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11 mos ago
Current It's too late. Always has been. Always will be.
11 mos ago
Life is just death in drag.
3 yrs ago
He has no friends, but he gets a lot of mail. I'll bet he spent a little time in jail.
3 yrs ago
jesse i have no money for fuckijg bills and steam sales
4 yrs ago
DO NOT REINCARNATE

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In MONSTORY 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
As much as Izzy probably expected he would have, Holden reacted quite poorly to her sudden attempt to seize his knife away from him. He lashed out at her, not in any kind of fluid or deliberate motion, but a twitchy, jerking motion that was likely almost entirely reflex. Being in such close quarters, his blade struck flesh, and cut a shallow line across Izzy's palm. A few drops of blood landed on the floor, but the wound had hardly been deep enough for any to remain on the blade.

"Now look what you've done, you-" Holden began to admonish her, clearly flustered, but his words trailed off as he looked back at the wound he had inflicted on her.

The thin cut on her palm was healing before his very eyes. Already as he finished speaking its ends had narrowed and sealed into fresh, healthy skin, and the wound shrank in length at the same rate that a hazy sunset disappeared behind the horizon. He watched, utterly transfixed as the wound vanished entirely, Izzy's blood having long since evaporated from the floor. His knife clattered to the floor as he lost the strength in his arms, still agog.

"How..." His strength in his legs seemed to leave him then, as he collapsed onto his hands and knees. "How did you..."

Twenty minutes later...


Holden had been a bit more willing to listen to reason after that. Now believing Izzy's claim that she could help him, he wasn't openly hostile, but he was still far from friendly or trusting. It took a bit more cajoling for Izzy to convince him to pay a visit to a friend of hers: Mohe Riley. The abandoned school was a twenty-minute ride away by bike, and Holden's means of transportation was typically the bus. As such, he'd been forced to hitch a ride on the back of Izzy's bike. An act that he found demeaning and emasculating, as he loudly complained of such to Izzy for the entire ride. Despite his protests, it wasn't a burden on Izzy to pedal for both of them; he didn't weigh anything, after all.

Eventually they reached the school that Riley was squatting in. Danger. Do not enter. Private property. The usual signs hung outside, but Izzy paid them no mind, and seemingly neither did Holden. He surveyed the school from the outside with a clearly wary expression, though what he could glean from his examination that wasn't already obvious, Izzy wasn't sure.

"So this... Riley person. He was kind of an interesting name; it sound sort of... cute? Maybe kitschy is a better word. Is he a cute, kitschy person?"

Despite the fact that he was neither of those things, Izzy could only wonder how these two would interact once they met. She had only won Holden over with her little parlor trick, but Riley had no such grounds to be believed. And even then, his typical tricks were not the type that inspired trust. If Holden got the wrong idea, she could have a mess on her hands. It would probably be best to diffuse the situation before it began. Namely if he had any more knives hidden on him, to start.
Arms dealing seems like a bit of a narrow field in this sort of setting, at least if every single PC is going to be one. Would it be unreasonable to widen into other sorts of smuggling or criminal activity?
Quite interested. I'd be interesting in learning more about our prospective characters, and the setting at large. What other powers are at play here? What would you describe as the technological level of the setting? How does magic generally work?
Literally no one sane makes maps that aren't aligned to the cardinal directions. You're overthinking it.
Ozgad's Folly, though a remote village overrun with pirates, still possessed a small constabulary. That was to say, a single sheriff that collected modest fees from pirates taking refuge, posted bounties for those that disrupted the peace, and put any lawbreakers that did not pay him to the sword. The constable, Jerez, lounged comfortably in the stilted shack that served as both his home and office. Easily one of the richest men in town, he sat back in a wicker chair, feet perched on the desk he used to draft bounties, and smoked a fat cigar.

A heavy knock at his door broke him from his dozing, and he answered gruffly, "Enter."

Though the orange sunlight of dusk briefly entered the smoky abode from the opened door, it was quickly shut out again by the hulking figure the ducked down through the doorway. Though he squinted to get a better look at his visitor, Jerez already knew who it was. A half-giant from the hellish badlands to the south, whom he had met some days prior to arrange a bounty. Jerez sat up straight to greet the man, who seemed no worse for wear despite his days allegedly spent hunting outlaws in the wilds of the marsh. The only difference was a hefty burlap satchel slug easily over his shoulder.

"Good hunting?" He asked casually.

The beast didn't answer him, but instead upended the satchel onto his desk. One, two, three, four human heads rolled out, thudding wetly onto the papers scattered atop it. One rolled a ways and dropped onto the floor. Jerez licked his lips, eyeing the severed heads with slight alarm. The bounty had been "dead or alive," and if he brought them in breathing he would have killed them men himself. Still, he was not used to the casual brutality of barbarians. He looked up at the monstrous man, whose body seemed to fill the entirety of the shack.

"I see..." He said, quieter than before.

"The four men," the half-giant said, the room seeming to shake with the dark timbre of his voice, "As agreed. My payment?" He held out a meaty hand, easily large enough to Jerez's skull like a handfruit.

"Of course, of course." Jerez said, after a moment's pause. He gripped his cigar in his teeth has he retrieved his purse, counting out an assortment of rough coins into the man's hand. Silvers and coppers, peasant's pay that he assumed the brute would be grateful for.

As Jerez stopped, the half-giant did not withdraw his hand, but carefully counted out what had had been given. Jerez eyed him carefully, as an irritated expression crossed his brutish features. His thick fingers curled over the coins, securing them in his leathery grip.

"Less than half what I was promised." He said, his tone neither questioning nor threatening. A simple statement, but it unnerved Jerez none the less.

"Yes, well," the constable, who found himself sweating, began to explain, "It's a reduced bounty for dead men. After all, I can't confirm their identities with only heads. Sure, I can see their faces, but I have only my memory to go by and I cannot say for sure-"

He was cut off by the barbarian suddenly flinging the remaining heads to the floor with a brush of his hand. The towering man loomed over him, leaning across his desk with his knuckles upon the wood. The desk creaked loudly under his weight, and Jerez could smell the blood and gristle on the man's hot breath. He glanced at his eyes only briefly, but in that moment did not see rage, but cold focus.

"Remember quickly." He said curtly.

Jerez jumped from his seat like he had been shot, and blindly grabbed a loose handful of coins from his purse and flung them onto the desk. The half-giant stood up with this, the wood of the desk seeming to sigh with relief, picked out the few gold coins among those that had been thrown at him, and left the shack without another word.

Zoa squinted into the sunset, his payment clutched in his fist, his belly empty and his thirst great. He licked his chops like a wild dog, fangs poking out over his lips as he did so. He could only hope that the tavern in this squalid town had enough meat and ale to satisfy him, and no less than two spare beds that he could push together once he was too drunk to stand. With that he set off carefully down the stilts, and toward the center of Ozgad's Folly.
PRESENT TENSE

I'm basically waiting for the time skip before I get rocking and rolling. That way I can just kinda cut in and out with what I have planned.
As the old world ended, and a new began, Sean's entire world went black. His vision swam, and his sense of balance distorted before disappearing entirely. He found himself floating and tumbling through an infinite void, aware of nothing but his own shock and terror. His mind reeled with possibilities. Had the dive technology failed in some way? Was this the result of the server shutdown? He even considered the possibility that his headset had somehow short-circuited and electrocuted him. However, after what felt like an eternity of nothingness, his senses returned. What he saw, he could make even less sense of.



Suspended in what seemed like a dimension between worlds, Sean found himself staring up at figures so immense that their form was nearly incomprehensible to him. Vaguely humanoid in form, as far as Sean could tell, they were made up of swirling energies and starstuff, their "faces" only malevolent red suns. Despite lacking features of any kind, Sean could feel their gazes upon him, a pressure so immense he thought he might be crushed.

THE OLD WORLD HAS ENDED, AND A NEW IS BORN


Words rang through Sean's head, filling his skull with searing pain and wracking his entire body with such waves of intense pressure that he thought he might come apart at the seams. If he had been standing on solid ground, he may have fallen to his knees. Rather, he merely clutched at head, doubling over where he floated in the void. Was this a dream? Or had he died, and this was the horrific afterlife that awaited him?

LORD BAAL, WE HAVE AWAITED YOU


Again, the voice spoke, but Sean was caught off guard by what was said this time. It addressed him not by name, but by the alias of his YGGDRASIL character. Was this still part of the game? It couldn't be; YGGDRASIL didn't have that level of sensory interaction, and even if it did, it was almost certainly a malfunction to cause him this level of discomfort. He looked down at his hands, and noticed for the first time that they felt exactly like his own. Flesh and blood, despite being the slender, ivory digits of Azoth Baal. The pieces began to fall together in his mind.

WE TRUST YOU HAVE FOUND OUR POWER TO YOUR LIKING

GREATER WONDERS AWAIT YOU, BUT FIRST WE MUST BE PAID OUR DUES


Sean wracked his mind, trying to comprehend the situation he found himself in. It then occurred to him in a flash of inspiration that if he could not make sense of this as Sean Wiseman, he would have to approach the situation as Azoth Baal. He straightened out and gazed up to the otherworldly beings that stared down at him.

"What would you ask of me?" He called out in a voice of command.

MAKE TRIBUTE IN OUR HONOR

GIVE US LOYAL SERVANTS, OR FEARFUL SLAVES

ALL SHALL FEAR THE STRENGTH OF CHAOS, THE POWER OF THE VOID


There may have been different entities addressing him, but Sean, or rather, Azoth could not distinguish between them. Still this seemed to be working. Whatever they were, they were responsive to him in a way that the so-called gods in YGGDRASIL never had been. He swallowed, trying to think of how to respond.

"And if I refuse?"

YOU HAVE NO CHOICE

ALREADY YOUR SOUL BELONGS TO US

EVEN IF YOU HIDE FROM OUR SIGHT, OUR MOST FAVORED DAUGHTER IS YOUR PARTNER IN ETERNITY


Favored daughter? Azoth struggled to think what they could mean by this. However, he was not given long to ponder, as he was at once thrust back into a reality that he better understood. Gone were the stars and the void, and in its place was the guildhall that he stood in just before the server shutdown. However, it stood in ruins, apparently the site of some great battle. The other players were nowhere to be found, and Azoth knelt alone in the rubble. How long had he lingered in that forsaken place, with those dark masters?

A feminine voice whispered sweetly into his brain, breaking him from his thoughts, "Now, my master. Let us begin the Great Work. In this, I shall be your most trusted partner. Your mightiest ally. Your most loyal confidant. Your most watchful observer." The voice faded away as it laughed cruelly.

Azoth felt (felt! such an alien experience from what he was used to in these settings) a malevolent presence, practically upon him. It hung at his hip, cold as death and as dark as a starless sky. He realized then that not only had the Masters of the Void become all too real, it was their agent as well that had become bonded to him: Stormsorrow, the Daughter of the Void.
The absolute madman.
@KoL More commenting on the use of Cagliostro, who is quite decidedly not a woman at all.
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