Bugman

Firefly - Second 'Verse

It was day two on Pelorum, and already Elias was feeling that he wanted to get the hell off of here. The moisture and salinity alike had gone through the wrappings on his face, and the cloth clung to it uncomfortable without in any meaningful way preventing the itch that got exponentially worse near the mangling upon his mug. At the same time the sun got into his eyes and blinded him, and turned his skin to a crisp. It wasn't exactly as if he was going to cover himself in sunscreen, what with its oiliness likely ruining any material it touched, Elias much disliking any synthetic materials for clothes. Perhaps though, in such a world he should have reconsidered. Out of spite for the world, and out of concern for a good business he still had to do, he refused to do this. Perhaps one of the chipper bastards on the crew always acting helpful could get something synthetic for him.

He cursed under his breath. He knew he shouldn't ever think of him like that, it was just anger with his predicament spilling over to any topic his mind touched. They had taken him in and showed kindness, whatever they were, bastards they were not. Well, at least in the metaphoric sense; with outer worlds they had come from, it was certainly possible they were such in a literal sense. But that didn't matter to him.

Going towards the town hall in between the swanky and run-down parts of the island they had landed on, he knew things were not going to be easy here either, it was an intuition of sorts. It was never easy. He thought back to the bank incident, the one that didn't leave him in debt for the keyboard turned to powder from his skull's impact on it solely because he had no money to his name. For a very, very brief moment he thought he might go to prison for the fact, a return to slavery once more. But the uptown bank was seemingly too high class for that and simply kicked him out with a sneer.

Well, at least there was one place he now knew for a fact that couldn't help him. One to mark off.

Going through the sliding doors, he had already written a great big "I AM MUTE, UNARMED, PLEASE HELP ME" on his little piece of blackboard. He stood for a while in the quiet of the building, until an elderly security guard approached him. The man stooped a little to read the blackboard, and then back up at Elias, before again reading the words. "Well, I'll see what I can do for you." the man said, shuffling off to the relief of the giant that he wasn't going to get tasered today.

Eventually he returned with a similarly elderly woman, he motioned for him to follow. "We are happy to welcome and assist anyone with disabilities in work with Pelorum governance. Thank you for coming to this town hall, how may I assist you?" she said, lazily and without inflection that suggested she was reading back a line from training.

He wrote "I NEED TO RECOVER MY IDENTITY." on his blackboard, to a gasp from the women. "Someone stole your identity?" she exclaimed. "You know I knew about scammers but to see it in person, why I never-" as gently as he could, Elias put a hand on her shoulder while shaking his head. Then he wrote anew on the blackboard. "I LOST ALL MY DOCUMENTS. NEED NEW ONES."

"Oh." the woman muttered, suddenly much less interested now that the matter wasn't part of some deep crime she heard about on television. "This way." she said, shuffling off to a small office. It was hot, and the lady quite unfortunately didn't seem to mind this with the fan in the room likely as old as its occupant. Stewing in his own sweat, Elias took a seat opposite of her. "So, what's your name?" she asked, and then entered it seeing as Elias already wrote it down anticipating the question.

"Date of birth? Thank you... Well, I'm sorry to say you don't look anything like your picture." she said, giggling.

"I AM HORRIBLY DEFORMED BECAUSE OF AN ACCIDENT. BUT IT IS ME I ASSURE YOU."

"Well, do you have anything else to verify your identity? Documents, specifically."

"NO."

Quite impressively, despite being two feet shorter than Elias even when discounting her elderly hunch, she managed to look down at him from over her glasses. "Well, I can't help you then. You're going to need somebody with a connected account to help you. Maybe go to the labs at the local hospital to get biometric verification.

A piece of chalk once more turned to powder between his fingers, the man then gently poured it like sand onto the table. Without a word, he left the building. Well, at least it was one more trial in the rings of hell completed.

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Mormon Tech Guy

Name: Raymond Young

Age/DOB: 04/12/98 | 21

Gender: Male

Appearance: 5'10/179cm, 70kg/155lbs dark brown eyes, red hair (typically, grown out long but styled for compactness and neatness in a ponytail). He is quite pale, his face covered in quite the scattering of freckles that neatly cease their incidence about where glasses could appear. Often, he will be of a pink tint as even the mightiest of sunscreen struggles to protect him (not to speak to careless time spent in the Texan sun). His body is clear of any tattoos, scars, or other such distinguishing features. His nose is somewhat flat relative to an otherwise angular face, having failed to heal completely following being broken in a fight in childhood.

Profession: ICE Homeland Security Investigations, Domestic Operations, Laredo Office.

Education: Double degree in Computer Science, Physics, with Honours from the University of Texas at Austin. Completed cybersecurity internship and apprenticeship program of the DHS.

Psych Eval/Personal Info:

Raymond Abraham Young was born in the late 90s in Laredo to a family of Texan Mormons. Claiming distant descent from Brigham Young and with pa owning oil-bearing property, Raymond was born into very considerable wealth and privilege. However, outside of private schooling, Ray had very little in the way of fruits to enjoy from this. With his parents oft missing on business he was effectively raising himself for much of his childhood, a fact that gave him a strong value in independence, particularly when in elementary schooling his life was a matter that lead to him being the victim of bullying. It was in the sixth grade that he made his first true friend, and it was that same year that he lost him. It was quick and brief, little Ron being just an unintended casualty of a driveby shooting from a turf of drug runners across the border. From that day on, solitude was something that Ray quite found he preferred and retroactively appreciated. Nonetheless, a desire to somehow prevent such loss made him say at dinner: "Mom, I want to be a police man." Though he'd never admit or display this to prevent employment, the incident gave him a dislike for Mexicans; this has been difficult for him to rationalize to this day as many of his trusted coworkers are such, as are some members of his Temple.

High school was far better, a time for networking and the start of sliding into the professional future that Raymond dreamed of at the behest of family without having to form particularly personal connections. Still reeling from the incident in elementary school, Raymond remained a youth quite wary of being integrated into society in a meaningful way.

Mother and father wanted him to work in the oil field like them, or in security with crime becoming ever more common on their property ever so close to the border. Yet, his one little act of rebellion was looking to the future. To familial disdain, Raymond wanted to go into the world of computers, one of the solaces he had as a child. This was a time that he grew much closer to his faith, for where his immediate family disparaged all the studies in computers he took, the Clergy of the LDS encouraged him and indeed provided him the connections to cruise through internship with the DHS that at last placated his parents to some degree. While as a mere child he struggled to take his clan's religion seriously as he lacked the higher thought and introspection to truly fathom it, from his teenage years onwards Mormonism was critical to him in both providing spiritual solace he found secular sources couldn't provide while also giving community that he wasn't nearly as afraid of losing.

University was an even better time for him, where at last the world began to make some sense as studying far from home he had the world unto himself. His relative lack of friends from the past was if anything seen as a blessing by him, as there were far less distractions to studying eleven hours most days. At the same time, it was a period in which he began to grow weary of the world around him. The veneer of much of what he believed about the government began to fray. As he learned more of American intelligence and security apparatus, and of history he began to have doubts about his future working for the government. How could he fight for those that so gladly tried to exterminate his people several times through history? Learning of Waco and other incidents with the government and finally of American adventures abroad he became doubtful of much of the public mission statements of government branches. This has been a source of internal conflict for him as he always has the thought at the back of his mind that his work for the government could and likely is supporting something he would personally consider evil.

It was during his apprenticeship with the DHS that Raymond had his experience with the paranormal.

Therein reviewing simple photographs of smuggled goods, he happened upon a parcel from Mexico. A dagger it was, but though in a pre-European style the engravings seemed oddly legible Latin alphabet writing even if the words spelled nonsense. Reading out the syllables of the photograph on his screen, a thing began to crawl out of the screen. He and his supervisor alike were struck with horror, and it was only as something resembling a human torso had managed to manifest itself did the youth find the sudden courage and strength to smash it over the head with a stapler. Long after it had slunk back into the monitor he kept smashing. The two viewers never spoke of it again, but the supervisor retired less than a month later. Ever since then Raymond has not skipped Church, struggling to rationalize what he saw that one day.

Ultimately this made him quite glad he chose fairly cushy work in cybersecurity rather than something hands-on as family would have wanted him. Easily passing an interview to get into the ICE's office in Laredo. Since then, he has tried to largely keep a low profile and calmly climb the career ladder. He is glad to assist his family in matters of the cyber world on the weekends, but in the evenings he can't help but study what might have been the cause of what had occurred to him and the rabbithole that expands from there. For one, he has spent much time in the nights long after work hours looking into the Mexican gang that brought that dagger over. While each evening horrifies him more than the last, it has once more lead him to double down rather than question any of his convictions.

Bonds:
-Church of LDS
-Immediate Family

Motivations:
-A very intense desire to leave an important legacy behind.
-As any good members of the LDS, he wants to have a family and children.
-Finding approval from family.

Fears: One thing that Raymond is particularly afraid is death. Not in the direct sense that he is afraid of catching a bullet or going outside for fear of stabbed. He is afraid of what comes after. He is a faithful Mormon, but he remembers every sin he does and is afeared of eternal damnation. Every evening he scans his memory for something he might have done that was wrong and he has failed to repent before God. In a similar vein, he is afraid that the many people he has come to value will fail to repent their many sins and hence will be damned. That is not all however. While quite devout, there is the slightest bit of doubt in him, that perhaps there is no God, or a God that isn't the one he worshipped. The thought of eternal nothingness gives him a hollow feeling in his heart, almost as horrid as the feeling of some alternate deity eternally tormenting him for failure to show fealty in the correct way. A fear stemming from this is that he will have little legacy or memory left behind, a fact that has always given him a fear of death through his head being destroyed leaving no face behind a fact he learned with the growing appearance of such violence in media.

Treachery literal and more spiritual is also a deep fear for Raymond. While there is a small, general paranoia within him there is also a fear that he is the traitor, namely in that all of his life's efforts would have in one way or another hindered the good rather than served it.

A somewhat abstract fear he has is amnesia, largely for reasons outlined above. His whole life he has spent great effort to be where he is and to maintain virtue, yet if reborn without any of his memories he has a deep fear he could easily regress into something he would detest.

HIT POINTS: 39
STRENGTH: 13
DEXTERITY: 13
STAMINA: 13
BUREAUCRACY: 5
INTELLIGENCE: 16
WILLPOWER: 13
SAN/BREAKING POINT: 65/52
POWER: 65

Skills:
Gifted (70-80): Computer Science, Electronics, Criminology
Adept(50-69): 4 skills | Science (Physics) (66), Accounting (54), SIGINT (62), HUMINT (53)
Average(30-49): 4 skills | First Aid (32), Hand to Hand (57), Marskmanship (57), Law (33)
Novice(10-29): 5 skills | Medicine (16), Armorer (19), Demolitions/EOD (14), Craft (Microelectronics) (20), History (21)

Special Training:
Ordinances (INT): Raymond Young is very well versed in Ordinances, the general term used to apply to Mormon ritualism. While he would have never imagined he would use it in his work, Raymond is more than ready to apply Christian mysticism if needed.

Weaknesses:
Raymond is fairly insecure. Ever since dad gave little more than a smile and a thumbs up when Raymond returned from graduation, he just can't ever feel like he is doing enough.

Agent Young is a Mormon. This means that some social situations are quite difficult on the grounds he won't partake in coffee, alcohol, or tobacco as others will. This hinders any amount of theoretical practical applications of him in the field. As well, the habit forming substances that his Temple insists on restricting include most painkillers, a fact he quite fervently adheres to citing the addiction epidemic in some Mormon communities particularly in their Utahn homeland. This makes a persistent concern in treating him of shock, even if he insists he is quite capable of gritting his teeth through any pain. It also means he will typically refuse to administer painkillers and other addictive substances when himself performing first aid (and further he shan't carry such).

ADAPTATIONS: (These are adaptations to trauma. For any SAN roll that succeeds against these two types of trauma results in you adding an X in either Violence or Helplessness. 4 Xs result in gaining an Adaptation, and a mental disorder, like PTSD for instance.)
Violence:
Helplessness:

Off-Duty Clothing/Equipment: Because you're not going to be walking around in door-kicking gear all day, every day on a clandestine op.
Clothing: He will naturally adapt to where he is going, wearing flannels if expecting rugged terrain or an orderly suit and tie if in the urban world. Always he will be as well dressed as he can without falling into ostentation or impracticality. He'll usually have a hat and/or sunglasses for his pale skin to not burn.
Weapons: He is a fan of John Browning's works, honouring his confessional culture. While typically he will carry just a compact M45 pistol, he has any amount of Mr. Browning's inventions and their derivatives at home.
Tools/Equipment: Usually little more than a laptop and some spare water.

Operational Clothing/Equipment:
Clothing: Neat suit and tie. He will if necessary wear a discrete IIIA plate-carrier, but in general his profession gives him the philosophy that most dangers he'd be better off running away from than kitting himself out to protect from. He will usually bring electronic earmuffs and similarly to his off duty glasses and headgear to protect his skin.
Weapons: In his job he is not expected to carry a firearm, but as a true Texan boy while on duty he will carry his usual M45 as is his right.
Tools/Equipment: In general, a laptop and first aid kit. However if needed he will carry anything from a gas analyzer to a geiger counter if a situation might demand. In rare cases he might bring along a drone, typically a discrete quadcopter that can be thrown in a ditch without proverbially emptying the wallet.

Way Down in Dixie! | Fallout Roleplay | NEW Updates

interest

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Understood. I'll probably stick with the ICE. Do you have the character sheet available? Was hoping to do it over the weekend.

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Absolutely interested. Thinking maybe an ICE agent. Does a character necessarily have to be American? Alternative thought was a Canadian immigrant that came for his wife (mostly because being a Canadian myself it would be easier to play :> )

Also will we have to fill out a full traditional Delta Green CS? Mostly asking to get started early on the stats.

EDIT: Another quick question, this take place in 2023 or...?

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

GREATER DALARAN

“You really sure about this?”

“Oi! Cut that out. You’re the mad scientist trying to stick manastones into machines. Look it makes perfect sense. You were trying to… you were trying… you had coal you tried to use instead of oil in a lamp, you had sand you were trying to use instead of water in hydraulics, you had gunpowder when you needed blasting gelatin.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, shut up. I might not be a wizard like you but I saw what you were cranking, you know yourself there’s as much machine as spell involved here.”

“Oh I know, its just fun watching you Dwarves get all stoic. Now then, to the designated viewing port!” The gnome and Dwarf both hurriedly scurried over behind the overturned table flanked by upturned couch.

As gingerly as he could, Nillio pulled the string. It tugged on a lever that activated the machinery within a chamber. It compressed and superheated the manastone already in liquid form. The blue then briefly swirled as on one end of the chamber a propeller so tiny it was almost microscopic was teleported in and made to spin. It then disappeared, and fins opened on the opposite end of the chamber where the liquid did not slosh out to despite it being faced downwards. Instead almost solid streaks of light formed spirals that then coalesced into a sphere which briefly held an eye of the Kirin Tor before being replaced with a multitude of runes and then a image of the opposite end of the room. At the same time, the sphere spinned a fact that could only be witnessed by bits of dust and steam that slowly accumulated upon it. Without touching it, the sphere’s spinning was gradually made to spin a set of hears beneath it which at least powered a dinky little clock.

Even as the manastone’s contents were exhausted, Barad and Nillio remained in their impromptu bunker sweating. Only a few minutes after at last the chamber was wholly empty and the last bits of light that were once the sphere dissipated did they at last emerge from the ensemble of couch and table. “Is that all?” Barad asked, somewhat underwhelmed to the brief shock of the gnome. But Nillio then slapped him, before jumping up to kiss him on the lips, cheeks, and forehead. “Oh my dearest Barad that is all! All in the world!”

“Seemed like something I could do a lot cheaper with a bit of glass for a hologram and a tiny bit of use of my fingers to wind up the clock.”

“Of course you say that, but I forgive you. This isn’t tractors my boy, this is the future!”

It was precisely at this moment a knock came upon the door, causing the two to look at each each with the slightest bit of panic.

---

Antonidas stared at the reports before him, flicking through them by hand much to the amusement of the lesser wizards in the room working as his assistants who would have done this petty work with magic. That is why they aren’t Archmagi Antonidas thought, scoffing to himself as he snuck a glance at one of the young men with eyebrows upraised.

“I am seeing a lot of zeros here.” Antonidas said. “Why are there so many zeroes?” he asked, his tone so flat nobody who didn’t speak the human language would be able to tell it was a question.

“That’s because we don’t have much stuff, Antonidas.” Ansirem replied in a helpful voice, his legs crossed behind his part of the grand table, the man flashing a sardonic smile to the Archmagos.

“Yes, yes I suspected this might be the case. Why do we not have much stuff?”

“Well, we never really needed it. Before we could just snap our fingers and whatever idiot came over to mess with us would turn to a frog or something else that’s funny. Now that’s still the case, but now we’re going to mess with those idiots. Does that make us the idiots?”

“No. Anyway. I asked you all to come up with suggestions of how we resolve this, what clever schemes have you devised?” The lord of Dalaran asked those assembled. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, so Antonidas sighed and after a few snaps of of his fingers made a motion to indicate he would be going clockwise around the main figures present.

“Kael. Have you asked father if he’d be so kind as to send a few archers or something over?”

“No. There must be a favour to repay. Further, as I told you last time there is the logistical issue.”

“Oh, and nobody solved that?”

“No.”

“Unfortunate.” Antonidas looked to the next in line at the table. “Rhonin?”

The other mage shrugged. “We could always institute a draft. Begin a war economy. Fight this like a war. You’re trying to box a gang of thugs with both arms tied behind your back. It is not something I would wish to see, but neither is the scourge, the ogres, et-cetera. In a year we could muster….” the Mage began, materializing an abacus he went to do calculations on.

He was interrupted by Antonidas slapping his hand on the table. “No. When this all started I said this would be a contribution Dalaran made freely to the world. If I force the people of the city to march to war, I’d be a liar, and have gotten in the way of what this city is all about.”

Rhonin shrugged wearily. “Okay. Alright. Go for half measures. I know you love running a very, very balanced budget. But in times like these you can dip into it. If you don’t want to draft people, then at least make generous pay that the poverty stricken in the underground of the city would be eager to go and march to war.” The man’s eyes seemed hollow, as if he was horrified at the words his own lips materialized. “Pay for half the price of constructing new forges up front, and promise the entrepreneurs who hold these facilities that they will get paid in spoils of war. The ogres and orcs on sitting on ancient arts, artifacts, treasure. Plain gold, or even some damn expensive rugs I know could be sold off for more than what many men earn in a month. Not everyone would go at the opportunity but many would.”

With a palm covering his face, Antonidas sighed before waving his other hand dismissively. “Yes, do that. Ansirem. What do you have?”

The man looked indignant. “Well you had them say all the good ideas so now I’m left with nothing? Bugger th-”

“Shut up. What do you have.”

After a few moments grumbling, Runeweaver looked down at the papers before him and shuffled them around. “If you would turn to page thirty-seven please.” He waited until the sounds of moving pages subsided before continuing. “In the third figure, second column, third row, beside the word golems there is an asterisk. My suggestion is you look where it leads.” He lowered his papers, and then rested his chin on a palm as he completely tuned out his hearing until the sounds of shouts and cries of protest began to enter a decrescendo. “Well, what were you expecting?” he demanded of the audience. “We need assets in the field. These are the only ones we haven’t used.”

“We have enough ordinary golems, thank you very much!” one of the wizards in the room said. Ansirem turned at the man and glared, before turning back to The Six. “I don’t really want to do it. But if we want to pursue war and want new weapons what else do we have? Besides, we’re producing new ones constantly and not using any. Soon we won’t have capacity to store them!”

“They are supposed to be a last resort.” Kael’Thas retorted.

“Sure, sure your Princehood. And a good point that isn’t just silly outrage. But it seems the honourable Antonidas has decided our other emergency options aren’t worth being invoked. So I’m left with this. If it won’t be done, it won’t be done. I made my suggestion, if anyone doesn’t like it tell it to Antonidas, not me.”

All eyes were on the ancient wizard. He sank a little deeper into his chair as he was the subject of everybody’s attention all of a sudden. Chewing on some of his mustache hair thoughtfully, he surveyed everyone present. “Everyone not of the Six, get out now.” He said, at last using his magic to open the doors to the meeting room. Once at last everyone had shuffled out he closed the doors and double-checked all the wards within. Satisfied he asked the present members of the Six a question. “If we deployed the Flesh-Golems, how well concealed could they be? Not exactly something I’d want the Violet Star to get ahold of….”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

At last disembarking the vessel, Elias couldn’t for a moment deny that the world felt good. The sun hit right in the way that he knew would give his skin a pleasant tan, the air had enough brine and humidity to let one know the sea was always near without makings ones nostrils stuffed with moisture or salination. But as he stared at the tropics through the gap in his facewrap, two facts quickly became apparent to him. First, he certainly wouldn’t be able to enjoy it in a meaningful way. Muscular lifeguards with gelled hair would force him off of any of the beaches that weren’t covered with trash, and even if they didn’t his form in swimshorts would still lead to mothers hastily leading children away shortly after the sound of screams and tears with the occasional threat from other people. The second of course, was that the world wasn’t so great. A person he took and educated guess was homeless was wandering and screaming about the krill being a scam, while parts of the first street he stepped on smelled like urine. “What a shithole.” he muttered, or at least made vague mouth movements with that goal that materialized no sound.

Strolling down the street, he was long used to the looks he was getting. People in crocs and flipflops saw a massive man in flannels and a balaclava on a tropical world like this, what the hell else were they supposed to think? No Elias had long since given up on any frustration with such public admonitions of his state. He knew some other people with mutilations always complained about how they were treated, but as far as he was concerned if you were a freak you ought be treated as one. It was unfortunate, but it was a reality he figured a lot would be better off accepting.

Unfortunately, he was about to have this stoic philosophy tested.

His wounds started to itch ever so slightly as salty sweat started to seep into the scars as he went about the city, following maps to find the nearest bank. The moment he stepped into it, a security guard instantly drew his service weapon and started screaming for the man to get down on the ground. Muffled sounds came from Elias, the man desperately trying to give hand signs in the hope he knew was vain the man would know sign language to state he was not in fact, a robber. It was at the gesture of criminal that he felt the harpooning penetration of a tase in his black. The shock was an excruciating and debilitating pain that brought him to a knee. But, it was also absolutely nothing compared to the pains that the reavers brought upon him. When at last the shock wore off, he tore it out and stood up with his hands upraised. The guards now approached him, the one that had shot him with a taser from behind patting him down whilst the one in front held his firearm pointed. As he was patted down, the taser guard found almost nothing but a little pocket-sand on him, and quizzically shared the information to his partner.

“Who the hell are you?”

Elias reached down to try and get his piece of blackboard, but the guns were raised again leading to the man simply sighing. As far as he saw there was no exit out of this situation he could take, so he waited until they were annoyed enough to take him to the small on-site jail of the bank and called police. Sighing yet again, he at last raised his hands and with one motion pulled the wrappings off of his face revealing the horrid mutilation. “I hahn hah.” he said, doing his best to articulate that he couldn’t talk with no tongue. As if to demonstrate he opened his mouth wide and revealed the distinct lack of one. “Jesus fucking….” one of them started, recoiling in horror. “Shit, I’da thought you wouldn’t be able to hear like that either the other said.

With some annoyance Elias carefully raised the cloth again to his face, cocking his head to ask for permission to make the quite sudden movements to cover himself up again. “Yeah yeah.” the taser bearing man said, holstering the device.

“What the hell is up with you?” the man still holding the pistol said. This time however, Elias reached down to the blackboard without interruption and wrote upon it the words: “I WAS HOPING TO ACCESS AND OLD BANK ACCOUNT. I CANT TALK AND COVER MYSELF UP TO NOT FRIGHTEN FOLK.”

“Well why the hell didn’t you bring any ID?” the gun bearing man said, slowly lowering the weapon as he relaxed.

After a brief spat with erasing, Elias revealed new words. “DONT HAVE ANY. WAS STOLEN.”

The guards exchanged glances before giggling. “No ID? You’re probably not going to get far with that.”

The piece of chalk in Elias’s hand turned entirely into dust as an outlet for his frustrations.

“PLEASE HELP ME.” he wrote.

With a sigh, one of the guards said “Alright, I guess I can take you to a manager. Special case or whatever. Jed get Sal down here to cover for me.”

“Roger-roger.” the other guard said, as Elias was lead to an office. After a brief explanation to the manager, the old man in a suit clasped his hands. “Oh. I see, most peculiar. Erm… can you tell me a name so we can try accessing your account?”

“ELIAS SAMIR RIEMEN.”

“Thank you….” the main trailed off, typing the words into his computer. “Uh… could you please?” the manager said, motioning to Elias’s mask, while turning the screen. “You see I need to try to verify its you.”

“Fuh.” Elias muttered. He knew he looked nothing like his pretty face all those years ago. Well, pretty was a stretch by far. But certainly it was compared to this day!

“Ugh….” the manager said, staring at Elias’s grievous damage. “Does… does it hurt?” he said, clearly mesmerized and distracted from his work. Elias simply gave him a furious stare, wasting another few cents of chalk that turned to powder in his grasp.

“Right, umm, sorry, you look nothing like this picture. Now, hold on.” he said, pressing a few keys that made a camera emerge from the desk. A painful flashed briefly blinded Elias, who looked furiously at the manager.

“Oh, my apologies.” the man said. “Forgot to ask for consent and all that. Regardless, let’s see here….” he said, the monitor of his computer displaying that a quick cross-reference of modern and old Elias’s visages was happening.

“Hmmm… its a possible match but…. Do you happen to remember a password?” he said, turning the computer around.

Thankfully, Elias remembered it. Unfortunately, though briefly the screen displayed acceptance, he was shortly after informed on the screen it was outdated and would need other verification. He planted his face down onto the keyboard, severely of the keys crunching under the force. He knew this was just the start of it, he just knew.

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

GREATER DALARANI DIPLOMATIC PARTY

Looking between each other at the mention of Alterac, the exchanged glances of the wizards were accompanied that words that were left unsaid. Of course, with magic involved they didn’t have to be involved in the slightest. Indeed, though it was only the council of six that had projected themselves to the council the wizards were broadcasting their words, thoughts and vision and hearing alike to a great assembly of the Kirin Tor. To the hundreds of wizards furiously scribbling notes in tomes, the image of the future presented by the Scarlet Crusaders wasn’t one they could exactly see eye to eye with. Moreover, Alterac wasn’t theirs to give. Though the Strompikes would be considered equal partners in the construction of a new Alterac, the fate of the ruined Kingdom would be decided by a very different set of people to those present. However, it certainly wasn’t an issue they would be voicing here.

Attentions at this point however, were now somewhat divided. While Antonidas and a few of those with him were focused on a haughty game of geopolitics that was being constructed, the Prince Kael’Thas had other things on his mind. The non-attendance of his father had removed about a third of the reason for him to be here in person as opposed to the rest of the illusory wizardry, but with his duties satisfied there was one remaining reason to be here.

Her.

It was the first meeting they had since the events of the war parted them some time ago, but here they were. Kael had thought long and hard on how this reunion would be, and to an attentive eye it was quite clear. For one he had managed his aesthetics to look more like the human that in his eyes had usurped him. Though both blond, tall, and conventionally attractive in their own respective ways Kael’Thas had nonetheless made some changes to look more like Arthas. His eyebrows were trimmed to still be far shorter than what most High Elves wore; while still inhumanly long, they were managed to be less than a foot in length. His hair was let more free than the previously well combed arrangement, while the slightest bit of stubble was allowed upon his face. But perhaps most importantly (and certainly most surprisingly) was that he was willing to perform some measure of introspection rather than merely attending to aesthetics. Though still moody, and bearing the arrogance characteristic of both Dalaran’s and Silvermoon’s cultures, he still managed to actually look at everyone present, rather than down upon them.

I wish to meet you later. were the words he projected upon Jaina, looking at the rest of the scene to not hint at the private messaging to anybody else.

Still, as the subject touched Quel’Thalas and continued on the affairs of the future different groups within the Dalarani delegation awaited a chance to speak once more until the King of Gilneas entered the room. Among the six reactions varied to the doors being thrown so suddenly.

“Why bother knocking if you’re going to open the doors like that anyway? So rude.”
“Is that supposed to be intimidating?”
“Does he have fleas? Hope none of the little buggers fall off.”
“I bet he’s all wolfed up to hide a receding hairline. That's why men from Dalaran are better you know, we don't go bald!”
“Wonder if he lifts a leg to piss or does it like a person.”

Among other assorted mutterings came from the delegation. But ultimately on all their behalfs Antonidas gave a polite nod amidst puffs of his pipe. “Genn. Good to see you. And… Sir Crowley.” he concluded after a brief consultation with a tome materialized in a flick.

“Yes, indeed, my dearest student speaks wisely.” Antonidas went on, concurring with Jaina’s statements. “The past and its contents hardly matter when the present is so pressing, and the future is all that matters. It's good to have consensus.” he said quite pointedly.

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

The Violet Star

Dalaran's news, whether you like it or not!

The New Face of Dalaran
By Karlil Fedeen
Editorial
For a long time the subject of people of mixed heritage was one done in the dark, in whispers or hushed near orphanages. No, not that mixed heritage of Stormwinder and Kul’tiran or Lordaeronian and Dalarani.Of one and another race.

Half-Orcs and Half-Ogres have long existed as a quite unfortunate product of the racial derelictions of our extraterrestrial assailants. Shunned, they usually live lives as bandits or slaves for the more savage part of their ancestry. But almost since the first days of the contact of our peoples, humans and elves have had a poorly kept secret in our reproductive compatibility. At best the topic makes folk blush. At worst it is a shame upon a family regardless of if their ears are soft or pointed. For a long time now such people have usually spent the first stages of their lives in orphanages in Quel’Thalas or across Lordaeron. But though they were rare, within Dalaran has been an exception to this fact. For reasons too many to list, Dalaran has had better relations with Elfdom than the rest of mankind. The shared penchant for magic, study, and high culture has had men (and indeed, even dwarves and gnomes!) of Dalaran to be said to be culturally closer to the Elves than to the many Kingdoms of humanity. Noteworthy is that Dalaran has had a personal alliance with the realm of Silvermoon ever since its foundation long before the separate nations of humanity decided to unite in the first iteration of “The Grand Alliance”. All of this is necessary background to understand matters to note within this article. For one, half-elves (or half-humans, if it better suits one’s prejudices….) have found more acceptance in Dalaran than anywhere else. A natural point of cosmopolitanism of human and elven interaction it is unsurprising that one will be the odd one out to be surprised at them, rather than a half elf him or herself.

Just as importantly, the total number of half-breeds is higher in Dalaran than anywhere else. It is estimated based on a sample size of more than five thousand birth certificates that almost an entire tenth of the population has mixed heritage. This leads to the inevitable third point: mixed race people have come to be a historically significant component to Dalaran. Of the tenth of the population of mixed heritage, it is estimated (admittedly more loosely) that there is an almost even split of half-breeds on being products of first generation admixture or of it being further in one’s lineage. Oftentimes people of mixed race will not have it in equal components, perhaps one parent being of solely one race whilst another being mixed. In some cases this is lost to time and folklore, leading to an educated guess that the share of people with at least some distinct racial heritage is actually heavily underestimated.

The population of those who identify with two racial heritages grows every year. Though still very far from being a majority let alone supermajority of the population, many projections across a century onwards have the share of mixed couples being as much as a half of Dalaran. To this, I, Karlil Fedeen, myself a product of two mixed race parents must posit a question:

Is Dalaran truly a human Kingdom? Or has it grown past being solely human? I wish not to denigrate the achievements of its human, elven, and yea dwarven and gnomish contributors of monoracial heritage over the many centuries of its existence. But to be bound by the concept of Dalaran as a Human Kingdom with a capital H seems outmoded. With half-elves as their face, it is time to consider a new Dalarani identity independent of humanity or elfdom, or indeed dwarven and gnomish kind as the borders of Greater Dalaran now stretch ever further beyond the magical walls of the Violet City. While the New Dalaranian will be a concept stronger than one race, they can be exemplified in people of mixed race. I believe all patriots of our nation can look forward to a New Dalarani Man.

Tragedy at Jonah's Creek
By Perry Kantor
Many know that the collapse of Lordaeron has collapsed the institutions that were located primarily within it. The Church of the Light was one such structure that found itself in pure chaos following the death of Terenas and the destruction of Lordaeronian statehood. In the absence of any ordained priests, people of Lordaeron and other territories kept on worship of the light. Yet in this new decentralized expression of religion, people still found yearning for some organization. With the arrival of Elven refugees to Metropolitan Dalaran, the people who needed spiritual guide found their man.

Arantir Skellen has been long criticized by many figures. It is claimed there is no record of any sort of ordination for him in Quel’Thalas to be a recognized minister, monk, priest, paladin, or any other position of the church of the light. Not having addressed these claims, his words have enraptured his human audience no less than his racial kinsmen. The efficacy of his preaching has been attributed to many factors. Perhaps one of the most significant is that he has not shied away from critique of the rulers that failed to rise to the occasion of the scourge. Speaking out against his own King in Silvermoon and human Kings alike he has even spoken out against the Magocracy that now hosts him and his followers. Though no official action has been taken directly against him, it is said that the Magocracy has taken arbitrarily (according to him) different treatment to Arantir and his followers with no reason stated for refusal to allow him space in advertisement in newspapers, refusal to provide lines of credit or, other such actions that bring accusations of discrimination.

Despite these quiet efforts to thwart the growth of his reach, it only expands. Not only does it expand, the words become more radical. This has inevitably come to a point of conflict of his followers and Dalarani authority.

Two days ago, seven people were lynched by his followers. While in a refugee camp on the border of Metropolitan Dalaran and Alterac, it is said he accused a group of people within the refugee camp of being followers of the scourge. Immediately, his followers bound these people in chains and threw them into a firepit.

The Violet Star has worked to establish the identities of these people.

Andreas Waldar is said to be a squire of the Scarlet Crusade. We could not establish who exactly his superior was.

Karina Hjelms however, was verified by Violet Star investigators as being a nun in the the order. Further details of her identity are not known.

Arpad Brown is stated to be a merchant. Originally a Lordaeroni who profited heavily on running caravans to Dalaran it is said he is of considerable repute with many clients in Dalaran and some remaining settlements of Lordaeron. However three months of his activity are notably unaccounted for, a fact that Arantir’s apologists have stated to be definite proof of his participation in the scourge’s efforts.

Draekto Goldbeam was noted as being a travelling wizard from Quel’Thalas, supposedly having arrived at the start of the war with the Scourge in Lordaeron to use his skills in the army of Lordaeron. The medals of his military decoration found in the ashes were deemed genuine, however they were too warped and stained by the flame to establish if they were truly belonging to him. The archives that could establish said medals validity or illegitimacy in relation to Goldbeam’s possession of them are also located deep in Scourge-held Lordaeron.

Unfortunately, two people’s names could not be gained however they were stated to be a couple that had arrived a day before the tragedy.

The Violet Star condemns any and all activity of extremists of the Church of the Light or followers of the Light outside of its structure. However, Violet Star staff further call for the citizens of Dalaran to not hold this event against all people of the Light’s faith. We call upon all peoples of Greater Dalaran to follow the rule of law and report any suspected Scourge activity to law enforcement officers.

Concerns of the Front(s)
By Ansaela Firegust
As Dalaranian troops press on in Alterac and Lordaeron alike, many doing the fighting have fears related to events in foreign policy. While soldiers understand there is a greater world than their battlefield, this hardly assuages their issues. The meeting with leadership of militaries of other states indicates to many that the Kirin Tor plan to divert resources to assistance in war for other powers. An anonymous rifleman of the 7th Dalaran Metropolitan Marksmen is quoted as saying "Why the [...] ought we fight for the Magocracy if the Magocracy won't fight for us?"

Several officials and spokespeople have stated that the Magical assistance on the existing combat zones of what is nebulously described as Greater Dalaran will not be reduced, and that any assistance that the Kirin Tor divert elsewhere will be matched by a quid-pro-quo in one form or another to ensure that the foreign aid is not just a sink for the localized interests of the territories under the Violet Banner.

The frontlines being widened seemingly only hardens concerns of soldiers. Fighting undead and orcs alike, most consider the land they plant their boots and banners upon to belong to them, their families, their nation absent any claims that may have existed historically.

It is indeed within and because of the failures in recent history, that most consider birthrights of auld annulled. After all, where is it said that the right of conquest only applies to the high-born? But today, heroes forge entirely new birthrights for you and me alike.

Alteraci Elections
By Dathral Faesprout
With the gradual advance of the Dalarani and allied forces in Alterac, the planning of an election over the rule of Alterac was publicly announced following a long period of rumour. For the moment, the “Provisional Electorate of Alterac” as it has been dubbed consists largely of selected bureacrats from Dalaran with a smattering of Stormpike and liberated local contributors. However this is said to be merely a brief construct to allow the transition into a more permanent governance. Elections are to be conducted within the territories held by Dalarani troops in Alterac. Eligibility for participation is provided unconditionally to anyone who has registered to be a permanent resident of Alterac. Four distinct groups are given permission for such a registration.

First are any with recognized refugee or displaced person status confirmed by Dalaran. Regardless of if they are from Lordaeron, the scourge infested territories of Gilneas or Quel’Thalas, and any other source, they will be considered legitimate settlers of Alterac and given the pre-citizenship documentation.

Second are any members of the Dalaran’s armed forces, governance, or charity groups who can be verified as having performed more than half of their service since the beginning of the Alterac campaign within the borders of Alterac. If they register for permanent resident of Alterac status they will be provided pre-citizenship papers and analogous positions within the new Alterac on the condition they will have their previous position within Dalaran revoked.

Third are any and all members of the Stormpike Expedition. Some have criticized this as many Dwarves who arrived as recently as a mere week ago and have not made any contributions to the growing Alterac territory will be given the same status as those who have fought for Alterac’s liberation since the war began. The leadership of Dalaran and Vanndar Stormpike have both declined to comment on this discrepancy.

Fourth, any and all people unrelated to the Perenolde family and Alteraci nobility who can prove that they were long-term residents or citizens of Alterac prior to the Kingdom’s dissolution as well as descendants of such people will be beneficiaries of the “sanguine rule” which will allow them to at any point receive permanent residence of the new Alterac as well as pre-citizenship documents.

A strong debate is being held by some on if such a status should be given to members of the Church of the Light assigned to minister to Alterac. While many state that critical spiritual needs are to be cared for by members of these people, the loudest proponents of these people receiving automatic residency and pre-citizenship papers are often not even present in Alterac as they suggest this. As it stands, the governance of Dalaran and the founders of The Provisional Electorate of Alterac believe that most of the necessary religious figures will already receive citizenship by already falling into one of the previous four categories.

For now the elections are to be limited to mayoralty of the liberated villages and townships currently stably behind the frontlines. However, elections for frontline settlements, as well the city of Alterac itself and Presidency of Alterac are already being drafted. Perhaps even more importantly, figures that will be upon a council to draft the constitution of Alterac are also to be elected.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Much had happened since Elias had found his fate intertwined with the China doll. He had gotten to know some of the crew, but the obvious communication barrier made this a slow and difficult practice. It was hard to establish trust when you needed a minute to exchange just a sentence. Still, at the very least he found that he wasn't catching sideways glances to make sure he wasn't doing anything afoul of the crew anymore.

His speech wasn't the only part of the estrangement from the crew. It was always so that people Elias came across either mentally slotted him into a gentle giant or a vicious goliath, with almost no room for anything in between these two extremes. Though they weren't at all rude about it, the impression the man got was that he was received as being somewhere along the lines of the latter. He didn't very much care for this, but he also understood it was on him to dispel this. In retrospect, he supposed he hadn't done that much to try and get a more reasonable interpretation of himself. He had spent a considerable amount of time on what he considered 'his job', tending to this and that within the ship's machinery. Much of his interaction with the crew was simply nodding to them as he walked by things upon the vessel and marked down information upon a clipboard. At the same time for whole days he wouldn't meet the rest of the crew, busy with his own devices. Socialization being difficult to say the least, he spent most of his free time alone. If and when someone came by to check up on him, he'd be lifting random objects in lieu of proper gym equipment, reading whatever books he could scrounge, or simply staring at walls and ceilings. He didn't want the others to see his personal projects, not while they weren't done and could be the subject of non-negligible embarrassment. There were many knick-knacks he was trying to make, but of course the most difficult was the fortepiano he was working on. The instrument was a rare luxury he greatly missed, and the half-finished one he had left behind when fleeing together with the religious folk was all the more painful to be gone.

But now that was all behind. In fact, they would be making planetfall soon. He hadn't been with the crew enough to yet feel comfortable asking the Captain for anything resembling payment to spend down on Pelorum. But he also had a habit of finding ways to make money. Maybe a quick fight in some idiot's ring, maybe a trip to an antique shop and fixing up an old clock for a geezer to double the value of the device and gain the split difference as a payday.

There was also the other matter. Slavery was not nice, and as much as Elias wanted to distance himself from the family he felt betrayed him, taking advantage of the blood relation to ensure he didn't succumb to such things again wasn't а negative. He absolutely needed to head to a bank to see if his accounts were still active. All these thoughts ran through his head quite fast as he sat on a box with his hands clasped together, staring at the blast-door of the cargo bay. Envy went through the man as his peripheral vision caught the university kids. School was the best damn time of his life. It all went downhill from there. He couldn't go on the beach with these little shits. In fact there was very little he could enjoy. His eyebrows narrowed ever so slightly as his mood soured. Well, maybe at least he could listen to some fine tunes. Surely there'd have to be some bastard that could do a good syncopation on a world like this.