Crimson Raven
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*Rolls a Nat 1*
STATUS: 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 4 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
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Urizen
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4 yrs ago
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'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
4 yrs ago
I say the words that I wish someone would tell me in vain hope that they might be returned to me.
2
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4 yrs ago
Existence continues.
4 yrs ago
So much I want to do, so little time...
1
like
4 yrs ago
“I’ve met some pricks in my time. But you, sir...” He said to the offending cactus.
7
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Bio
“NO ADMITTANCE.
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
NOTICE
Thank you for Noticing This Notice.
Your Noting it has been Noted.
And it has been Reported to the proper Authority.
Hello lurker/ My old friend/ I've come to talk to you again/ Because a shadow softly creeping/ Lurking in the chat while I was sleeping/ And the roleplay that was forming in my brain/ Still remains with the sound of lurking.
In dead roleplays I walked alone/ Narrow pathways of casual zone...
Need mor ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
(Made in collaboration with @hatakekuro)
It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.
--Douglass Adams
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
~~As You Like It, Shakespear
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
~~ Macbeth, Shakespear
“All stories told have been told before. We tell them to ourselves, as did all men who ever were. And all men who ever will be. The only things new are the names.”
“The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.”
“What do you know?”
“Almost everything. That almost part can be a real kick in the teeth sometimes.”
“What do you want, then?”
“What I can’t have.” Wit turned to him, eyes solemn. “Same as everyone else, Kaladin Stormblessed.”
"Two blind men waited at the end of an era, contemplating beauty. They sat atop the world’s highest cliff, overlooking the land and seeing nothing.
'Can beauty be taken from a man?' the first asked the second.
'It was taken from me,' the second replied. 'For I cannot remember it.' This man was blinded in a childhood accident. 'I pray to the God Beyond each night to restore my sight, so that I can find beauty again.'
'Is beauty something one must see then?' the first asked.
'Of course. That is it’s nature. How can you appreciate a work of art without seeing it?'
'I can hear a work of music,' the first said.
'Very well, you can hear some kinds of beauty - but you cannot know full beauty without sight. You can know only a small portion of beauty.'
'A sculpture,' the first said. 'Can I not feel its curves and slopes, the touch of the chisel that transformed common rock into uncommon wonder?'
'I suppose,' said the second, 'that you can know the beauty of a sculpture.'
'And what of the beauty of food? Is it not a work of art when a chef crafts a masterpiece to delight the tastes?'
'I suppose,' said the second, 'that you can know the beauty of a chef’s art.'
'And what of the beauty of a woman,' the first said. 'Can I not know her beauty in the softness of her caress, the kindness of her voice, the keenness of her mind as she reads philosophy to me? Can I not know this beauty? Can I not know most kinds of beauty, even without seeing it?'
'Very well,' said the second. 'But what if your ears were removed, your hearing taken away? Your tongue taken out, your mouth forced shut, your sense of smell destroyed? What if your skin were burned so that you could no longer feel? What if all that remained to you was pain? You could not know beauty then. It can be taken from a man.'"
The messenger stopped, cocking his head to Shallan.
"What?" she asked.
"What think you? Can beauty be taken from a man? If he could not touch, taste, smell, hear, see, what if all he knew was pain? Has that man had beauty taken away from him?"
"I…" What did this have to do with anything? "Does the pain change day by day?"
"Let us say it does," the messenger said.
"Then beauty, to that person, would be the times when the pain lessens. Why are you telling me this story?"
The messenger smiled. "To be human is to seek beauty, Shallan. Do not despair, do not end the hunt because thorns grow in your way. Tell me, what is the most beautiful thing you can imagine?"
...
“In this,” Wit said, “as in all things, our actions give us away. If an artist creates a work of powerful beauty – using new and innovative techniques – she will be lauded as a master, and will launch a new movement in aesthetics. Yet what if another, working independently with that exact level of skill, were to make the same accomplishments the very next month? Would she find similar acclaim? No. She’d be called derivative.
“So it’s not beauty itself we admire. It’s not the force of intellect. It’s not the invention, aesthetics, or capacity itself. The greatest talent we think a man can have?” He plucked a final string. “Seems to me that it must be nothing more than novelty.”
"A blind man awaited the era of endings," Wit said, "contemplating the beauty of nature."
Silence
"That man is me," Wit noted. "I'm not physically blind, just spiritually. And that other statement was actually very clever, if you think about it."
"What is it to be witty, then?”
“To say clever things.”
“And what is cleverness?”
“I…” Why was he having this conversation? “I guess it’s the ability to say and do the right things at the right time.”
The King’s Wit cocked his head, then smiled.
“Expectation. That is the true soul of art. If you can give a man more than he expects, then he will laud you his entire life. If you can create an air of anticipation and feed it properly, you will succeed.
“Conversely, if you gain a reputation for being too good, too skilled . . . beware. The better art will be in their heads, and if you give them an ounce less than they imagined, suddenly you have failed. Suddenly you are useless. A man will find a single coin in the mud and talk about it for days, but when his inheritance comes and is accounted one percent less than he expected, then he will declare himself cheated.”
Wit shook his head, standing up and dusting off his coat. “Give me an audience who have come to be entertained, but who expect nothing special. To them, I will be a god. That is the best truth I know.”
~~ Stromlight Archive, Brandon Sanderson
"You see, whether you can draw like this or not, being able to think up this kind of design, it depends on whether or not you can say to yourself, ‘Oh, yeah, girls like this exist in real life. If you don’t spend time watching real people, you can’t do this, because you’ve never seen it. Some people spend their lives interested only in themselves. Almost all Japanese animation is produced with hardly any basis taken from observing real people, you know. It’s produced by humans who can’t stand looking at other humans. And that’s why the industry is full of otaku!"
-Hayao Miyazaki
"In culture an analogous situation leads to the emergence of enclaves shut up in ghettos, where intellectual production likewise stagnates because of inbreeding in the form of incessant repetition of the selfsame creative patterns and techniques. The internal dynamics of the ghetto may appear to be intense, but with the passage of years it becomes evident that this is only a semblance of motion, since it leads nowhere, since it neither feeds into nor is fed by the open domain of culture, since it does not generate new patterns or trends, and since finally it nurses the falsest of notions about itself, for lack of any honest evaluation of its activities from outside."
~Stanislaw Lem, author of Solaris
Some heartfelt music while you lurk
Or U liSTEN TO tem MOOSIC!
I just don't want you to have a Bad Time...
What do I live for?
"I think I've seen this movie before." -@Guess Who
I LOVE TVTROPES!
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@CitrusArms
OKAY So I maaaaaay have messed up ONE mention
Just ONE mind you.
So you get a special post with just YOUR NAME ON IT
and the babbling of a sleep-deprived lunatic but whatever
OKAY So I maaaaaay have messed up ONE mention
Just ONE mind you.
So you get a special post with just YOUR NAME ON IT
and the babbling of a sleep-deprived lunatic but whatever
Ferrin Astra
Tenrou Team - Making Coffee
Ferrin sighed. This wasn't going to end anytime soon. It seemed like everyone wanted to chime in, even after he gave his advice. Sasha seemed fairly adamant on her stance though. Good girl.
Ferrin quickly grew board with the squabbling and his mind wandered. His eyes glazed over and he suddenly felt...apathetic. Who cares anymore? The decision was made and, though he disagreed, it was done.
He briefly considered a nice fireball in the face of the most annoying of the lot, the red-head. Then he remembered her magic and changed that idea into a massive, spiky glacier. He yawned, nice and loud, flipping Time Lord a metal bird with his Gauntlet for his half-assed shady bastard comment. Gonna insult someone make it proper-like. He grumbled, scowling fiercely. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't place it. He glanced around. Trees. Cliffs. Beach. Water. Some kinda of Gorilla octopus. Sand. Wizards. Idiots. Idiot Wizards. Nothing was out of the ordinary. What was ordinary anyway? Ordinary was...a temporary state. Ordinary means something has been that way long enough for no one to care. And foreign wizards on Terou wasn't ordinary.
Then it clicked. "Coffee." He hadn't had his morning nirvana-in-a-cup yet. No wonder he was getting existential. And grumpy.
Ferrin walked away from the still-arguing group to the tree line. He rummaged around and quickly came up with a fair amount of fire-worthy wood along with some flattish stones. Arms laden, he walked back, stopping a pace away from the group, and laid out the wood and rocks. A quick fire cantrip and he had a cheery fire going. A second cantrip made the fire slightly hotter then normal. One requip later and he was holing a small pot and a stained mug. A quick incantation filled the pot with water, which he hung over the fire with a frame of sticks. He knelt, placed the mug aside, and pulled a brown bag full of beans and a measuring cup from a pocket and a grinder from another. He hummed to himself as he measured out the beans then poured them in the grinder. He set the grinder on a 'course' setting, then cranked the handle. Once he was satisfied, this too, he set aside on a flat rock. The water started to boil so he took it off and set it on a rock. He hit it with a very gentle cold spell, to juuuust the right temp. He pulled out a thermometer and stuck it in: 93.3 degrees Celsius, on the dot. yesss
He grabbed the coffee grounds and tossed them in the pot. He stirred gently with a spoon from his endless-seeming pockets. Then he waited, counting the seconds, ignoring anyone and anything else.
...
...
...
Two minute later, he unfroze and stirred again. Then he restarted his count. The savory smell of coffee was wafting into the air by now. A presence not far from the group, but hidden in the shadows of rocks and trees came closer, drawn by the smell. They didn't seem to be trying to hide; anyone who was paying attention might notice it.
...
...
...
Two more minutes later, he conjured just a cupful of cold water and dashed it in the pot. He waited a painful moment more. Then he picked up old, stained, chipped mug and poured the rich, brown liquid. He gave it a courtesy blow and took a sip. Ouch. Too hot.
"And, of course, you." A familiar voice said.
"Oh. Hey Mavis." Ferrin said without turning around. "I just made a pot of coffee. Want a cup?" He held up and waggled his mug in demonstration. He brought it back down and tried another sip with similar results.
Then he stiffed. Stood. And turned around. He eyed the innocently smiling cherub of a girl.
The cup slipped in his grasp but he managed not to drop it.
He blinked. She smiled.
He brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip, staring at her with an unamused glare over the rim.
He took another long sip. She smiled more.
He took a third sip.
Then he stalked over and poked her in the head. *
His metal finger passed through her without meeting any resistance. "Hey!"
"Huh." Ferrin peered down at her. He inhaled as if to say something, then stopped. "Small as ever, I see. Whenever are you gonna grow, eh Shortstack?" He put his hand on her head, or where it appeared to be.
She pouted and huffed. "Not everyone is as freakishly tall as you, Maggie." She said, drawing out the 'a' and chopping the word.
You could practically hear the vein pop on Ferrin's temple. His right eye started twitching. "Don't call me that." He said though gritted teeth. He also took another sip of coffee. Long-dead guildmaster or not, he had coffee and no one could keep him from it.
Mavis smirked impiously. "Why not? Maaaag-ie."
"Pipsqeak!"
"Beanstalk!"
"Hobbit!"
"Giant!"
Ferrin crossed his arms, careful of his mug. "If it were to rain, you would be the last to know."
"And if there was lightning, you'd be the first to know." She countered.
"Touché."
"Thank you."
"Flea!"
"Ostrich!"
"Stunted midget!"
"Overgrown Troll!"
And on it went, their insults gradually getting at once more creative and even lamer. Ferrin still took sips of his coffee, spaced between insults. They would probably be at this for a while, unless someone interrupted them.
As most of the wizards there could only see and hear half the conversation, Ferrin looked like he had suddenly gone completely bonkers and was now yelling insults at empty air. Which, while unusual, wasn't completely out of character. While all eyes were on Ferrin, the pot of coffee sat, unwatched. Some bushes nearby rustled gently, not in time with the wind.
Finally posted. I know it's short, but that's all I have right now.
Your fine. We don't stress about length here.
Kara
Chapter 1 - In Times of Need
The Fire Emblem had stopped moving. That wasn't good. Kara wondered if she had been mistaken in her assumption of the purpose of whomever held the Gem. Were they hiding it? Stashing it somewhere? There was too much she didn't know. The best she could tell, it was located roughly below several of the buildings just north of where they hid. If the invading army got hold of the Emblem, who knows what they would do with it? She shuddered as she recalled what happed the last time history took a turn like this. That thought was making the normally patient and calm manakete anxious.
She sat and listened in silence as the nervous and easy-to-overlook Hevel spoke up, offering to make a distraction. The little thief might be useful to have around, come to think of it. Servus seemed to like the idea, and considering his Jehennan looks and gear, he just might be able to slip in and look around without suspicion. It was a risky bet, and not much of a plan either, but if the Emblem wasn't moving then waiting suddenly didn't seem like a good option either...
She rolled her eyes. "Go on." She told Servus. "I won't be able to go with you as I stand out too much." She reached back her scaled hand to brush her hair to the side, lightly touching one of her horns too. "But you should be able to blend in. You even smell like them. Should you get the chance, there are some buildings almost directly in front of thus that you should investigate. I feel the Emblem's presence from somewhere underneath them. Grab it and get out." She hesitated. "And...should you get into trouble, I'll come with Ambroli when you whisle to bail your ass out." She glared at him. "But only because Ambroli like you, got it?"
Ugh, Wizards.
And yes, he was one, and that gave him the right to complain about them in a purposefully ironic and hypocritical manner because he of all people would understand the depth of their arrogance and general contrary-ness. So there.
Ferrin turned his attention first to the green-haired man who unnecessarily identified the roar as belonging to a dragon. Judging by what he said and the feel of his magic, Ferrin felt reasonably comfortable pinning the man as a dragon slayer. "Yes, yes. It was fairly obvious that was a dragon. If it was not, then it would have to be Timmy's stomach, and then we would really be in danger. I have read dear Sash here's journal." The shortening of Sasha's name was entirely intended. "A Dragon here was fairly likely. Expected even. It is the unexpected that I want to scout for. You say 'one if we are lucky' how would you know if there was as more then one? And what if there are other threats? In fact, was would stop the dragon from decending from the sky and taking us by surprise? Determining numbers, understanding the situation, and acting accordingly are essential to surviving any conflict. Winning is another matter." He said the last part with a hint of black humour.
A couple of questions did occur to him, along with a pun that he tucked away for later use. Here was someone who had dealt with a dragon directly, perhaps he could give Ferrin a more accurate idea of he strength and capabilities of dragons. All Ferrin had to work with were mere legend, heresay, and some vaguely remembered lectures on the magical and alchemical properties of their various body parts. He snorted softly as he remembered his old Alchemy teacher. Old crusty Legius would have a fit were he here. He was always fascinated, no, obsessed with dragons. He even claimed to have seen and talked with one, though he was also nutty as a fruitcake so who knows if it was true. However, his extensive knowledge about them would come in handy about now. If I can get a scale, maybe a claw or a fang or two... Ferrin pulled himself out of the past as another wizard, a woman with fiery hair, which, Ferrin judged, matched her attitude, joined them with proclamations of destruction and ashes. Am I the 'shady bastard'? He wondered, amused. Grey was a shady color, right, right? Ahem. On the other hand, this hot-head wasn't going to add anything but difficulty to the discussion at hand so he summarily ignored her.
To the green dragon-slayer he said, "Your first hand account of a dragon could be useful, no matter what we decide to do. I'm going to need to know everything you can recall about your...adopted father." Ferrin made a mental note to ask the other slayers similar questions. Actually, he probably should have done so on the trip here, but he had been so wrapped up in...well...
Hindsight is the clearest sight, so they say.
As if to punctuate his words, the ground began to shake violently. Ferrin reacted instinctively, sucking in aether, enhancing his body for a burst of balance and crouching to lower his center of gravity. He managed to remain upright as the quake subsided, but even as it did, a massive, frightening bestial roar blasted over the magus. His own cry of pain because of his enhanced hearing was lost in the deafening sound as it continued for a sadistically long time. Every muscle in Ferrin's body clenched as the noise flooded his head. Shiden, summoned on reflex, fell into his hand. He tried to concentrate to cast a silence spell but his head felt like someone had put in a vise and it was slowly being squeezed. After several dozen painful seconds, he managed to claw together some semblance of coherent thought. Gasping, he sounded out the spell. The roar cut off. Blessed Silence. Well, not exactly. The noise was still there, but it was muffled greatly. Sagging a bit, he groaned and pressed a finger to his temple. He could feel a migraine coming on. He really had to work on that particular flaw of enhancing himself with aether. Sometimes the enhanced senses that came with it were useful, other times, like this, it was a real pain or even a danger.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sasha equip a very intimidating suit of ice armor, complete with a spear. Her magic to him was a winter's breeze: a crisp, clear, gust of air that left a biting chill in it's wake. He forced himself to relaxed as he watched everyone's reactions to judge when he could drop the spell.
Eventually it seemed to fade. As it did, Ferrin let the spell around him cease. Not one to let a good tense moment go to waste, he turned to the previously ignored Time Lord and said "Empty Night. Timmy, feed yourself." with a completely straight face.
Sasha spoke as the roar's echos died. "I do not think anyone can plan for this… I don’t know what we are to expect. But I think it’s safe to say, we ought not dally. I think we should stay together, but… if you have any ideas, I’d be open to them.”
Ferrin nodded, looking thoughtful with his metal hand on his chin as the wheels in his mind immediately started turning. His mind went back to his time in the Second Trade War and Mavis's teachings. He wished she was here right now, she had a knack for these things. Where she here, what would Mavis do? He asked himself.
"Well." He started slowly. "The first rule of warfare is 'Know thy enemy'. In this case, we need to figure out what is here, what it is capable of, and what is going on. Also, I think it would be reasonable to move with as much haste as possible. Whatever is going on we need to shut it down immediately." He started pacing, five steps, turn, five more, turn, repeat. "Scouts. when one want to know what their enemy is up to, send out scouts. We could send out wizards with skills and magics for moving without being seen, each with a communication lacrima connected to one here. They fan out to comb the entire island, which isn't too big all things considered. The rest of us can set up a base of sorts while we wait for their reports. But, doing this would take time and those scouts will be at extreme risk if they get into trouble while the majority of our force would be safe just in case we go from the hunters to the hunted. We could set some kind of pre-arranged signal if they do need help. Something like..."
Ferrin lapsed and stopped pacing as he dug around in his pockets. He cursed as came up with only three cylinders trailing string. "Damn, I thought I had more." He held one up. "Something like a firework, should they not have the magic to replicate one in some form." He sighed. "But I only have three left so...there goes that idea. We will have to work on that."
He gathered his thoughts again before launching into he second idea. "Another option is to split all of us into teams of three to five, based on skills and strengths, each with a communication lacrima paired with one back here. These numbers would ideally allow us to cover a lot of ground, while still packing enough power to get out of a dangerous situation and numbers enough to look out for each other. One team would stay here to facilitate communication and direct everyone's movements. Each team would need at least a 'combat' wizard, a 'scout' wizard, and a 'support' wizard. The scout would be in charge of, well, scouting. Their job is to find anything of interest and keep an eye out for danger. The support wizard would be the center of the team: they hold the lacrima and stay out of danger at all costs, thus playing a 'support' role. Finally, the combat wizard's job is self-explanatory. Their job to keep everyone safe and enemies unsafe. These need to be wizards with great power and combat experience. I would consider myself an example of one. Depending on how numbers and skills turn out, we may have overlap in these roles, which is fine, even ideal. Redundancy is good. Should one team get in deep trouble, the team back here can direct the closest teams to back them up. However, a pre-arranged signal, like a firework, would not be amiss, should they be unable to contact the base. This gives us the most flexibility, while covering the most ground and still keeping everyone relatively safe."
Ferrin took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Our third option would be to travel as one large group, with a few scouts. This would give us the advantage of numbers should we attack or be attacked. This is the safest option, but also the slowest and least subtle. Anyone within half a mile would hear us crashing through the woods. We would have a few wizards as scouts so that we don't walk into an ambush or get some warning in case of any other danger."
Ferrin stopped and spun on a heel to face Sasha and Patrick once again. "I would advise toward the second. but each option has its own pros and cons. As the leader, the decision on which path we take is up to you dear girl."
As he fell silent, he questioned himself. Did he consider every option? Was there a better way? Was there some detail he missed? But he shoved his doubts aside and forced himself to project an air of supreme confidence.
⚙️ Ferris Grey Solidor
Combat Retcon ⚙️
Combat Retcon ⚙️
@Eklispe, @Suku, @SevenStormStyle
Things were suddenly moving quickly. At this point, Ferris was simply taking the sudden re-reorganization of teams in stride, giving up trying to figure it out. Although if he was being honest with himself, he was disappointed at no longer having the leadership role. But, so it goes. He was sure somebody knew what they were doing in all this. His disappointment was completely overshadowed by his excitement at being back out in the field. This was what he trained for, this is where he belonged, not trapped in some stuffy room playing schoolboy.
He watched his new teammates as they stepped out of the airship. They had barely had time to exchange names (which he had promptly forgotten oh well) before being bundled out on a mission. Knowing the capabilities, if not the names, of those around him was something Ferris prided himself on, and not knowing theirs's was not only frustrating but could prove fatal. Of course he had basic info on his scroll, provided by Beacon, but there was only so much a few short paragraphs could explain. He needed to know more-- how they acted, how they thought. Were they impulsive? Cautious? Short-tempered? Did they trust easily? Were they suspicious? Analytical like him? Unsystematic? Most importantly he needed to know their skill with their auras. A powerful aura was wasted on one that didn't utilize it properly, and vis versa, a weak or limited aura could be used to great effect if properly understood.
Although, dangerous situations do tend to be good learning environments. Should one survive the lessons. He thought with grim humour. For sure, he would be carefully observing his teammates.
He strode out following them with his hands clasped behind his back, then stood with the same posture, but at attention, as Mr. Doesn't-do-Well-With-Formalities gave them the details, such as they were, of the mission. They were quite simple: Seek and Destroy. The best kind. Ferris took the warning to be on the look out for Grim to heart. He reached back and drew Damocles in gun-form from it's holster under his coat, treating it with the respect it was due. Having it in his hand and ready could save precious seconds, and it's familiar weight and feel was comforting. He kept his eyes scanning the trees for any threats. Meanwhile, he tilted his head toward to the blonde who had spoken. "What do you mean 'hook us up?'" He asked.
Kara
Chapter 1 - In Times of Need
Kara woke not long before they landed. Hevel felt her shift as she sat up and glanced around. Consciousness came back to her in a rush as she remembered the strange series of events that lead her here. She surreptitiously wiped a smear of undignified drool from the corner of her mouth and glared at Hevel's back as if checking to make sure he hadn't seen anything. But a soft growl from her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since before that scuffle...a few hours ago? It felt like it had been longer.
Eventually the small group landed within sight of the keep to eat, drink, and refresh before stealthily making their way closer. And now here they were, peaking over the imposing wall that surrounded the keep and discussing their next move. She made a sound of disgust at Servus' immediate urge to fight. "I say we sit tight and wait. That is an army down there, if you haven't noticed and one that I don't particularly feel like tangling with at the moment." She winged down to the base of the wall, then folded her wings a sat with her back pressed against it, her tail curling around her feet. "My only objective is to see to the Fire Emblem's, and by extension, the world's safety. What do I care if humans are having another one of their wars? It will pass as all wars do." Her gaze grew distant as she spoke, her words a reminder that despite her looks, she was far older then any of them and not even slightly human. She pressed a hand to the ground. "I sense...the Emblem is underground, probably in a tunnel of some kind and moving fast. I shall wait here and follow where it goes. Whomever is carrying it will most likely head above ground eventually, or at the very least, lead me to a passage down." She said. "Until then, I wait. Feel free to go kill yourself fighting if you you wish." She said dismissively, trying to convince herself that she didn't care.
Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. Before Ferrin even hit the shore, he felt the island's power. It was in turmoil, rolling, twisting, and turning. Fighting. But against what? He also felt something like anguish, mixed with a malevolent, pulsating energy that reminded Ferrin of oozing, festering, maggot-ridden flesh. He felt like he could smell it, see it, even taste it. He blanched and put up his mental blocks to dampen his naturally acute senses while fighting to keep his stomach under control.
The phantom sensations weren't real; none of what he was sensing was literal, he reminded himself. It was how his mind was interpreting the information it received through his magical senses, just like his physical ones. He hadn't noticed it earlier because he had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts, but coming closer it hit him like a slap to the face.
He hesitated on the water, taking deep breaths. He could do this, he had dealt with his magical sensitivity for a lifetime. He carefully lowered his blocks, like peaking through closed eyelids.
It came again, but he was ready for it and steadied himself. The island itself was powerful. It radiated light and life, but mixed in was something else, a dark energy. It felt twisted, corrupted, and horribly wrong. Ferrin couldn't tell if it was part of the island's own anima or something else entirely. Never the less, something was wrong here.
It would appear that the girl's premonitions had some basis. The island's very anima loci is wounded. Not to forget that dark energy.
He put up his barriers once more and forged forward against the pervasive wrongness, each step growing harder then the last until suddenly, it was gone. He stumbled forward at the sudden absence, taking his first steps on the shady shore.
He was standing on Tenrou at last. Hesitantly, he reached out. He still felt the dark power, but it seemed to be held at bay for now.
Suddenly, the island's anima swept up against him and washed over him in a nearly physical wave. Ferrin reflexively shielded himself, but then he caught his breath in awe. He wasn't standing on the shore anymore. He was in a clearing the base of the tree, facing a hollow in the trunk and surrounded by jungle. Little pin-picks of light, like fireflies, flit about. They swirled, gathering and danced around him, laughing. Finally. They seemed to say in a discordant chorus. A lost Fairy has returned. He saw some detach out the the corner of his eye and he watched them float down to land where his guildmark was hidden. Ferrin gasped as his suddenly felt his guildmark pulse, sending waves of magic through his body. Then the lights scattered with phantom giggles.
And the feeling was gone. Ferrin was back at the shore, feeling like he just awoke from a dream. What was...? Did that...actually happen?
Disturbed, he wandered around a bit, searching for that strange sensation again. Failing to find anything, he did a more physical search of the edge of the tree line, approximately where he felt that sensation of being watching seeming from. His search turned up nothing. He never was a terribly good at woodcraft and hunting anyway. He stood from where he had knelt and brushed himself off. Time to go back to the others. He decided. He turned to walk away and then, he felt someone gently tug on his sleeve. At the same time, something cold and wet brushed the back of his neck.
Fortunately no one was around. Otherwise his brave, manly image would have been quite ruined by the decidedly unmanly, frightened yelp that certainty did not come from him. He leaped away in what certainly not an undignified scramble and called fire to his hand.
The firelight revealed a large bramble bush.
Ferrin stared for a beat. Then he started laughing. Hanging from his sleeve, caught in the folds, but not the enchanted material itself, was an arm of the bramble bush. Hung over where was crouched were some low-hanging branches, dangling leaves. He chuckled at his tension, but who could blame him? All things considered, it was lucky he hadn't just incinerated everything around him. Still amused, he used his handy, pun supremely intended, metal Gauntlet to carefully disentangle the thorns. As he did so, he noticed something he missed: a black thread, caught on the same bush. It was small and blended with the shadows. He reached in and picked it from the vines. It took a few tries, but he managed to free it. He held it up against the weak light that filtered through the trees. It was plain, black, and unassuming. Nothing much else. He considered trying a thaumaturgical spell to track it's source. But he immediately shot it down. The thread was too small and fragile. He could easily burn it up if he charged it with too much magic. He was better at big kabooms then really delicate magic like that. Still, it might be useful later. He pulled a little wooden cube that he kept for just this purpose out of a pocket, and placed the thread inside. On the lid was carved a small rune. He placed a finger on it and muttered "Memoria." Picturing the thread as he did. The rune glowed softly, then faded. Now, if he simply touched the rune, it would remind him what it contained. He had dozens of the things, and he had to keep track of them somehow. They were meant to contain anything small that would be easily lost in his pockets, that he might need later, like that thread.
He didn't invent the spell, he had met the guy who designed it and convinced him to show Ferrin how it worked. Ferrin, however, didn't quite have the hang of it yet. The boxes had been made by that man. The best he could manage was activating them. He was currently trying to find a way to use them to remember names.
He stowed the box and picked his way back to shoreline, spotting S...(Oh. Sasha right), along with Time Lord (when did he show up?!) and a few other members getting out of their boat. He called out and strolled up to them. "You were right in coming here. It seems something valde malus is afoot." He said nodding to Sasha, deliberately ignoring Patrick. "So what now? You are the de facto leader of our merry little band of merry men, women, cats, and others. Do you have a plan or do we need to make one?" He asked.
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