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    1. Howler 9 yrs ago

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Recent Statuses

7 yrs ago
Dear People: Please stop 'hating' a day where people try love with each other, however corporate the reason. Remember instead that there are people out there trying to love you, too, and let them.
1 like
8 yrs ago
Gone from 6/19 to 6/27.
8 yrs ago
Ah, Buddhism. Dramatically worded for his and her pleasure.
8 yrs ago
Grave digger, grave digger, let me be the one that got away.
1 like
8 yrs ago
My children, raise your proud and terrible heads. I will find you a better world, where man is a cautionary tale and angels fear to tread.
3 likes

Bio

This is my bio. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Drop me a line if you're feeling brave.

Most Recent Posts

Hello all.

First and foremost, apologies for taking so long to get things up. Things have been busy of late. Yon Prince is now up in characters for those that want to peruse him--I'm sure I'll run through and fix whatever grammatical errors and such are doubtless on the sheet at some point.

@Fairess And Judah will favor his brother the First Born Prince then, thanks. I'm sure he and his new bird buddy will get along famously.

...though what do I name it!
In Memoriam


Hannya
Day 1, Morning



Umemoto Eiishii did not have ‘friends’.

Not in the way that most people would mean it, at least, and with good reason. He was not afraid of losing people or hurting them so much as people were understandably hesitant to put themselves in a position to be hurt or lost. Everything in Eiishii’s life was expendable in his pursuit of excellence and, almost by definition, that precluded most forms of significant social relationships. That Alexander Temple, who had long ago assumed a cheery ‘Fuck it!’ sentiment towards his own mortality, had managed something remarkably close with the master swordsman was both surprising and unexpectedly pleasant. It helped that the two worked in very different fields and had avoided any sense of competition, but more importantly the gunner was the social butterfly that Eiishii would never be. Having shared a local haunt and bonded over an appreciation for fine whiskey, their meetings were infrequent but pleasant occasions of compromise between their two very different temperaments.

It was fitting that their last would be far more to Alex’s preference than Eiishii’s. It was, after all, his funeral.

Revelry was not a natural expression for Eiishii, let alone one so fueled and inebriated as this. Brightlance, as he had been known professionally, had been well loved by many. Having started late last night and continued early into the morning, the funerary hall was filled with the lingering remnants of Alex Temple's wake. The ground was sticky with poured out liquor, the air thick with smoke that even the filters of the room couldn’t quite choke down, and someone was throwing up behind one of the exotic-but-tasteful Korvanian Mourning Lilies ( which only bloomed in the presence of a corpse) that had been placed there in the false expectation of a more subdued affair. The funerary hall of the Temple of Stars had seen wilder parties but not by much, its otherwise sterile expanse well and trashed, but this was the first rager that Eiishii had deigned to attend. He was largely ignored as could be expected of a wallflower in such company, taking residence in a corner with a folding chair and a bottle of whiskey late last night. He indulged in neither the weeping recollection of (exaggerated) daring deeds or in the forced exuberance (also exaggerated) that many of the man’s comrades seemed to insist was the proper affirmation of life in the face of death. Dressed in black without even his usual splash of red or white, the master had instead worked his way without haste through his aged liquor one cooled tumbler at a time until a bit more than half remained. Willing to call Alex well and mourned, by this point, he set the remains of the bottle neatly to the floor beside him and ground out what was left of his cigar into the moist earth around the mourning lily.

“Hey,” the woman with the half-shaved head who had just relieved the contents of her stomach behind said flower growled, wiping her chin with her non-prosthetic arm, “you better finish that, motherfucker! Alex never walked away from anything halfway through, he lived life—“

“To the fullest, yes.” Eiishii was already on his feet as he finished the platitude, synthetic fingers rubbing themselves free of any lingering particulates of tobacco. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Perhaps she really had known the man, cared about him intimately and deeply, but Eiishii doubted it. It wasn’t particularly important either way, and certainly not to her—he doubted she would remember their conversation, given the sounds of expulsion and dry heaving she had returned to making.

Alex and Eiishii had maintained their good standing with one another by compromise, a carefully struck balance. With every intention of honoring that agreement in their final interaction, Eiishii had mourned Alex as he would like to have been mourned. As he left the hall with a final tug of his cuffs into place, it was time to do things his way.

Revenge was a much better parting gift than vomit behind a lily.

DUSK & Stheno


They walk. Another mile. And another mile through the taiga forests.
''Do you hear that?'' Dusk speaks.
''The whispers in the wind... These are not delusions, nor are you going insane. You must've heard them before. They are the Perpetuals -- voices -- of people afflicted with the same thing we are. If you pay attention to it, you can hear them from every direction, and from all corners of the globe. Do not be alarmed by it.''
They walk further, the climate is getting colder and bleaker even in the heart of spring. Why so far north? Why in this no-man's-land of boreal Canada?

''In the meantime, do you perhaps have any questions? I believe now is a good opportunity to ask; I can tell how confused and startled you are by everything you've witnessed. I will tell you what I know, even when I don't know much.''

Did she have questions.

What do you even say to that? Where did you even start? Things like 'who the hell are you' and 'what the hell are we doing in the cold' and 'what the hell is happening to me' all jockeys in her mind, all reasonable thoughts, but with her hands shoved into her pockets and her shoulders hunched together against the cold under her coat Elizabeth could only really bring herself to ask one thing.

"Why Elvarren?" She managed, tugging her cozy knit beanie down over her ears self consciously. She hadn't ever really said it our loud before, she realized, and it sounded stupider than she thought.

Because she was really that self conscious in front of a bloody eskimo.

And the eskimo gives reply:
''Elvarren...''
That same one word, utterly meaningless from the surface, though making you unable to shake off that feeling there's something quite profound to it.
''Humans crave for explanations to their lot in life, do they not? Especially those like us, cast in an unexplainable maelstrom of bizarre fates and fables of mysticism.
Elvarren represents the answer. Or at least, the Perpetuals seem to believe so. Why do we have these powers? Why are the Greymen looking for us? Why us, and not someone else? Elvarren is all we have to go on. Our only clue. The single distant light tower shining from the murky bay.
In fact, by the way the Perpetual is making it out to be, our very lives -- and perhaps those of our species as a whole -- revolves around finding it, now.''


Was that answer in any way helpful or satisfying to Elizabeth? Probably not.
Dusk begins to pant, as in fatigue. There is a visible strain appearing on his face as he lowers his head.

''Sorry. It's not easy, you know... I'm not happy about it either, to be of so little help. And this strain... to find you all before they do. Sometimes I wonder if...''
Dusk shakes his head.
''No, no. I am in too deep now. I must see this through -- we must see this through...!''


He wasn't wrong. If Eliza had any sense that Dusk knew anything more about what the hell Elvarren was than he was saying she would have...well, she'd have done...something, at any rate. Her thoughts flicked back to men smashed into walls and left on airport floors, to the way Charlie's arm looked after--

She wrapped her arms around herself, and not because she was cold.

Meanwhile her little sherpa seemed to he having a little meltdown of his own, which actually somehow made it easier. It was easier to deal with someone else having a hard time than it was to figure out whatever this mess actually meant for her, and even if he was crazy at least they were both crazy. She almost reached out to reassure him, flexing her long fingers tentatively, but he snapped out of it before she could manage. Her hand tucked quickly into her pocket, embarassed.

''Anyway, if you'd have asked me: ''WHERE Elvarren... that's where things get interesting. The Perpetual that enlisted me to its cause seems to be wisest as to its whereabouts, from where i'm standing. He insists it's towards a pole of the planet. That is why I chose this place... that is why I am bringing you all to my dad's lodge deep into Canada.''

"Sounds..."

Right, sweetling. It sounds right.

Thanks, voice in my head. Very comforting, she thought, but then felt silly for thinking it. Eliza wasn't a shrink, but she was pretty sure you weren't supposed to chat with your delusions.

"Better than anything I've got." She finished and admitted at the same time, and felt better for it. It was somehow easier to go with someone's plan, any plan, having accepted that she didn't have one of her own. Then she blinked.

"So when you say 'lodge'..."

''T'is a small place. Not quite befitting of a lady... more of a shelter for dispossessed.... I should warn you, some of the people ther--''
Dusk would have continued, when suddenly an expression of sheer dread formed on his face, and his movement halted abruptly. He sensed something.

''What? What is it?'' With a look like that on his face it had to be something serious, Eliza assumed, and tried to hazard a guess. "Not more Greymen, right?"

''No, no, it's not... There is no way they'd be able to trace us so fast in their current state.''
Dusk mumbles inwardly, enough so for his words to be unintelligible to Eliza.
''How familiar... Is it still alive? It's been a long time; that damned beast. I had half a thought that the Greymen would have gotten it by now. Well. Perhaps it is for the better.''

Listening to him mutter away didn't exactly help her opinion of the guy's sanity, but she knew enough that if something was bothering him like that it wasn't for nothing. It passed as soon as it came, it would seem, but she eyed him up until he gathered himself back together.

''Come on. It's not far now. We'll be safe there, trust me on at least that much.''


And lo, in the clearance amidst the trees appears the ramshackle lodge of Dusk's father mentioned earlier. Almost entirely made of wood, save for some use of lead and metal for the roof. The area is eerily quiet from the surface and shrouded in morning mist still. However, both Dusk and Eliza can sense that there are many people inside at present. Even if some of them are still in a state of slumber, or deliberately try be as quiet as they can, there are the whispers of Perpetuals that will inevitably lead others to them -- others likewise stricken by this ill fate.

Dusk and his new compatriot move to the door, with the Dusk opening it, he and Eliza finally leave the cold behind and move inside.

''People! It's me -- Dusk! I'm back!
Where is Aries? Hello?
''


Entering the room, he can see four faces, three familiar and one completely alien to him.
Getting used to the very welcoming embrace of the lodge's warmer temperature, Dusk removes the winter hood that had hitherto covered his scalp, and for some this will be the first time getting a good look at him.
He appears like an ordinary young man, dark blond of hair, slender -- a bit gaunt even, though this is not quite visible under the thick winter's clothing which is indeed reminiscent to those worn by Inuit tribes. His complexion is pale, and his face handsome, even slightly feminine in a way that will make certain Balkan women swoon.
He turns to Fuchsia first. ''Hey. I knew you would make. I'm so sorry for having left you like that. But from now on, we'll stick together. For survival's sake, if nothing else.''

Then he looks over to the unfamiliar man with the beard. ''Where did you come from? ...You found us? On your own? Normally I am the one finding other people. How strange.. But a good pace of change, I suppose.
What is your name? No, not your real one -- your alias.''


For her part, Eliza met the rag-tag band of individuals with as much cheer as...well, no. She was awkward, her hands in the pockets of her black thigh-length coat, her head tucked under the stylishly-knit cream beanie tugged tight over hair that was very nearly platinum. Petite and slim, certainly compared to her parka-wearing guide, she managed a little wave of her fingers from the hip and a quiet "...'lo everbody..." before stepping to the side of the door and taking her place against a wall. What a motley little crew they'd found...


Collab with @Grijs.
Round two. Let's see if the Order needs an explosives/artillery expert; the character got stuck in my head.



A likely controversial draft. Let's see how it goes.

Eliza felt stupid.

Really stupid. Like, ‘just made the biggest mistake of your life’ stupid, because that’s what she’d done, wasn’t it? She’d told Kyle she was going on a business trip, she’d told work she had pneumonia, and where the hell was she? Canada! Alberta bloody Canada! Staring at herself in the mirror, she splashed a bit of water on her face to help cool her down. It was much more important than the integrity of what little make-up she wore, just then, or it would have been if a pair of shoes hadn’t clicked their way into the restroom.

Men’s shoes, dark and brightly shined, and followed by another pair of them. Two men stepped into the bathroom, one of them turning and gently sliding the floor and ceiling locks of the door into place. The other stepped forward and flicked the cuffs of his grey suit, his face smiling in a way that he wasn’t.

That he can’t, sweetling. Skin with holes for eyes and teeth does not a face make.

“Hello.” The man said, his voice dull against the tiled bathroom, almost lost in the flushing from a stall down the way. He stepped towards Eliza easily while the other man--also in grey, the exact same color, the exact same dark shoes--stepped past them to make his way towards the flushing from the stall.

“This is the ladies’ room, you can’t be in here.” She finally managed, her throat dry and her face hot as it had been before the water. Her heart was in her throat, so she swallowed it back down. The whispers of the little voice were more insistent, now, louder than they’d ever been.

Don’t let him touch you, sweetling, don’t let him take you. There is no Elvarren with the not-men, and they will take you where I cannot follow. Please, sweetling, don’t let them--

The voice was interrupted by the grasp of a hand on her wrist, strong but gentle, and the not-face alarmingly close to hers.

“Hello.” It said again, and it showed its teeth. Like a smile, but not quite.

“Get off me.” When she jerked her hand away it came easily and she backpedalled on the ground. She seemed as surprised as the man had been--he kept looking between her and his hand, flexing the fingers awkwardly as if they hadn’t done what they were supposed to. He looked more confused, and a little disappointed, than angry, which made one of them. Eliza was angry now, more than a little fed up with this rubbish, and she marched for the door outside past the man with an insistent step and a squaring of her slim shoulders. “I’m leaving now, and you’d better--”

“Hello.” The man said again, this time with a frown, but when he reached for her shoulder this time Eliza turned and pushed him in the chest. She was going to say something, tell him to back off, but she didn’t have time. As soon as her fingers hit his chest there was a sharp and distinct cracking sound, a bending of the meat in the shape of the body, and the man in grey flew back like he’d been shot with a cannon. He broke through the porcelain sink he’d been standing in front of, shattered the mirror on the wall and split the tile down the drywall and stayed there, hanging in the small crater of his impact. He wasn’t moving.

“Oh...my…” And neither was Eliza. The only thing that was happened to be the man’s partner, who was looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes from the stall he’d just gone to investigate. What happened to the person who’d been finishing up was anyone’s guess. He started towards her with the same frown as his partner, as if he’d flicked a light switch and the lights hadn’t come on.

“Hello.” He added, for good measure, and quickened his step as Eliza shrank back from him. There was water pooling across the floor, now--the fixture had broken, it seeped out from behind the first grey man like blood--and his partner’s shoes splashed in it as he cut through the distance between them. The grey man extended a hand for her, reaching this time for her bicep--

“Get away from me!”

She hadn’t meant to scream, but it came out as a shriek when she did the only thing she could think of. Balling her hand, she brought it down on the creature’s chest in the time-honored but useless defense of the meek against the mighty. Ordinarily, beating on someone’s chest once they’ve grabbed you is little more than a moral protest. It isn’t going to stop anyone from doing anything, or at least it wouldn’t if it hadn’t been Eliza doing it. Instead, the grey man crumpled to the floor with the kind of ‘crack’ that said unpleasant things about what had happened to the bones in his chest.

He might as well have been hit with a sledge hammer.

When she left, he was still wheezing from the floor, trying to understand what exactly had broken to puncture a lung. To her credit, Eliza St. John was not running. She was walking, very quickly and very forcefully, towards the rental lot. And, if you must know, she was crying.

Terror can do that to a woman.




By the time Eliza hit the gas station most of the panic had run out of her like blood from an emotional gunshot. There was only just so long the human body could withstand that kind of emotion, and in her regular life--she still thought of it as her ‘real’ life, like this was all some little dream--about the most alarming thing that happened to her on a regular basis was realizing that she’d double-booked dinner. This was…she’d just…

Well.

If she’d managed to calm down to something resembling a normal state of mind, it didn’t mean that her hand wasn’t shaking. She felt tired, the bags beneath her eyes hot and heavy. Her sweater had been warm enough in the shiny little rental car but it wasn’t quite enough for the stiff breeze outside of it, and with her slim fingers tucked under her arms she bristled and rolled her shoulders together for warmth. How much longer could filling up the tank take? It was only a 10 gallon, for Christ’s sake…

She was antsy. She could feel them getting closer, which was ridiculous because she didn’t ‘feel’ things. Still, they had to be coming for her, right? Whatever agency they were a part of, (No agency of men, sweetling... that little part of her whispered) they weren’t about to let something like that stand, right? And this time they wouldn’t be as stupid, get as close. Standing out by the car, she resisted the urge to light a cigarette and waited until the meter clicked to a stop before buttoning the car up and getting in. There were already too many people, too many cars, and she was certain that some of them would be driven by more of those...things. Her heart jumped at a flash of grey, at a long and thin tie, but they were just normal people after all. As she slid back behind the seat wheel of her car, she had the awful impulse to cry again.

‘’Hey. You there! Lady!’’

A young adult with a boyish face and a scar across his lip in a thick winter coat, but there’s something weird about him. She knew that he wasn’t like everyone else--in the same way that she wasn’t like anyone else--in the same way she was starting to know that he was on her side and not theirs. But what the hell did that mean, even?! What were the bloody sides?! Before she could talk, he was weaving between the cars and settling himself into her passenger’s seat. She stared at him, the steering wheel deforming beneath her fingertips with the anxious whine she would have liked to let out herself.

‘’Call me Dusk. I’ve come to help you find Elvarren.’’

‘Elvarren’. That’s the word he used. Already that soft voice in the back of her mind was whispering, trying to get her to move. Elvarren. It didn’t sound like it had when the Grey Men had said it out of his mouth, somehow. It made her want to go.

We need move, fast! We’ll use your car. But if the Greymen have seen it; I advise you ditch it somewhere in the forest and come with me on foot. We’ll use the train stop a few miles to the east to carry us further. I know you are well in the right not to trust me, but i’ve got experience with these people.’’

“Who the Hell are you people? Us people?” Eliza managed in a strangled whisper, blinking her eyes sharply before coughing past the lump in her throat and starting up. If her world was getting thrown out the window, she was going to have to start playing by new rules somewhere along the way. It would have been easier if he wasn’t quite so young.

Eliza pulled out of the gas station and headed North. She was...and she couldn’t believe she was even thinking this...going to ditch her rental in the woods.

At least she’d bought the extra insurance.




Collaboration with @Grijs.
@Howler I like how sassy your character is. Am only unsure about the ability. Perhaps there needs to be a weakness. However, the weakness might be something only to be discovered as we progress in IC, and may be unknown to Elizabeth as of yet.
Definitely approved, however!


Certainly something I'll think on. I doubt she would know the weakness I have in mind, but in general I don't find super-strength to be particularly difficult to manage in an RP. Her main weakness, I figure, is that she's an architect from Gloucester and not some rough-and-tumble warrior. Yes, she's super strong, but it isn't as though she knows how to throw a punch or conduct herself in a fight.

Also she can't turn it off, which can make things awkward on occasion.
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