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7 days ago
Current i forgot like half of you until you existed on my profile again lmao. you know what we have dms for this sorry mods
7 days ago
who tf are all these mfs on my profile suddenly? imma keep it a stack of dennys i aint trying to summon the horde and shit
1 like
7 days ago
what the fuck is all this
9 days ago
Dudes be like "the vibe is weird in here" my brother in christ you're in here
18 days ago
I've been on this website for almost a decade and I don't know who the fuck most of you are


I’ve been on this site since 2015, not quite Guildfall age but I’ve been around the block a few times. I like just about any kind of setting that I can get interested in as long as it’s fun, over the years, I’ve written a lot of them too, fantasy, modern, sci-fi, whatever sounds fun at a time. You might remember me from the time the guild had a chat room, that was fun.

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Genosha seemed like a different place than anything Ryder was familiar with, as much as she was personally familiar with anything in the world. She walked down a street where mutants, and not a single human, were going about their days. It was a busy morning, with flying mutants setting up the outside of what looked like a stage where a few others were making shapes with illusions. Chairs were being arranged for a currently absent audience by a psychic, while a glowing green portal allowed others to slowly trickle in.

Someone on the stage waved at Ryder. She started walking faster.

Ryder didn't want to be here. She didn't know who these people were, and that alone made the X-men a preferable option. She didn't want these people getting the idea that she was one of them, mutant or not. She kept walking down the busy downtown area, where others were out and about. Genosha had the appearance of a city where actual people ran things, not a desert of concrete and rebar like most places. There was nothing sterile about the city, buildings were colorful, made by people who wanted warmth in the landscape. It was obvious based on Ryder's surroundings. There weren't parking lots outnumbering buildings, but sprawling sidewalks that let people roam free.

Ryder always wondered how humans could tolerate metal coffins on wheels as the main way to get around their own homes. But then again, she wasn't human. Maybe that was why she didn't care very much for this, either. It was a human problem, and this was a solution of Genosha, which wasn't her world.

She passed a large, circular building made from red-orange stone. Cube-shaped protrusions jutted out in what Ryder assumed were places for people to sit inside. The words "Genosha City Library" were played out in silvery letters above a pair of double doors, atop a flight of stairs marked with what looked like street art. Ryder could see people moving around inside, and wondered what they had tucked away. She stared the building down, feeling around inside with her power, and didn't find much on computers. They had a digital backlog of every book, but not much about mutants.

What kind of mutant utopia didn't have an extensive library of mutant books? That was just a disappointment more than anything. If they were this special, they could just write their own.

She turned and kept walking. It was warm today, warmer than the old man's mansion or the lab. Warm in a comforting way.

Ryder passed a park, where kids half her age were throwing a soccer ball around with their powers. The ball shot at her like a bullet, and was promptly stopped midair with her powers, still spinning at an absurd speed where it floated, and Ryder hadn't even flinched. A kid with four arms and skin like craggy stone ran over to her, barely three feet tall.

"Sorry!" They croaked, their voice was grating to Ryder. "Nice catch, you wanna play with us? We really need a goalk-"

"Leave. Me. Alone."

Ryder turned and glared daggers at the kid. Her eyes might've set them on fire if she wanted, and that alone was enough for them to shut up. Ryder flicked her wrist, and the soccer ball was sent flying back over his head with a loud crack of the wind. The four-armed mutant flinched, and Ryder walked away.

People were staring. She didn't care.

She felt out with her powers for Cyclops, he was significantly closer, if her psychic abilities were correct.

This place is getting on my nerves. The jet can fly, it's not busted that badly. We don't need to stay here any longer than it takes for you to stand up.

She was exercising extreme levels of patience by not leaving without him.

I already ripped one of those machines apart. I'll do it again.

Interactions: The Sycamore Tree Coven
The All-Verse

The illusions faded, and they left Jack in the real world again. Watching all of their faces twist away into thin trails of smoke scraped at something inside Jack, a recess in his heart that had gone untouched for so long. He watched things blur and wash away, and not once did he question the miasma of what might have been, until there was less of it than cold, unforgiving, unavoidable rainfall. Jack had seen many people draw their last breaths in his life, and he had always found the strength to carry on. After all, what more could one do? But that paradise, that promise of halcyon days beyond this strife had given Jack security. He believed it to be real, and it hurt all the more for it when that illusion fell to pieces. Something sharp burned behind Jack’s ribs, they were together again. Everything was good again, they had won against Father Wolf, and all that was wrong had been made right.

That pain in his chest rose up into his throat, hot and threatening to split him open. People often said that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. But for a fleeting moment, Jack had just that and more. Wealth of a rare kind in the All-Verse, and all of it no less. His head tilted back, as he gazed absently into the pitch black clouds above. Jack had a feeling that he’d rather never find that love at all, then to have it and lose it so easily. The rain fell down and soaked him. His boots sank an inch into the mud, the wind laid itself into stillness. No mistake could be made, this was real.

And he could hear others shouting.

Jack was many things, none of them anything particularly virtuous; Vindictive, wise, possessed by great wanderlust, wistful beyond reason… But he often dwelled on the feeling that he could not count loyalty and trustworthy among those things. What good were the things he discovered and accomplished if there were none to share them with?

All the universe slowed to stasis, just long enough for Jack to come to terms with the fact that he was so very tired. Not in a way that sleep could remedy, but in a way that only others could. Auri was counting everyone. Making sure they were all still alive. Jack could’ve slipped into the Void, and let these awful emotions out in a place where no one would see. He would’ve screamed, raged until every last denizen of the empty realm feared him. He could have composed himself, and maintained the appearance of that untethered, whimsical scholar he styled himself as. Jack wanted to. It was so tempting, but he didn’t.

He simply appeared among the group around Sloane, in a puff of dark smoke. Jack made no attempt to conceal the wounded, forlorn expression on his face. He didn’t care enough to, anymore.

”My friends,” he began. ”Let us leave this place. I will send everyone where they wish to go. We are alive, and today, that is enough.”

Today, and only today, he told himself.

”We drove them to retreat, and they did not win. One day, the 8th Street Coven will make their last mistake.” Long, wet hair cling to his face as he managed a smile that came with the catharsis of a parent discovering their child survived a plane crash, of someone seeing their friend escape from a burning building.

”I am glad you are all still here.”
In SPIRITUM 13 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

The cannon fire from the sky did not deter Morden, nor did the shrapnel of stone, dirt and metal that flew up into his face while he blasted away into the night. He merely blinked the detritus away while keeping robots on the backpedal. Valerie’s use of magic in this case was keeping them just ahead of everything that “third party” could throw at them. And Morden wasn’t surprised. For one thing, Barghest was not to be fucked with. They had Valerie, they had Silje. The robots were good high speed target practice, but Morden only had so many shells. He stopped his assault on the machines after firing no less than 20 sabots at incoming robots.

As they rode off, he allowed his mist-derived strength to wane.

Valerie stopped the truck, and stopped using her magic on it. Morden watched her lurch out of the truck and hurl up blood from mistburned blood. Morden, having a higher tolerance for mist than most Wardens of his level, knew all too well how rough the overwhelming pain could be. So he slung his shotgun over his shoulders by a sling, and climbed out of the truck. He let a plastic case and a flask full of water fall into his hands from his mist pocket, and walked up to Val’s door.

Valerie. Morden opted to use the telepathic spell connecting them all through Gerard, so she didn’t have to speak, and so they could do so without the princess of Vangar eavesdropping. He calmly sat the case down on the hood of the truck, and withdrew a dose of mist-burn medicine.

You are suffering mist burn. Be still. Breathe, compose yourself. Stepping around the pool of blood, he opened the door with uncanny gentleness for a brick shithouse of a man like himself. This will only take a moment.
In X-Men: GenetiX 14 days ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Ryder, being the feral little shit that she was, mostly stood down when the old man in the helmet referred to this place as Genosha. She viewed the entire world through monitors and screens. She could be within hundreds of feet of any device with a connection to the internet, and find her way to any place that existed through that. Ryder was smarter than she looked, she knew the name of almost every country out there by heart.

“Genosha” didn’t ring a bell.

The sheer curiosity of that was water to the flames. A “sanctuary” for mutants sounded utterly fucking worthless to her, having grown up in a “sanctuary” for mutants her whole life.

But more importantly, she needed to find Cyclops. So she played along, and let Magneto walk away. Without saying a word, she walked off of the landing pad, and into the so-called paradise itself.

I know you can hear me. You’re somewhere in this city. I don’t know where. Figure something out before the fuckwit in the helmet makes a move.

Location: Who the Fuck is Baldur

Walking into the room, Leah didn’t immediately see anything dangerous. She never liked labs. Hell, she grew up in one. And to that end, she more or less had an understanding of the flow that all this shit in here had. The fleshy wires, the console, the people strapped to tables. It told her there was some sort of experiment going on. ”Nobody move,” she said, being the tank. Leah hefted her new axe over one shoulder and walked towards the people. She made sure not to trip or step on the “cables” as she did so. Looking them over, Leah snapped her fingers in their faces, and noted they didn’t react much.

The voices pounding on those pods confirmed something for her. ”…Madalyne. You said there were supposed to be monsters in here called “Intellect Devourers?” I’m taking a guess they don’t exactly plant flowers and dance in circles given their names. So is there any reason at all we should open those pods and free what I’m assuming is something pretending to be a person?”

Interactions: Everyone
Kari's house

It seemed to work out pretty okay. Up until the moment the thing’s leg went boom. Stormy didn’t get roasted by the fire, but he did notice that the fucking monster was tipping over… So that was the point. Stormy had better ideas than getting flattened, so he threw out the Iron Fortress, and heard the monster bang against the surface. He could’ve leapt out of the way, but it was so huge and unruly that it might’ve crushed him anyway. Stormy couldn’t see out of the dome, so he could only use the sound of banging against the Iron Fortress to know whether or not it was still leaning over the side. Of course, he had very little to worry about here, but there was always the risk that if he dropped the spell, it would just fall down on him.

Looking at the wet ground, Stormy noticed something got in the dome with him. A strange pink smoke that was rising upwards. He didn’t have a chance to react before it was in the air. As little as it was, he still inhaled it and felt… Fine.


Stormy spun around, instinctually focusing more on the dome than the people in it. There were six of them. His friends who he kept alive all those years ago. It was all so difficult when they were kids, but Stormy always came through. He recognized the people taking shelter in the Iron Fortress. They all found their way in life, thanks to Stormy, who always came through. And now they were in the dome because… He came through.

He always came through. What kind of protector didn’t?

A smile crept over his face. ”Not a problem. Just sit tight, we’ll be out of here soon. And then the drinks are on me, alright?”

The myriad faces- not six but ten- smiled at him. They were weary from battle, but they were alive. Stormy was to thank for that. All seventeen of them were safe in his watch.

”8th Street are just bullies. Once they cool off, they won’t hurt anyone.”

All thirty of them nodded.

”I’ll never let any of you get hurt.”

The entire coven smiled on him. His Iron Fortress sheltered them all.

Every last one.

Interactions: The Sycamore Tree Coven
The All-Verse

Jack strode across the cosmos as one did the hallways of their childhood home. All around him, the stars, nebulas and galaxies of distant realms bled together as a watercolor canvas. Every step he took landed on the foundation of the ever-shifting heavens, and rang out to echo in tune with the song of stellar motion. Mundane minds watched birds flutter through an atmosphere of oxygen, and Jack watched young planets drift through the breadth and bow of firmament. Along his path, unknowable to all but himself, the All-Verse was well and truly alive.

It is difficult to know the All-Verse if one only studied Shimmer, difficult to understand the galaxy when one only studied Earth’s solar system. Further was it difficult to understand the human race if one only studied one continent. To know the grand design of existence came with the territory of experiencing it all. Every star in every night sky, every grain of sand on shores where there was wonder everlasting to be witnessed. He wore time and the entropy of creation as a cloak, distillations of space washed away and were brought to bear as stepping stones along his journey.

The All-Verse lay before Jack, infinite as tangled yarn and yet ordered as a staircase. And utop the stairs was his destination.


He was like a god, and the All-Verse parted as such. He waved a shaded hand out before him, and the malleable clay that humans called existence became water; A cascade outwards, molding the abstract into order. Jack walked through the order, and felt the familiar caress of gravity. The swell of molecules in his throat. The friction of sunlight.

Down from infinity, and into the finite, where home lies: St. Portwell. The cosmos melted away, and he stood within a well-lit room. Walls of dark oak, rising outwards into familiar architecture. He walked through a door, and into a hallway, down a flight of stairs lit by purple candlelight, to the meeting hall. A rectangular room, with a long table, where the his guests sat.

Drake Blackmore. Anya Baksh. Kari Wilson. Sloane Faris. Kenshiro Murakin. Luca Olivera. Reza Cabrera, and so many others.

”Thank you all for coming,” Jack announced, walking one step forward, and appearing at the head of the table. Behind him, a wall illuminated itself with the symbolism of a sycamore tree.

”As you all know, today marks one year after we defeated the apparition known as Father Wolf. And so, today, we remember those who did not come as far as us. We remember the struggles and the triumphs that are unequivocally our own.”

”Today, we rejoice in honor of all we have become. Make yourselves at home.”

Location: Who the Fuck is Baldur

With the Bastard Babies gone, all they needed to do now was advance further into this “Nautiloid.” Madalyne had the right idea- Well. Leah was pretty sure the hot, horned chick was Madalyne- by saying Leah should be the tank. She had an axe, she had terrain-altering capabilities (probably) and enough strength to punch through walls. She could probably take a few more hits than the others.

Though it didn’t sound like toughness was going to help much against brains that ate brains. ”Okay. Everyone stay behind me. If there are traps, someone make damn sure we don’t fall into them,” Leah said, walking over the corpses of the Fallen Fetuses, and poking her head through the doors to the lab. She looked around carefully, for the sight of the Intellect Devourers that Mads seemed to expect.

I’m gonna keep it a stack of Denny’s with you I thought you were an Admin for like

In SPIRITUM 21 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

"Yes, we are Wardens. And if you cooperate with us, you will not be harmed." Morden spoke in a tone that implied he wouldn't harm the princess. After all, he could not speak for Kali, and certainly not Silje. He was entirely unmoved in his seat next to the comparatively diminutive Vangar royal, as if he were affixed to the truck they were all thrashed about in. The resident tank of Barghest had a face etched in thunderous serenity, the eye of a raging storm that thought of the next move. Like a storm cloud blacker than obsidian, the flash of lightning could come at any moment. And yet, it did not.

One could easily come to the conclusion that there was only muscle in the thick skull of his, that he was just a bruiser. A junkyard dog that did little more than what its master told it to do. It was not a difficult assumption to make, he was a Vanguard. There was war in his blood, and he was a wall in human shape. What more did he need than to be a meat shield? But that assumption was dead wrong. Morden was a warrior, but any society that separated warrior from thinker produced soldiers without the ability to think. And thus, Morden elected to use a different strength. He held out both hands in front of himself, and let his mist pocket open wide. In one hand, he produced a small black container. In the other, he produced a semi-automatic shotgun. A firearm as old as modern combat itself.

From the container, Morden withdrew a handful of shells, loaded with hardened sabots; razor sharp, metal darts launched by propellants to sink deep into armor that blunt force couldn't handle. They were often ineffective against power armor unless aimed in ways a sniper rifle was often used for, but these machines had something to protect in their heads. Something that left only so much room for protective plating. He loaded the shells with ritualistic composure. Red lightning flickered between his fingers, caressing the galvanized steel of his weapon like an ominous christening of a vessel.








And eight.

His last shell was dropped directly into the chamber. Safety off.

"Continue straight ahead, ignore the ones we cross. I have them" With that, Morden opened the nearest window and hauled himself out until the upper half of his body was fully hanging out the side. He aimed for robots crawling out of debris, and aimed for their "Weakpoints" as best he could, going off of his understanding of human anatomy; Their equivalents to throats, eyes, and anything else that would, at the very least, slow them down if they tried to take a swing at the truck while they fled.

Barghest's retreat was punctuated by the occasional BANG of Morden's shotgun discharging its ammunition.

Interactions:Anya, Lila, Vashti
Kari's House

The Phantom assigned to Sloane merely nodded as its responsibility was taken by another construct. Silently, it turned and ran off into the dismal battlefield. Through its course, Amara, and the Army by extension, gained an understanding of the overall situation. One voice in an endless chorus, amplified into infinity and relayed unto itself. The movements of the fleshy abomination and the jacket with which it played, the zombies falling from the sky, the light in the dark that was Linqian’s burning body. This phantom saw it all as it searched for the one called Anya Baksh.

And it found her in due time.

It appeared through the rain like a guardian angel, and approached Anya calmly.

”Your companion has gone ahead, into the fray,” the phantom stated, plainly without a hint of emotion. ”I come to escort you away.”

Meanwhile, another phantom ran like the Hound was chasing it, through the soaked trees and dimly lit woods. Using the blaze of red as a lighthouse, the Legion squad knew where every piece was on its chessboard. And they were convening on one location, the place where their VIP was. Four phantoms came forth, one carrying a Beretta 1201, a semi-automatic shotgun. Across its chest was a belt loaded with extra shells. Amara caught the sight of Vashti on Lila’s back, and almost got distracted by the feathers.

Avert your eyes, it corrupts.

We want Lila alive and intact. Act accordingly.

Amara aimed her pistol at Vashti’s back, and fired two .45 hollow points into her midsection. The sound was completely unheard thanks to the rain, but she refused to be ignored.


The three unarmed phantoms squared up, inching closer to her and Lila while keeping their eyes low to the ground.

Meanwhile, the shotgunner kept the barrel aimed right at Vashti’s face. It knew not to fire, but who could say whether Vashti knew that?


Interactions: The Flesh Monster
Kari's house

Sully Ran.

Luca ran.

Someone had Linqian covered. He didn’t need to stop and wait to see if Drake was going to act. He quickly swiped his hand across Drake’s shoulder, resetting the 15 minute timer for his Phantombane and then, without any shields weighing him down, bolted.

Stormy ran faster than he had ran in a while, charging through the downpour and the mud like an unstoppable force. It was almost difficult to really see the target he had in mind in all the wet gloom, but the smell of death and ammoniating flesh was unmistakable. His hands radiated a green glow, unmistakable in the heat of battle. As a kid, Stormy was one of the go-to Adepts for combatting inhuman creatures. Apparitions that the Stygian Snake spawned simply through the act of existing were never short in numbers. They always took many forms, and some of them just happened to be a bit more on the Abberant side. Creatures made by creatures were a whole other class of entity of their own.

It made things complicated when working with the coven’s human Aberrants. He could recall a few times when members that uses artifacts of were Adjoined couldn’t tag along with him or they’d risk getting caught in the crossfire. But those skirmishes of pest control taught Stormy a valuable lesson: Intelligence was often a prerequisite to Emotional Fields.

Human beings that were paranormal usually had Emotional Fields evade they were, in fact, emotional. Apparitions that were powerful enough to have a sense of self took on personalities, and therefore became resistant to magic. But that monster moved and behaved stupidly. It just battered and played with Sloane’s hexed jacket like a toddler. So Stormy got close, took in a deep breath, slammed his hands into it. His assumption was confirmed when he felt the influence on his being. Like a rope was lashed end-to-end between himself and the creature, and it was pulled quite strongly in the direction of the monster.

Stormy leaned into the fleshy mass, uncaring of the putrid gunk he’d likely get on his clothes and hands. If he got infected by something, he could just find Sully. 8th Street’s alleged heavy hitter lit up like a green bonfire, as the Consecration spell took hold. Every square inch of its festering body rejected it. And with nowhere for it to go that could get it away from that magic, the only thing it could do was suffer. And 8th Street’s time traveler couldn’t get within 20 feet without feeling the same way.

Stormy grit his teeth, and hauled himself backward to put a few feet of distance between himself and the monster. Deep breath… This could work.
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