Dragoknighte

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Cyne & Nor

Location: Temple & Crossed Swords Tavern
Interacting with:Keystone & Ntaj

It was one thing to deny a man the chance to do business, it was another entirely to disrespect his entire profession without so much as uttering a single word. What was motivation seated in greed erupted into a great flame of rage and spite. This bastard was going to end up with quality hair care whether he liked it or not.

"What's with that look? Jus' think that cause ye managed te grow oot a greasy mop o' hair on yer face and a wild mess o'vines on yer scalp that you got good hair that you'd deign te have a wee razor touch it, eh? Having proper facial hair requires more work than jus' waitin' around 'til ye can't properly eat a good stew anymore, laddy. Ye gots te wash it on the regular, clean it, brush it, comb it, make sure it's properly styled an' regularly trimmed. Else ye just look like some filthy savage that don't know his own rear end from his 'ead. Or maybe ye jus' don' think I know me way 'round a blade, do ye? I honed my craft since long before you were a mere glimmer in yer daddy's eye. I've had more satisfied customers than the sum total of strands o' hair covering yer whole body!"

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This Yomdi character was certainly a card. She'd never heard of him, so the extent of his knowledge and wisdom was left entirely up to the imagination. But judging from how formally Keystone treated the old man, he certainly held him in great repute. What was a bit more surprising was that Keystone actually was a disciple of a monk clan.

That he had received some sort of monk training was fairly obvious hanging around the cook the past few days. The glimpses of combat she'd seen him perform were very Monk-y, but how he kept up all night with meditation was the dead giveaway for that. She'd just assumed that he'd traded food and protection to some monk in addition for some pointers on... whatever it is Monks actually used to perform their superhuman feats. They were a weird lot. However she was called out by Yomdi for not introducing herself, might as well follow Keystone's lead and give the formal introduction.

"My apologies. I am Cyneburg Jregh-Croft, 8th ranked Initiate of the Broken Fang." It occurred to Cyne immediately after the words came out of her mouth how unlikely it was for any non-druids to have an knowledge of the way the organization was set up, let alone be able to recognize a faction within based solely on the name. "That's a circle of the Druid organization anchored West of here," she added on at the end. Hopefully that would be enough clarification to settle things on her part.

Common Sense - A Post-Post-Apocalyptic Revolutionary Tale

@Filthy Mudblood@Lady Amalthea@FantasyChic@Nallore Alright, and here we begin. Your timers start now. You have until March 3rd 4:43PM my time to get your first post in.

Anyone who hasn't finished a CS are not locked out. I'm still accepting new characters.

Common Sense - A Post-Post-Apocalyptic Revolutionary Tale

July 29^th, 2371

6:32AM
_{Royal Family ETA: 36 Hours}

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The sun was just beginning to peek over the edge of the horizon. Rather, it would be just barely visible in a flat location, but the urban underbrush diminished the illumination of the star to a mere hint of purple in the skies above the buildings. New Cardiff was a city that never entirely slumbered, but the throng of cars that scurried down the streets and the people who shambled along the progressively decrepit sidewalks numbered less than what would come to pass later during the day.

Enter Satchel Sommer, Mayor of New Cardiff, who sat in one of many cars that lined the roadways, waiting for a red light to turn green. His car was nicer than most of those around him, but only just. He had a couple more features he didn't use, slightly more comfortable seats that smelled of tobacco and grease and a paintjob that was just a smidge more ruined by pigeon poop.

The past few weeks had been nothing but stress from everyone he knew, always something new to look over and debate and push through in some vain attempt to make the city as presentable as possible for the coming arrival of Albert. Some things had worked out better than anticipated, most petered out with the expected amount of flaccidity. But hey, that was local government. He didn't have the weight to throw around like Lady Anabelle, even if he was held more accountable for her actions than she.

Satchel pulled a cigarette out from his glove compartment and glanced across the street at a brand new streetlight, still on. That was one visible difference he had been able to make, improving a lot of the infrastructure around the city. A lot of it had been leftover from the days when this city was little more than a pit stop for traders moving up and down the rivers. He'd gotten some pushback from old people and those who wanted to preserve the "authenticity" of old New Cardiff, but more were in favor of roads that didn't crack when somebody dropped their keys on it. Lighting the cigarette, he took a bit of transient pleasure in being able to see some of the fruits of his labor in the public sector.

In his periphery, he noticed red change to green and started the slow acceleration back to 40kmph. Regardless of what joy he could muster now, it would soon be forgotten in the renewed stress of the job once he set foot outside of his car. Hell, the only reason he'd been able to spend this long with relative peace of mind was that he shut off his phone and disabled his car's calling features, otherwise the entire commute would be dominated by last minute preparations for an even they ultimately had little control over.

At least, that was Satchel's line of thought before he had parked his car and walked towards the government building. He felt something drip onto his forehead as he passed the flagpole. It was something he saw so often it was practically invisible these days. His brain just filtered it out. He touched his head and his fingers came away darkened, but exactly what had just fallen was difficult to tell in the darkness of dawn. The mayor looked up and spotted a body impaled vertically on the top of the flagpole. Satchel initially recoiled in disgust, but then got closer and squinted at it, for it seemed more familiar beyond the innate familiarity of the human form.

It was his boss, Ram Tobin, the Minister of New Cardiff. His eyes drifted down and spotted what appeared to be a piece of paper affixed to the pole. Cautiously, he removed the note from the pole and positioned his body to make the writing as visible as possible in what light he could gather.

This is just the beginning.

"Son of a bitch."

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

@Lucius Cypher Cyne's also at the temple with Keystone and Satilla; separated from the rest of the group Probably should have indicated the split in location better in my post.

Post tomorrow probably.

🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed)

Carla Lobo

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Location: Conference Room

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That last sentence was clearly meant to be a huge reveal and a checkmate against a crew that was presumably loyal to the Alliance and the causes it championed. A reasonable assumption, but one that happened to be for the most part utterly false. Of the crew that remained after being stripped down, a great number of them didn't even official work for the Alliance, and she was fairly certain that less than half at most of the total crew could even be considered loyal to the government. Her expression remained as neutral as ever in the face of the big reveal.

Most people would certainly shocked at the moral reprehensibility of the Alliance and how low they could sink, but the mind of a sociopathic killer could cut through the moral outrage and see the logic of it all. Why wouldn't you want a breed of absolutely ruthless, vicious killers under your command? It was just another attempt to get the perfect human weapon, much like her own upbringing and training under the Agency. And as outlandish as trying to control the Reavers sounded, Jahosafat's expression gave it all away and in the process explained a great many things. There were many things that Carla could verbally pick apart right now, but she deigned to voice her many, many complaints with Anisa In favor of trying to get a better understanding of the situation.

"Alright, say that the Alliance does want to use the Reavers as soldiers. Say that it's actually possible for them to actually carry this out and are working on it right now. What are you planning on doing with this information? Are you going to try to raise an army with this information and make a second attempt at revolt? The Alliance is a lot less popular now than it was a scant few decades ago. You could possibly get a much greater force together than the first Browncoat Uprising, Will you tuck tail and try to remain out of sight of the Alliance and hope they don't succeed at this Reaver Army project? As powerful as the Alliance seems to be, none of us truly know how many of their projects and desires come into fruition or end up crashing and burning. The mere existence of the Reavers proves their track record in the scientific experiment is far from spotless. Or are you going to go on as if you'd never learned this tidbit in the first place? Try taking little potshots against the Alliance whenever you can, feeding your own need for Revenge against the machine but never causing any lasting harm. What are you going to do now?"

Souls of Steel: A Giant Mecha RP

Roger was slouched in his seat so far that describing it as sitting could be considered overly charitable. In his mouth was an unlit cigarette, held skyward in between his teeth, with nary a touch of skin. He shifted his jaw and angled the stick of tobacco towards his face, another shift and it pointed away, through the steel of the machine and into the emptiness of space out beyond.

This was the third battle the squad would be engaged in, technically the second if one didn't count that first "training" mission, but only a pendant or a sociopath would suggest that a skirmish with as many casualties as there were wasn't actually a fight. The team had a bit of real experience under their belt now, but if you looked at their track record, the prospects of this mission were not as bright as one might hope. Still, they had more support both in equipment and manpower, so this could be a time to really show their stuff.

All that said, Roger didn't know how to feel. There wasn't the anus-clenching fear and ensuing hyper-focus of the last mission, nor was there the naivete of the initial training mission. No, he was just normal Roger for once. And as exciting as it was that he'd be part of the first counterstrike against the Cruxi, his mind still contained a healthy amount of doubt that they'd be able to pull off this mission without dying horribly. At the moment he was more bored than anything. Well, he was until they dropped out of warp. Suddenly he shifted in his seat and grabbed the controls.

"Yeager standing by. Ready to roll whenever you are," he called, hands moving all around the cockpit and unlit cigarette still held firmly between his teeth. This battle would be hot and fast if they were to succeed. And maybe he would be able to actually make it through without suicidally ramming into something.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Location: Taxicab

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"About time a taxi showed up. I was starting to think they didn't like us. Alright, just how many sisters do you have?" Mali asked as she stepped into the taxi cab. She took a deep breath inwards as the taxi air swept over her. It wasn't perfect, it smelled musty and slightly rank, but it was at least ten degrees cooler than the air outside. Inside the car, she kept her hands in her lap and tried to take up as little space as possible.

Once the car began to move, she felt her back muscles loosen and relax. The stress of knowing you're around the target of assassination did a number on one faster than one might think. But that would hopefully be behind them soon and she could worry about the meal and conversation to come. Although it had only been a couple hours previous, the wait at the bar felt like it had occurred long ago. Hopefully the rest of the day would not be so long.

Common Sense - A Post-Post-Apocalyptic Revolutionary Tale

@The Fated Fallen Hurry up, I'm starting Monday.

Souls of Steel: A Giant Mecha RP

I just realized I never actually posted. Whoops. Will get one up after work.

Common Sense - A Post-Post-Apocalyptic Revolutionary Tale

@UraharaSteph Thanks for letting me know.

@Lady Amalthea Probably won't be necessary.