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    1. Dragoknighte 11 yrs ago

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10 yrs ago
Current @Lady Amalthea, does that mean every post is a Horocrux?
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Mali woke up to the incessant screeching of an unfeeling digital alarm clock, its cold red LED screen flashing 6:00 AM into the darkness. She blinked a few times, taking stock of everything her lower back was sore and her arms felt a bit tight, but that was fine, nothing unusual. What was worse was how the inside of her mouth felt like a chicken finger stuck between two sheets of 2000 grain sandpaper. Sitting up, Mali was eye level with the alarm clock, that sat directly opposite of her across the room. The red flashing of the alarm clock served as the only light source, revealing the unorganized opened boxes left over from moving in and furniture strewn about the room. Getting up out of bed, Mali traversed the treacherous terrain of her bedroom to finally shut the damn thing off.

Tip toeing her way into the kitchen/living room, Mali turned on the fluorescent white lights that made everything way too bright for half a second. Digging through a cabinet she pulled out a matte blue plastic cup and filled it with tap water. She drank it all in one go, appreciating how much a little went to reversing the desertification of her mouth. Briefly, her mind turned to thoughts of eating, but those were shoved out of the forefront. She had to do morning cardio first. Despite this, her eyes wandered over to the fridge anyway. On it was a note written in sharpie ink on yellow paper reminding her that tonight was a party night where everyone in this group of buildings would supposedly be at. Well today was a rest day, and it wouldn't hurt to get to better know the neighbors. Mali made a mental note to try to put together a cute outfit later.

But for now, it was time to run. Mali headed back to the bathroom and changed into a sports bra, a loose-fitting pair of black shorts, a pair of plain white socks and a baggy grey shirt. Fetching the last few necessities (wallet, phone, headphones, keys, a water bottle) and turning off the kitchen light, Mali walked to the door and shoved on her black and yellow running shoes without bothering to redo the laces. As she left the apartment building, she put her headphones into her ears and started thinking about what to do for the party later.
Cyneburg

Location: The campsite
Interacting with: Calanon, Keystone


Cyneburg trailed behind the rest of the group, not for any specific strategic or well thought out answer, but simply because she was an outsider and wasn't in bad enough shape to be in the back of the wagon. It wouldn't feel right to walk with the rest of the people, and since she wasn't acting as a guide, the back seemed like the best spot.

The druid glanced up as it started to rain and pulled her burned mantle around her. That was another thing she would need to replace sometime. For now it would have to do. Personally, she wasn't the biggest fan of storms. She knew people who were, and they were always giant weirdos, running out into typhoons laughing and waving their arms around, then they come down with pneumonia for a week. They also tended to have long, wild hair and big crazy eyes. Fun at parties, not so much dealing with on a day to day basis. Still, storms were something she was obligated to respect and they were rather important to the environment, but it still sucked to be caught in the rain. At the very least they soothed the fireball burns that she would need to deal with until the woman in white whose name Cyneburg forgot was well again.

Cyneburg stifled a yawn as another newcomer arrived, an elf male who was quite well armed. He did not state his name, but he claimed to be tracking the orcs. Why he would be doing such a thing was not elaborated on, but he claimed to not mean any harm. Well he didn't have aggressive body language, so she had no reason to disbelieve him, especially as a fellow outsider.

There was one thing however, that was bothering Cyneburg, something that had been wrong since before the fight. Although she hadn't given it too much thought, it was still gnawing at the back of her mind, like a childhood case of lice that isn't caught for half a year. Picking up the pace, the druid approached Keystone, her face wrought with concern.

"Excuse me, but what exactly did you mean by 'my lot doing their business in the woods?'"


And her goes my first CS
*pokes head in and gives a friendly wave*

Is there room for another?


Oh hey there.




Location: Arriving, The Beach
Interacting With: Himself, Wadsworth, Everyone else

Today was a good day for Maurice. He ate waffles today for the first time in a year. He even had syrup on them. MAPLE SYRUP. Even if he didn't meet anyone on this trip, it will have been worth it for the food alone. In the back of his mind there was the nagging voice that afterwards there would be weeks of pain, but he ignored it. For now, he felt like a king. Ritual plain oatmeal for months on end had almost made him forget why breakfast used to be his favorite meal of the day.

Maurice stood at the back of the aft, chest thrust out and hands on his hips like the fucking champ he felt like when the boat stopped. He had a couple of bags with him, with long straps that fit over the shoulder nothing that would be difficult for him to carry, filled with clothes of varying formality and some bare essentials for the trip. A laptop, his 3DS, a couple (light) novels, a DVD copy of End of Evangelion.

He stepped on the dock, politely telling the crew that it was fine, he would carry his own bags and giving Wadsworth a big handshake to his discomfort. Well seemed like he was Lucky number 7. Everyone here was decently attractive, and only two were soaking wet. Maurice was the biggest guy there, physically but not but a huge margin. There were a lot of tall guys already, not one would be shorter than 6 feet tall. The women were a lot shorter, closer to average height at least. He gave a big wave to everyone there.





Location: Arriving, The Beach
Interacting With: Wadsworth, Everyone else, Maurice

Mauriah adjusted her baseball cap so it would better block out the sun. While on the boat she passed the time by wearing down Dum Dum suckers until they were soggy plastics sticks and browsing her phone. It wasn't really all that exciting, but it wasn't mind-dullingly bored. And even if it was, some nothing was part of what she was signing up for. Time away from the arguing and politics of trying to maintain some architectural integrity in a project instead of just letting uninformed clients dictate bad design everywhere for the sake of their taste. She felt the lurch of the boat stopping and looked up onto the deck to see the something off.

That height, that hair. No, it couldn't be. Nooooooooo.

"Oh, hell no. Maurice?" The big man on the dock turned around with a big smile.

"Mauriah, is that you? Heeey! I didn't know you were doing this thing too!" He raised both his arms in the air, bags jostling in the wind. Mauriah walked up onto the dock, face in hands, looking more defeated than anyone should after just arriving at their vacation location.

"I'm Maurice, and this is my sister, Mauriah. What's up?"
Short ass post.

In other news, woo mental breakdowns!
Roger sat in his cockpit silent, but shaking. How the hell were they supposed to destroy something that could liquefy organic matter in a second? What were they even doing going out into battle right now? They were still in the process of training, yet got launched out into a major battle to take down a superweapon. The last "mission" they were sent out on was "training" against an enemy that blew half themselves up, and almost everyone on the team had effectively died. This time they would be against the Cruxi themselves. This was a fucking suicide mission, but it didn't seem like half the people in the team even realized it, with some of them even being excited. They were a bunch of fools to even sign up for this shit, and there would be no way out either. No way out. No way out. No way out. No way out.
Cyneburg

Location: The campsite
Interacting with: Keystone, Kyra


There was a lot of information to process quickly here, some good, a lot less so. First it was that nobody seemed to mind her mixed heritage, which was a relief, if one that she had half-expected given Lob's previous presence. Still, not everyone everywhere was so accepting, so she would have to pick up a new veil or fashion a new one out of some improvised material. She'd been wearing that opaque piece of cloth for so long that it felt off to not have it anymore. That was about the extent of good news.

Although Cyneburg liked people and enjoyed seeing them succeed, she had to keep herself detached from them and recognize that people having to die in war was something that had to necessarily happen to keep the balance in check. It was a tough fact to have to accept, but Kyra killing the orc who had just surrendered and any remaining survivors didn't sit well with her, especially as to what set her off on this in the first place. Maybe the humans actually had started this whole affair and Kyra was in on it. Perhaps her first instincts about these people were wrong. She'd have to be careful around them.

What sat worse was the news of undead. War and death were part of the cycle, but Undeath sure wasn't. This was almost certainly a sign of bigger, more dangerous things at work. In any case, she would have to step in and deal with these undead. If it turned out to be something she couldn't handle alone she'd have to contact the Organization about it.

Around now Cyneburg realized she had been standing in one spot for a couple minutes staring at nothing. It seemed like everyone was stating if they were ready to leave.

"Oh, um. I'm good to go." Cyneburg still carried everything on her, so it's not like she had to do a lot of preparation in the first place. And there was that same flute again. At least it wasn't trying to falsely imitated birds anymore. Maybe it was a signal played by a scout relaying a message to other orcs in the distance. Fuck.
Out of fuckbox. Post incoming
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