Ducksworth

Lost World: The Lost Continent

@Avis Hunter Did you still have interest?

Lost World: The Lost Continent

.

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

46

Lost World: The Lost Continent

Right here! Let's see a CS!

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy Noir

I do have a strong interest for this but are players playing The Characters or The underdogs it's a little unclear in how it's written, at least to my eye. Is it that we are, in fact, both? We make up the lore but we're also an underdog in this world?

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

♫ Yo, ho, yo, ho, it's a pirates life for meee~ ♪

Fate/Edelweiss

THALORIAN KESSLER

Forest Grove Base

For a moment, he could only blink, stunned again, but for an entirely different reason. Her hand wrapped around his, small and warm and unexpectedly firm, and her smile lit up the grove like sunrise through the mist. She called him ‘Thally.’ He didn’t even mind. In fact, the way she beamed up at him with total sincerity, excitement bubbling over in every syllable, it made something old and quietly scarred in his chest stir with strange relief.

"You're a good person, Thally! I've decided! Yes, I will be your partner!"

The words echoed, and somehow, hearing them out loud made the whole world seem a little more real. He laughed, low and breathy, surprised. It escaped before he could think to muffle it.

“Then it’s a promise,” he said, offering her a small, lopsided grin. “Partners it is.”

A gust stirred the trees overhead. The scent of pine shifted. His smile faded just slightly, brow furrowing as he glanced southeast, not with fear, but focus. Something stirred beneath his palm, still resting against the soil. Threads of the sanctuary web hummed against the pressure of external mana, not intrusive, but undeniable. A storm of spiritual energy, distant but mighty. He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s movement,” he murmured, “magic swelling far off, definitely not subtle. Feels like a clash. A Servant, probably, likely two.” He met her gaze again, more alert now. “Tourbillon, most likely. Someone’s making themselves known.” He paused in thought, but not for long.

“We don’t have to jump in, I’m not looking to start a war with strangers before we’ve eaten.” He smiled again, softer, one brow raised. “But if you’d rather not stay cooped up, we could move out. See the battlefield from a distance, get a sense of who’s throwing their weight around?”

He stood, brushing pine needles from his knees, then offered a hand toward her, palm up. “Or we could scout somewhere else. The Basilica’s not far, and I’d wager someone’s tried to stake a claim there. Whatever you want, Rider.”

There was no pressure in his tone, only trust. The kind of trust that had already chosen her, long before she raised her fist to the sky.
@Cocojoe

---

AUREUS DEUS BELLATOR

Tourbillion Battlefield

Aureus did not answer Rider’s taunts with words. He answered with silence, and in that silence, contempt. Not for the rocks or the crowd-pleasing swagger, but for the man who wielded them with the safety of a sister’s voice always in his ear. A warrior who could not step forward without a handler was no warrior at all.

And then the stone was loosed. He saw it, not with alarm, but with precision. The angle. The weight. Not aimed to kill, but to blind. Dust, of course. That was the moment. The moment everything clicked. The false throw. The timing. The echo of it all, etched across centuries of gladiator’s instinct. He had seen it before, he had done it before, lived it a thousand times in a thousand skins: sand flung before a blade, shame dressed in showmanship. And the Colosseum had always hated it.

As the stone struck the earth and the dust surged up in a choking veil, Aureus moved. Not out of panic, but with purpose, a dive to the side, clean and practiced, performed both to evade and to vanish. Better to disappear into the screen than wait for the killing blow behind it.

Mid-flight, he summoned the trident. Gold bled into the air beside him, the weapon forming just before his hand met it. He landed in a roll, momentum fluid from dive to crouch, cloak sweeping the cracked earth, dust swirling his form. His feet found stone, and the throw came fast behind it, a snap of the hips, a twist of the shoulders, and then the trident flew, tearing through the dust in a direct and uncompromising line.

A challenge, hurled not merely at the man, but at the curtain he stood behind, at the sister who spoke for him, at the spectacle he refused to join. But the throw was the prelude, The charge came next.

Furor Theatricus ignited within him, his breath steady, heart unflinching, as the Colosseum demanded more from its champion. Rider had sought to delay. To deceive. To disrupt the rhythm of the duel. And so the Arena answered. Aureus sprinted forward, the dust no longer Rider’s ally, but his own. His silhouette obscured through the haze, heavy footsteps dulled by debris, cloak billowing like the banner of a storm.

The hasta came to his grip, long, solid, built for reach. The parma followed, curved, compact, ideal for the charge. A shield not to hide behind, but to part the mist. A spear not to keep distance, but to close it in one decisive thrust. Aureus was no longer reacting, he was reclaiming the stage, and now the true battle could begin.
@SSW

Lost World: The Lost Continent

Definitely still intereste! Ill dig out that CS and get it over to you

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Eryn looked up at the tall new arrival, drawing a very deep, exasperated breath. “...No?” she answered him with a furrowed brow, anxiety at the idea of having to repeat everything almost overwhelming what little control she had over her need to run or stab something. Not that the newcomer towering above them all would have been a good place to start that. From what she’d seen on Abilene, she figured he could shut down any threat with one punch easily. But she knew she had one chance at this, so after a tense pause and one or two panicked looks at the droid hoping it would talk for her, Eryn set her jaw and closed her eyes in irritation.
“Needed a ride. Couldn’t pay. Didn’t trust anyone. I like small spaces. Only ship to land in weeks. Saw opportunity. Took it,” she growled, jerking her chin at the astromech. “Tripped over the metal. Got caught. Here we are.”
And here they were. She could hear at least some of the others outside the closed doors.
It took her a minute to realize she probably sounded how she felt, and more than likely it wasn’t doing her any favors, so she did her best to soften a bit. “I’ll work. Labor for a ride, like I told the dome. Don’t want any trouble.”

Wrench’s radome spun to look at Jet. *she broke my ceiling. We need to remove her from the ship before she breaks something we can’t live without*

Jet’s eyes stayed on Wrench a moment longer, jaw tight. ”Yeah, she busted the ceiling, and stowed away.” He ran his hand back through his hair, exhaling slowly. ”Not exactly her finest day, I’m sure. He glanced toward the girl, then back again to the droid. ”But locking the crew out and nearly venting her? That ain’t your call to make, Wrench. Damage or no.”

He turned to the stowaway then, his voice level but edged with wear. ”And you, don’t say you didn’t want trouble. You brought it the second you crawled aboard.” He paused, a small sigh as he rubbed his face with his hand. ”You didn’t know who we were, fine. But you still made the call to sneak aboard. That’s on you.”

He shifted his weight in the doorway, another breath, steadying. ”Look, it’s not my decision whether you get to stay or not, but I’m not about to space you for being desperate. Sit tight. The rest’ll be here soon enough, and I doubt they’ll be shy about it.”

Wrench said nothing to the tall human – the one with one ‘proper’ arm (and one fleshy arm.) Thankfully, humans had trouble discerning droids’ ‘eff off’ face from their ‘I’d die for you’ face…

Hearing Jet on the comms, she pulled her weapon. “Screw this…” Aellyn stepped into the common area, toward the door that Wrench had closed. With one hand she slammed against it. ”C’mon Wrench..open up. They can’t go anywhere.”

Fel followed Aellyn out of the cockpit, a determined look etched onto his features. Aellyn drew her gun, Fel drew his. Damn good idea. But Aellyn was back to beating on the door. Fel was through with that noise. Instead, he leveled his Power5 at the access panel, and fired, point-blank. The electrical panel blew apart in a short, sharp report – a little smoke, a few sparks. Tearing what was left of the panel off the wall, the Pilot hacked the wiring bundle off the back of the reader, and grounded the circuit against the casing, completing the circuit between the two hot leads. The access panel was virtually destroyed, but if anyone was going to kark up his ship, it was damn well going to be him.

The door slid open, and Fel levelled the heavy blaster once more, smoke still curling from the wide emitter shroud, this time at Eryn’s head. “What in the three suns is this, Schutta… this ain’t no rutting taxicab, Di’kut. Fracking scrunty spoggick!”

“I’m using you as a ride?” Aellyn quipped, raising her blaster slightly as she looked to the Pilot before turning her attention back to the other three. Where was the kid? She wondered. She looked over at the stowaway, easing up before holstering her weapon, believing the numbers were in their favor.

Jet’s lip curled as Fel and Aellyn stepped in. ”Speaking of trouble..”

Fethin’ hell, if Eryn had to repeat herself again…
Maybe just dying would be easier.

“Again! Trouble! Don’t want it!” Eryn raised her voice, wiggling her raised hands with urgency as she glared down the smoking barrel in her face. Even in her anxious, beleaguered state, she caught the words from the woman as she holstered her weapon, indicating this was his ship and he was in charge. Eryn had figured as much, from watching the interactions on Abilene, but the confirmation helped. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted that the fiery-haired female had put her weapon away, though.

What felt like a long minute was probably only a few seconds as Eryn scrambled around in her own brain, looking for any signs of her mother’s quick, witty tongue or her father’s savvy one-liners, anything to give her an edge here. But she could barely remember their faces now, much less try to absorb the last sparkle of their personalities. She came up pretty short pretty fast.

Floundering mentally, she gave up, opened her mouth, and prayed there was something in there worth speaking. “Just lock me up!”

….Welp. That’s the last time she’d try that tactic.

“Or put me to work, I’ll fix your karkin’ ceiling,” she threw a glance at the droid, “I’ll-.. I’ll pay off my ‘ride’ to wherever you’re going with labor and then you’ll never have to see me again. But I’m here now, I just needed to get off that gorram planet, but I don’t have any credits and you were the first ship in weeks, and I know what I’m usually good at, which is not being seen, current situation aside, so I…snuck in.” She dropped her hands finally. “I didn’t take anything except that food in the galley, once you were done. So just…” If she wasn’t resigned to her fate, she did a decent job of looking like it. “Lock me up, put me to work, but I-...”
She met their eyes, one by one, with maybe the first genuine emotion she’d felt since she’d arrived on Abilene.
Well, besides anxiety and annoyance and murderous rage.
“...I think all of you’ve known what it’s like. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”

Fel listened. He really listened. Tried to put himself in her shoes. It wasn’t a place he’d been in, for many years. Longer than he cared to recall. And when last he had been in that unenviable position, he hadn’t been given a choice. He’d been tossed out at the next station. Not even a planet or a moon. He’d made that cold, dirty station ‘home’ for six months. And he had certainly been ‘doing what you gotta do’ for years. He eased off the trigger, though there was still steel in his eyes. “Not being seen, huh? …tell me more about that.”

Eryn narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking from him to the blaster and back to him. “Let me live ‘til your next stop and I’ll tell you?”

Jet watched the blaster ease down, caught the subtle shift in Fel’s shoulders. The kind that said calculation. He was weighing his options and he knew what made him do it. He’d seen that look before. Jet’s brow creased slightly, just enough to show he’d clocked the change. He didn’t speak, not yet, he didn’t need to, but one dark, greying eyebrow lifted just a little. He already knew what Fel was thinking, and was waiting to see if he was right.

Fate/Edelweiss

Aureus Deus Bellator

A sound, not a war-cry but a chuckle. It drifted lazily down the slope, smug and strange. Aureus turned his head. There, not high upon the battlements, not rooted in the glory of combat, but seated like a lounging noble. Draped in odd garb, with posture unbecoming of a warrior, he reclined atop a creature of wool and gold. A sheep. A throne of fleece.

He was tossing a stone in one hand, as if weighing the idea of mischief. The other hand idly stroked the beast’s back like a cherished pet. And then, without so much as a battle stance, the man threw. Not one, but two. They spiralled outward. Trick-pitched arcs that curved opposite each other in the air, crafted to slip around a typical guard. Not brute force, but mastery.

Aureus didn't flinch, he didn't braced, but he moved, stepping forward. A single stride, measured and poised, right between the diverging rocks, slipping through the narrow window before the arcs split wide. The wind of their passing swept behind him, rustling his cloak. They had missed him, not by luck or lack of skill, but by judgment. He turned his head slightly, watching the path they took as they screamed past and decimated the ground behind him. His lips curled in derision.

“Truly? Stones, not steel?” he said, brushing the fleck of dust from his leg, slow and disdainful. “Are you mason or child?” The crowd had gone silent, listening. The Arena, ever unseen but ever present, hung in the breath between provocation and performance. Not yet stirred, but watching.

And somewhere beyond the haze of sunlight and dust, another gaze joined the silence. Unseen by most, unfelt by many, but not by Aureus. He had fought for kings, for slaves, for gods, and above all, the crowds. Let them watch. Let them weigh his glory against their own. All battles deserved spectators.

He turned to face Rider fully, the low sun framing his golden armor in an unforgiving glare. “You ride wool and throw stones… is this what passes for glory in your land? And still, you dare think to challenge me? Or shall I name it plain? That the mount is stronger than the man? That the sheep leads the shepherd?”

He stepped forward. His boots struck with weight, with rhythm, as though answering the unseen drums that beat faintly behind the veil of reality. “I do not know your name, O rider of sheep,” he continued, his tone silk-wrapped steel. His arms spread, not in threat, but like a conductor summoning the next act. He halted. “I am the arena. And this… This is not a performance,” He gestured toward him, “This is farce. Return to your flock; I waste no bronze on sheep in lion’s hide. But if you claim the right to battle, then descend. Meet me not with tricks, but with bronze and steel. Show me not your flock, but your fangs.”

@SSW @Double D @GOATplumber