don't know why Raichu, Marowak and Exeggutor were redrawn for this era, but not Pikachu, Cubone and Exeggcute. Why does the sweaty climate affect only evolutions?)

Here's an idea: make Shiny Mimikyu have a different get up, not colour.

You can have that free, Game Freak. I'm too lenient with yer.

Presumably, Mimikyu hatches (already dead?) in all its eye-bleeding nastiness, and instinctively reaches for the discarded yellow bedsheet and pack of crayons that just so happens to be nearby, and the scissors to make the peep holes.

Them inbreds know how to litter.

Flippers?

Nah, it's probably hooks.

How is it born aware of a Pikachu's face, and why is it compelled to copy them?

Knowledge of his own ugliness is innate, thus he must cover his nakedness before it lays waste to the forest inhabitants.

Yet if you breed 'em, it emerges wearing it, like the cloth formed from left-over albumen and stained with yolk!

What's it reaching with? Paws?

Mittens?

Oh, and there was a deceased specimen in the series, so it's either a ghost, and nothing but bedsheet, or a zombie, and it's repulsive carcass has upped the ante by putrifying.

Even its name doesn't fit. Apart from the unsightly spelling, what's 'Mimikyu' about? It's not mimicking me.

Mimikyu? It should be Mimikchu!

And you know what? Even Nintendo agree their own inventions aren't good enough, because they made return almost impossible.

They hate these more than they do even the pre-Unova Pokémon, most of whom were condemned to a dark existence within the iron corridors of H.Q. and haven't been seen since.

• Growlie is such a beloved figure in James's life he's been involved all of twice.

• Dustox got pensioned off.

• James was practically bullied into gifting Cacnea to that cloying bitch Gardenia.

• Whilst he still tecnically owns Chimecho, it's as lost to him as any of them.

Remember Seviper, Yanmega, Carnivine and Mime Junior?

Hell, remember Woobat, Yamask, Frillish and Amoonguss?

Or Gourgeist and Inkay?

Of course, since the makers appear to have the Reverse-Midas Touch, Team Rocket still took that useless, wincing lump Wobbuffet to Galar instead of dumping it over the sea. Apparently we're stuck with it forever.

Arbok, Lickitung, Weezing and Victreebel got shafted, but THAT survives?

Yes? That's more the writers do. In current canon these Pokémon never lived at all. Dead memories in the haze.

#Team Rocket #Bewear #Stufful #Mareanie #Mimikyu #Wobbuffet #Alola

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solsticejcink · 5 years ago

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preview - species part one.

the sister cities of ostara and litha are home to a host of species, each with their own unique set of abilities. below, you can read more about each species. a species’ rarity will be noted by their name through stars. 0 stars would mean extinct, while 6 stars would mean they make up a significant portion of the population.

WITCHES ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

witches are spiritual beings who live and thrive in communities called ‘covens’ - although typically communal and made of multiple families, smaller covens aren’t unheard of. their magic doesn’t come from within, but rather from their relationship to nature, to the old gods, and through the strength of their coven. most witches have a singular, refined talent such as potion making or spellwork, but almost all of them can access basic arcane knowledge. since witches magic isn’t inherent, humans can study to become one, and most witches need a vessel through which to create magic - such as herbs, charms, wands or incantations.

witches appear human, and as such have a human lifespan.

witches can access the following abilities:

spell casting the ability to cast spells, typically through words, although some witches may be able to do so through hand gestures.

telekinesis the ability to move objects through mental power.

scrying the ability to locate items or people through an object, typically a crystal ball.

potion brewing the enhanced ability to create magical concoctions.

hex casting the ability to place temporary curses on others.

blood magic the ability to perform rituals through blood, often times allowing the user to manipulate the substance.

ALCHEMISTS ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

the ‘scientists’ of the magic community, alchemists follow a unique method of science focused on the transformation of matter, following one golden rule: everything must have a give and a take. this ‘magic’ relies on carefully drawn transmutation circles, of which many alchemists get tattoo’d for ease. humans can study and learn the ways of alchemy, but alchemists by blood are known for being stingy with their own personal methods.

alchemists appear human, and as such have a human lifespan. alchemists are hindered by the requirement of a transmutation circle, and the nature of their magic - unlike witches, they cannot create magic out of nothing, and have to work with pre-existing materials.

alchemists can access the following abilities:

transmutation the ability to transform objects or beings into something else completely.

alchemy the ability to utilize all aspects of the science of alchemy.

curse altering the ability to modify curses and hexes - swaps out a person’s curse for a different ailment, a gambling trade.

density manipulation the ability to alter the density of themselves or objects, making them light enough to walk on air or heavy enough to withstand attacks.

PROPHETS ✮

serving as vessels for a higher power, prophets are those with the unique ability to foresee the future, although these visions may not always be clear. some prophets convey their findings through the traditional mediums of art or song, while less artistic prophets find theirs coming to them in cold-sweat dreams and hallucinations. unlike many other species, two prophets cannot conceive another of their kind - instead, prophets are stuck in an endless cycle of reincarnation without retaining past memories - their new form born to the last person to see them before their death. for this reason, many infertile women will seek out aging prophets for a chance to bear a child.

prophets appear human, and as such have a human life-span. unfortunately, as a ‘give and take’ with their ability to have visions of the future, many modern prophets find themselves born with another one of their senses either dulled or completely gone. this can range from hearing disabilities to blindness.

prophets can access the following abilities:

precognition the ability to perceive future events before they happen. many prophets have a ‘trigger’ for this, whether it be art, dreams, emotionally charged situations, etc.

danger intuition the ability to sense threats.

prophecy construction the ability to create prophecies that manipulate events that will happen in the present or future.

accelerated probability the ability to foresee outcomes of decisions.

GHOSTS ✮ ✮ ✮

ghosts are typically spirits who died in gruesome or tragic ways, unfinished with the living world, and clinging in the ‘in-between’. while ostara quickly disposes of any spirits haunting their city, it’s not uncommon to find ghosts floating through litha with muffled moans, bringing chills and a sense of foreboding with them everywhere they go. their desperate cling to life, or upsets over unfinished business often turns their frustration into chaos, while others are sober in the wake of their loss.

ghosts can will a corporeal form to appear, and they will appear as they did right before they died. ghosts can only move on if dealt with by a psychopomp - like a reaper. ghosts can posses others, but rarely are able to fully take over the vessel fully.

cyrokinesis the ability to manipulate coldness and ice.

teleportation the ability to teleport from one location to another.

levitation the ability to float and walk on air.

intangibility the ability to turn into a non-corporeal form.

possession the power to possess bodies of the living.

sonic scream the ability to emit a super-powered scream, can be used as an offensive attack.

DEMONS ✮ ✮

demons do not necessarily have to die to become what they are - any corrupted soul, overrun by evil and greed can find themselves in the process of becoming one. a relatively aggressive ghost that is able to both posses and take over a body can also result in a demon, although this is less common. the most malevolent of all the species, demons thrive on chaos - and their only goal is to create more of their kind. the change is often marred by a sudden, drastic physical change, but demons can usually blend themselves into society - only given away by patches of red skin, black eyes, and jagged wings that will begin to form on their body over time.

demons are technically immortal, but will only survive as long as their body can. they can be mortally wounded, or exorcised out of their body.

rage inducement the power to incite anger and violence in others.

fire manipulation the ability to manipulate and call the element of fire at will.

intangibility the ability to turn into a non-corporeal form.

possession the power to possess bodies of the living.

pain inducement the power to inflict pain on others without physical violence.

HUMANS ✮ ✮

in ostara - humans are a bit of an oddity. poor tourists that find their way into the city usually make it out alive past night fall, falling prey to species with particular appetites or vengeful individuals who remember the age of witch hunts. they are treated the way some would consider flies - they’ll allow you to exist, but at the slightest hint of annoyance, they’ll swat.

in litha - humans are much more common, thanks in part to the academy recruiting college students. tourists aren’t uncommon either, easily enchanted by the simplest display of magic. a small minority of non-student humans live in litha, although they’ve had to learn to be street smart and alert to survive their supernatural neighbors.

humans have no abilities, but with rigorous study, could become a witch or alchemist.

FAMILIARS ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

familiars are guardian spirits, serving to protect those they are bonded to as well as help heighten their partners powers. born with the ability to transform in between an animal or human form, familiars' animal state is influenced by the person they are tied to, and different familiars forms can represent social status. this form can appear in the dreams of someone who is fated to cross the path of their partner. there are two types of familiars and familiar bonds: legacy and non-legacy. legacy familiars are tied to a bloodline instead of an individual, and can live for multiple centuries, serving an entire family line. non-legacy familiars are tied to a single person, and the relationship tends to be in favor of companionship rather than protection.

familiars lifespan will match to their partners, and legacy familiars can live for multiple centuries. familiar’s are emotionally and physically tethered to their partner, and the breaking of a bond can be incredibly traumatizing.

enhanced senses sight, smell, touch, sound, and taste are all intensified.

animal form the ability to transform into their animal counterpart.

claw retraction the ability to extend and retract claws from one’s hands.

magic amplification the ability to strengthen the abilities of their bonded partner

DRAGONS ✮ ✮ ✮

dragons, the most fearsome guardians of mythos, have decidedly different reputations depending on who you ask. european dragons were solitary creatures, often hot-headed or villainous in nature - often revered for their hoards of treasure and wealth, and born with the innate ability to breathe fire. eastern dragons, however, reigned over bodies of water and were instead associated with power and good fortune. modern dragon-borns found in the sister cities tend to be of a lineage that blends both halves of the myth. unlike many other species that thrive in family units, dragons are considered mainly solitary creatures, and adolescents of the species move out earlier than most. they tend to exist on the fringes of the city, stubborn to the idea of being governed, but are still regarded with high respect. dragons are born with the innate ability to manipulate water or fire, but never both.

dragons have developed a human-esque form over time, but can still be seen with any combo of the following: horns of varying sizes, slitted pupils, small patches of scales, or wings. dragons can live up to 100 years, and their aging process slows once they reach adulthood.

social magnetism the ability to attract or repel others.

fear inducement the ability to provoke irrational fear in others.

wing manifestation the power to develop or form wings.

fire OR water manipulation the ability to control and generate electricity OR ice.

dragon physiology the ability to gain dragon-like features at will.

#solsticejcink #jcink #site buzz #jcink rp

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webcricket · 5 years ago

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Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1803 (Ch. II) Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. A/N: Multi-chapter origin and love story. No happy ending here, folks; just a bittersweet illustration of an angel’s devotion and the sacrificial ends he pursues to protect the object of his affection. New chapters post on Mondays.

Series Masterlist

II.

Illumined by a flickering glow, frost curtains the corners of the cabin’s paned windows as sheets of snow continue to envelope the world without. A fire crackles in the wood stove; the cast iron door yawns to reveal a burning bedlam of deep orange and silvery embers forfeiting their fervor of warmth to temper the chill from the single room.

The fury of light silhouettes two figures stationed directly before it; the one, insensate with cold and settled on an overstuffed leather chair, houses a soul lately saved, the other, operating on righteous instinct, a being in a body borrowed.

The latter leans in constant worried motion over his unconscious ward. He loosens the layers of damp clothing, consigning a coat no longer equipped in its damp state to insulate to the floor beside already discarded boots; the melt of caked-snow clinging to the laces and heels coalesces into a shimmering pool on the broad pine planks.

Still dissatisfied by the sluggish return of consciousness, he rubs and rearranges the lax limbs repeatedly to restore circulation. His unrelenting efforts find rapid reward in a spasm of shuttered eyelid and the initiation of a bodily shiver suggesting the brain of the afflicted has thawed enough to rejoin the struggle for survival.

Tapping a finger to the rewarmed temple, his irises refract an internally rising radiance of blue; the otherwise unseen glory gifted him by heaven hurries to confirm the signs of recovery. Evidently pacified with the direction of progress given the small sigh of relief passing his lips, he ceases fussing to slide the chair in closer proximity to the blaze; stoking and feeding the fire, he steps back, content for the moment to watch the unfolding symptoms of revival.

The breath of both flame and rekindling life further thicken the frosty condensation on the window’s glass from within as he waits.

Castiel’s concerned blues occasion, after some minutes observing the sameness of your state, to lift from you in order to sweep over the shadow-obscured stacked log walls; in them and, too, a roof sound enough to keep out the blasting wind, he notes something of greater consequence than he felt hereto before when tarrying there - something consoling; a something verging on comfort.

The only variable altered is that of his not being alone – an amendment to his exile he finds not at all unpleasant; and one which - as regards comfort at least - watery sheen of blues dipping again to you, he wonders whether you will feel equal easement in upon waking.

In the firelight your features flush as blood steadily surges to sooth ice-nipped skin; he is struck once again by the delicacy of peace predominant in your expression despite the subtleties of pain weathering pale pink lips and stamping a sallowness into the hollows beneath your lowered lashes. The natural advantage of beauty he appreciates as affecting your particular aspect, much like those wonders of his Father’s creation once resplendent in a now desolated world for which he held the highest esteem allowed an angelic creature supposedly steeped in inherent apathy, appears no less diminished given what you must have endured before stumbling into these woods.

A series of restless moans murmuring on your lips, you squirm in shallow slumber in search of some unknown solace which seems to elude you.

Trance broken, giving you space, instinctively he shifts backward and stills to stone. He hasn’t yet considered what he’ll say – hasn’t fully fathomed how to handle the consequence of confusion sure to follow fast upon your rousing, nor how to allay the fear certain to be aroused in the requisite explanations offered of how you came to be here and what he is.

A compassionate heart guided by an innate sense for what is right, and the selfish potential - in the soldierly sense, of course, of once more having order and purpose to the passage of time - for the immediate improvement of his own dejected condition to be provided by your company, fix him to the spot.

A moment passes; then another. You do not wake.

A spark of cinder bursts forth, bounces, and sputters in the drips of wet gathered round your socked feet; his notice veers from you to follow the extinguishing complaints of the slag until it is no more than a fleck of gray ash and a withering of smoke.

“Hi.” Your throat, raw from long exposure to cold air, cracks out the faintest of greetings.

Blues flick to meet your blearily blinking gaze. Caught off guard, he states the obvious. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m Y/N.” Woozy, weak, and uncertain of where you are or who he is, you default to wit such that you might start by assembling the strewn vestiges of it now returning to you.

His gaze narrows; after a second of deeply furrowed contemplation of your curious response to his observation, the crease of his brow eases in realization of the verbal play. “Ah, I’m Castiel.”

Stranger with a strange name, you think, and, a stranger accent.

Straightening from a slouch to obtain a better vantage on your whereabouts, half-expecting some indication to present itself you’ve been transported to Europe, you chance a cursory glance at the surroundings; your best guess: You’ve simply been deposited in a hunting cabin replete with a requisite decapitated White-tailed deer – a vacantly staring specimen sans four legs and anything else below the neck - mounted on a plaque to one wall. Despite the deer’s dead stare, it’s better than the last place you remember being which is riverside freezing to death under the similarly impassive survey of an oak.

In your periphery, a well-aimed lurch of two, maybe two and half feet from the cozy confines of the chair, your eyes glint on a brass fire poker laid against the stove. You have no idea who this guy is; not that you aren’t grateful, but you’re keeping your options open.

“Castiel,” you repeat, regard roaming over his distinctly regimental attire and the squared stance ingrained by association as that of a soldier standing at attention. “I think I owe you a thank you.”

Dropping his gaze in a gallant gesture of humility suggesting saving you was a mere trifle, he bows his head.

The civility of his manner instantly eases your wariness. In its place, you feel the overwhelming urge to fill the silence and elucidate how you came to be in the predicament of wanting rescue. “Damned stupid to dare that river crossing in a storm. I could hear the ice cracking, but I also heard a squad of angels coming in close behind me. Not much of a choice, you know?”

His eyes rise to yours – you discern the tranquility of their color markedly disturbed by the mention of angels. This reaction fortifies your impression of him as friend, not foe. Slightly relaxing caution, you lean forward to fold your palms together before stove.

The strong line of his jaw sets, stalling in choice of just the right words to answer to your story without creating alarm. Coughing to clear the gravel from the lower register of his voice, he calmly utters them a second or two before you become aware of the delay. “There are no angels on that side of the river.” In review, it occurs to him it would’ve been wiser not to stress any one part of the statement above another.

“Oh.” You swallow the syllable; embarrassment blossoms on your cheeks as the enormity of the damned stupid sinks in and the reality of the damned lucky surfaces.

You duck your chin and redirect, hoping perhaps along with his knowledge of where angels aren’t, he also knows something of the refugee encampment you were looking for. “Are you with the resistance?”

The disquiet unsettling his blues and agitating the minute musculature of his jawline wends down his spine to work inflexible mischief into his shoulders. He’s glad you failed to latch onto the ill-spoken that, less glad the interview persists in being directed upon himself.

Unpracticed talking to people – skills of conversing rusty as a result of many months of isolation – he grapples inwardly to determine how to change the subject; outwardly, he clasps his hands behind his back to preserve composure.

Evading causing you discomfiture by further delay in speaking, he replies, “In a manner of speaking.”

Although superficially affirmative, the awkward avoidance of an explicatory answer should excite your alertness; it doesn’t. The strangely alluring accent he’s in possession of implies he’s a visitor from foreign lands; wherever he’s from, perhaps the resistance is called something entirely different, like, for example, the opposition.

The cohesive framework of international news, or news of any shape beyond word of mouth and unfounded rumor (which, strictly speaking, is not so different from when international news stood strong), ceased to exist the day angels dive-bombed the planet. Whomever he’s with, his answer signifies a sympathetic attachment to the resistance, and that’s good enough for you.

“You’re military then?” you ask, utterly naïve in your progress toward the horrifying truth.

“Yes.”

If angels prayed, he’d pray - for your sake - you end your inquiry there. You were willing to risk hypothermia or worse to escape angels you only imagined were trailing you; there’s no guessing what you’ll do when you discover yourself occupying a room with one.

Short of hastily vacating the cabin without any clear rationalization of why he is running out into a squall, he’s at a total loss as to how to stop you; he ignores the gust of wind just then temptingly rattling the door.

Surrendering to the security represented in his confirmed status as a soldier – whereby, in so far as you understand, a soldier universally being a shield to defend against wrong, thus makes him worthy of your confidence – and suddenly aware of a recommenced shivering as the strength of the fire wanes, you stretch your fingers toward a blanket draped out of reach on a footstool.

Casually – fatally, to your carelessly formed faith in his goodness given the little you know - you prod further. “So … what army?”

He stoops to retrieve the blanket for you and encounters, in a separation of only inches, your unsuspecting and thankful look as you offer him a diminutive but delightful smile in exchange for the chivalrously proffered fringed edge of fabric.

You peer expectantly into his blues, ready to learn which leg of European power has crossed the sea to help stand humanity’s ground here in the states; peering back at you, veracity gleams brightly beneath a widened ledge of lashes begging pardon for what he is about to say.

Your rapt attention diverts to his lips moving in articulation of an answer that steals your breath and stops your heart.

“God’s army.”

Next Chapter: III

#castiel x you #au!castiel x reader #castiel x reader #spn x reader #reader x castiel #au!castiel #you x castiel #castielxreader #castielxyou #castiel fanfic #spn fanfic #castiel reader insert #castiel imagine #castiel fanfiction #castiel #cricket writes cas

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thebiasrekkers · 5 years ago

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Edge of Forever

BTS Space!AU [ ♧ ✪ ✿ ☆ ❂ ☾✘ ] “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” The stage is set and the stars are the guide for the lost souls that have congregated to one point. A fixed constant in the universe for others to discover and fulfill their wishes but will it come to ruin for others?

Pairings: Jin x OC | Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Space!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language

AO3

Chapter 2- Unrest in the House of Light

"The time is coming that I must warn you And though it's something that you may not understand they can't be saved by just one man"

Nyala stood nearly a foot taller than most people, her dark skin a stark contrast to the red tint in her eyes. It was a trait of her people, some called them demons but the Ifrit people didn’t care too much about what others called them. What did matter was their innate knowledge of different cultures, making them perfect negotiators. Between the unnerving stare of Ifrit and the smooth-talking of said creature--Nyala was able to acquire what she was after. The identity of several people that would be able to help her, for better or for worse.

She approached the bar of the third contact that she had, the sliver amount of hope was slowly dying as she met with each person. The first one was a drunkard and the second one only wanted about 100 thousand Credits. She was being hunted for the Pirates, not made of money or even interested in giving the hulking man a good time.

She surveyed the patrons in the bar while she waited for both her drink and the contact. Nyala meddled with the stick that was placed in the drink when it was placed in front of her, hoping that the dread feeling in her stomach would go away soon because that usually meant that trouble was just around the corner. The bar was pretty popular with the populous which made her a bit nervous being around so many eyes that could report back to her pursuers. Plus, doing businesses in a place like that? Seemed a bit strange for someone to do, even more so with the Federation Division lurking about to eagerly arrest someone. More so if they proved to be non-human but that was another debate for her people for another day.

She checked her holo-watch for what seemed like the 50th time. If he was going to be late, she should have received communications--unless it was a trap for her.

The man she was supposed to meet was called Jungkook, a decorated human with a soft side for weapons. That she could provide or even make if he so wished but the likelihood of that happening was becoming slim to none. Halfway through her drink, she noticed that the same familiar gut feeling that had been brewing that night as it had been since striking out with the Android and the ship. There was someone there that wished her ill and she couldn’t pinpoint it among all the patrons. Which meant that where she was; it was a trap that she had willingly walked into. And it all started when she noticed that the bartender suddenly stiffened with the appearance of a group of people.

That was when all Hell broke loose.

The moment that she saw the marking on their foreheads, the creatures snapped their heads in her direction and intoned in their mechanical voices that she surrender. The creatures were grown from a lab as foot soldiers and stamped with the Trigram symbol: Mountain. It was one of the Exalted that had sent their foot soldiers after her. And as far as Nyala’s knowledge went, each sect had their limbs grown with aspects of themselves. While she had her own secrets, she didn’t claim to know each and every one of theirs. She jumped out of her chair as the soldiers took aim, shooting holes in everything they could see. Nyala started to chant, the red in her eyes as the focus of her Chi energy instead of making flashy hand symbols or staying still.

No, she learned to move and channel her energies--which proved to save her very life that night. As Nyala moved, she found a space in the back that led up to the second floor of the bar. Using all of her body, she threw some of the items down the stairs to create a barrier or at least some type of obstruction for them to meddle over while she ran. The Chi energy was directed to her entire back, as a form of a shield so that way she wouldn’t get shot in the back as she escaped. Just like some of the ones that were chasing her, she also had the ability to utilize some of the same techniques as they did.

Taking a moment, she looked around to her surroundings to see if there was anything that she could use. There were a few patrons up there, looking at her with shocked faces as she ran through. There wasn’t any time to calm them down as she could hear the movements of the soldiers sifting through the debris she created. Climbing through a window, she saw that there was an adjacent building she could possibly jump to but it seemed a little out of reach. She didn’t get a chance to debate it when some of the soldiers broke through and fired at her. However, the rounds that they were then using weren’t of the bullet kind.

It was then that she knew which of the Exalted puppet’s that she was dealing with. These were the berserkers, the ones that would set the world on fire if they could: Ravi’s underlings. They could harness their own spark to create fire or explosions, a preference that would be acceptable to the pyromaniac himself. The explosion launched Nyala out of the window and broke her shield, leaving a sizable hole in the building as well as leaving several things on fire. She missed grabbing onto the other building and fell downwards, rolling when she made contact with the ground. Her shoulder was dislocated, she could tell and as she hobbled up; the others were already looking for her.

Spotting some of the back alleyways, she made her way through some of them as she clenched her jaw in pain. She had to focus or she was going to die!

Nyala hobbled through another way, going right in hopes of losing them but found her way blocked. She straightened herself up as much as possible and started to chant again, having to go on the offensive. She wouldn’t use her Ace just yet, preferring to delve into her stores of willpower and energy instead of those. Her chanting grew louder as they advanced on her, one in particular stepping forward to demand her surrender. Another piped up with his demand of Lirael and the Antares. She cursed at them in her native language as she let loose the ripple effect of her own Chi, her own brand of Tao Magic. The electric current that leaped from her fingertips danced and used the others’ bodies as a conduit to travel to the next, heat and energy sizzling their bodies as they screamed. She had called forth the Lightning Dragon from her arsenal to defend and decimate.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough when some of them leapt from the hightops and directly at her. A yell suddenly pierced through the commotion as a body jumped forward to knock itself into the ones that were coming down upon Nyala. A growl could be heard, making the hairs on her arms stand all the way up. The light from the Dragon only lit up so much of the space that was there but what she could see clearly was that it was a woman shorter than her, they all were to be honest but it was the ears that gave it away. Nyala directed the Dragon to some of the other soldiers there, creating more of the electric current and more light for them to see by. The other woman gave heavy blows to the creatures, snarling and throwing them away like they were rag dolls. Elbows, knees and heavy-handed claws tore through the masses with no signs of stopping or even slowing down.

Sirens could be heard and it made the minions stop for a moment, all looking in the direction of which they came from. They each made a strange, metallic noise as they communicated between themselves before jumping away from the both of them. Nyala sighed and dissipated the Dragon, sliding down against the nearest wall in relief. The woman came up to her and put a heavy hand on her shoulder, the crystal orbs almost shining like a diamond being held up to a light when she bent down to peer at her. Suddenly a grin could be seen, flashing some of her canines when she smiled. The Mao woman reached down and grabbed Nyala, pulling her up with barely a grunt. Before she could protest, she was helped away from the scene and almost thrown into a hovercar.

“Who are you?” Nyala called out as the Mao woman walked around the car to inspect it for any damages. All she got in return was another grin, which did nothing for her nerves. Still, there wasn’t anything that she could sense about the woman that could suggest that she was after her life. So, that aspect would have to do for her right then as the woman came back up to her once she had finished her rounds of the car.

“Hmmm. I guess you can call me a hater of pirates! Plus you smell interesting and like to get stuff blown up! My name is Vairuit and I’m going to fix your shoulder.”

Vairuit’s hands shot out and grabbed Nyala’s arm as well as the shoulder. She gave a sudden jerk which made her cry out in pain but the very audible crack could be heard when it was back in place. The throb of pain radiated through her chest, neck, and back but at least she could move it more. She nearly fell over from the relief but the Mao woman reached over again and buckled her in before sliding across the hood to her door. The car roared to life and peeled out of the area before any more intruders could come and talk to them.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

At the bar, there stood a tall but younger looking Human with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He frowned as he surveyed the damage done to the bar that he was supposed to meet his contact. However, that wasn’t what bothered him about the situation. Some of the bodies there were what did it for him, his sharp eyes catching the fact that there was a Pirate symbol on their foreheads. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and tried to see everything that he could before slipping away from the pedestrians that had crowded around the area.

The Federation’s pigs were crawling all over the area, looking and interrogating the patrons that were there but he knew that most of them either wouldn’t talk or were genuinely confused. It was a bar that he frequented along with his partner and they usually had jobs for them, like that night. On his way around, he gave a nod to the bartender and disappeared from everyone’s view in order to assess things for himself. There was a feeling, almost like a trail that he could follow to the back alleyways. The pigs hadn’t gotten back there yet so most of it was untainted, the still sizzling energy that was left in the air was what he was following. He found more of the soldiers dead there on the ground, his hand reaching out to touch the symbol but he could still feel the electricity on it.

The frown deepened as he looked around from his crouched position, noting what all happened. There was a Tao user that had gotten attacked there and the appearance of the Pirates there bothered him greatly. However, the user didn’t use any type of slashing techniques that he could tell. Standing up, he tapped his ear which produced a screen over his left eye where he could see his partner.

“Yah! You scared me! How dare you? I could have been cooking!”

“Jin, we have pirates here. I think the client got away but they carved up a good chunk of the bar.” He stopped the other from going on a full-blown rant, taking a breath before continuing. “I think they were from the Armada. I’m sending the information now but I think that we really need to find the client before a whole sect drops down on us.”

The man on the other side of the communications grew quiet, his normally jovial face becoming quite serious. The hardened look was one that he’d seen before but that was in the past. The younger man’s heart dropped at the sight of his face, the pale eyes that flashed as they worked. He would keep him safe if it meant his life.

“I’ll keep an eye out on things but come back for right now. I don’t want you arrested or anything for being out there and I’ll have the ship running hot--just in case.”

He gave a wry smile before disconnecting the device. The man once again disappeared into the shadows, something that he had grown accustomed to from back in the day.

#bts #Edge of Forever #space!au #BTS jungkook #BTS jin

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