Avatar of Emeth

Status

Recent Statuses

4 mos ago
Current I had a dad joke for you all today, but I lost the punchline. Hopefully it comes back to me.
8 likes
7 mos ago
Mm, vintage internet ragebait
3 likes
7 mos ago
1% of 2026 is already gone. Just do what you already did 99 more times, you'll make it.
3 likes
8 mos ago
If you can't handle me at my worst, that's okay, I can barely handle me at my best
3 likes
2 yrs ago
Imagine having the willpower to retire from RP and actually mean it (I will never escape)
10 likes

Bio

A late twenties/early thirties, they/them something-or-other who's been doing this writing thing on and off since my teens. When I need to blow off some steam, I play the kinds of games that would make the average Dark Souls fan scream with rage. Aside from those two hobbies, I don't make time for much. My roleplaying is probably the most social I'll ever be across the internet, but hopefully that's what you're here for.

Most Recent Posts

"Long ago, the Demon Mother and her generals led an army of devils and monsters, conquering the earth and subjugating the human race."

But, you and your friends don't really know anything about that.


The year is 2371, and the vast majority of humans live and die at the mercy of their demon overlords. The only remaining exception—and humanity's last chance at freedom—were driven from their vast former civilization into small, underground cities. At least, you hope that, for humanity's sake, there exists more than this particular cell of human resistance fighters you're so intimately familiar with.

Here, in this veritable prison of a cavern called Agartha, where a fake blue sky is projected onto the ceiling to simulate the "day" part of the city's day and night cycle, uniquely gifted individuals called Mediums are raised to become the next generation of heroes... who will accomplish little more than thinning the horde, as they do every year. It's expected that this year will be a year like any other; young men and women who were considered children only a few months ago will be sent to the surface to die, and have nothing to show for it. One young hero and their ever-expanding circle of friends hope to finally break this cycle of death and hopelessness. By invoking spiritual beings called Jinn, Mediums are able to use their Resonant Power to manifest their desires as a kind of magic. Their sworn purpose is to bring humanity's most fervent wish to fruition: reclaiming their lost freedom and dominion of the earth.

But what those humans truly wished for, above all else, was...


Character Creation

There is more lore below, but before we continue, let's skip ahead to the real reason this exists, as it'll more quickly help you decide if you're going to be interested in this. Mediums invoke spirits called Jinn, who gift their human masters with power—but it comes with a price. To decide what kind of power your character gets, you'll first think about what kind of character you want to play. Then, you the player will make a wish—in-character. Then, another player, acting as your character's Jinn, will grant you the power to make that wish come true, but then tack on some kind of drawback or Achilles' heel to it.

Yep. To get inspiration for your character's combat abilities, you'll be playing corrupt-a-wish!


There are a couple caveats. You aren't locked into whatever the first person to respond after you deigns to give you right away. You have a few options if you need to call a Mulligan. You can (in-character) try to negotiate with your Jinn, or summon another (just ask another player to throw you a bone). Or, if you're already accustomed to giving your characters balanced strengths and weaknesses, you can scroll down and read up on the general expectations and the combat mechanics to get a grasp on what you'll need, post your character sheet complete with combat abilities, and see if I like what you came up with. You're encouraged to at least try to play the game before resorting to that, though.

General Rules and Expectations



Character Wishes and Power Level



/!\ Trade Offer /!\

For the price of invoking one Jinn, you receive:

• 2-8 Basic attack skills (can have special effects; think in terms of Pokémon moves)
• 1-7 Basic spells (can be used at Tier 3 or lower, so each spell may have 3 variants)
• One more magic spell (a Calamity, Summon, or Transformation)
• Your Basic skills and spells should total 10; the ratio of skills to magic is your preference
• Three other skills with passive effects that are always in play
• One more passive skill, with some kind of negative effect (this is your "curse")
• Five stars worth of buffs to any combination of stats (can exceed the normal limit)
• One unique ability (can be any kind of skill or spell) that no other character can acquire
• Some Jinn may gift their human hosts with an accompanying thematic weapon
• If you are acting as a Jinn, feel free to suggest your own "sample abilities"


If the premise interests you, be sure to let me know here or on the Discord server. Server link: Click Me. Once you're ready to make a wish, you can do so on the server, in this thread, or in the OoC tab of the RP, after enough people express interest in it here.

Character Sheet

You can fill out your character sheet either before or after making your wish. Doing it first will make it easier for other players to come up with a curse for you, but you may also want to design your character around their curse, so it's up to you. Fill in as many or as few of the optional sections as you like; they're there to give you inspiration. Just delete the sections you don't use, along with my helpfully unhelpful help text. You can also skip the "Combat Information" section for now.


Life in Agartha, and Associated Lore



Religious Lore and Bestiary



Combat Abilities and PvP Mechanics

Tuesday, May 11


Felicia's face scrunched up in her sleep as her dreamscape transitioned to that familiar scene with the snakes nipping at her arms and hands. At least now she knew what this was really all about, and forced herself to remain calm as the wisps of cold air from a nearby A/C vent translated into the sensation of snakes slithering across her bare skin. She'd simply thrown her sheets off while tossing and turning in her sleep, that's all—and as long as she remained calm, the thorns would stay... uh, in her arms? Where they belonged?

The strangeness of the thought brought her to a state of semi-awareness. However, she couldn't move her body, and could still feel the slithering of snakes. They were all over her, now, not just crawling up and down her arms. She forced herself to keep her eyes closed and her breathing steady. Unlike her mother, who would have surely called an exorcist by now, Felicia was rational. This was sleep paralysis. The snakes weren't real. None of this was real... except the part where she was becoming some kind of circus freak. That part was real.

Eventually, the slithering sensation faded away, and Felicia opened her eyes to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. It took her a moment, but she remembered why she was here. A friend of one of her clients, an elderly woman who lived alone, had sworn up and down that someone was trying to break into her home at night—the police, never finding any evidence to back her claims, now refused to take her seriously. Felicia, having a bit of a mother bear instinct for her senior clients, offered to let that friend stay in her own house, while she would stay in the friend's home for a few nights. Also Felicia, being a night owl, was currently trying to sleep during the day, and not having much success during the current heat wave. How can it be so hot up here in the mountains... she thought, annoyed as she slowly rose from the couch she'd turned 180 degrees to face the A/C unit in the window—which she suspected might be the cause of her would-be burglar's sudden interest in the house. Not so much "gathering" as "peeling" up the layer of sweat-soaked towels laid across the couch, she wrapped one around her waist and threw the rest in the washer, in a nearby hallway, before shambling over to the kitchen, walking off the stiffness resulting from her interrupted sleep. Now that she was having night terrors, it was pointless to try any more.

Time for some coffee, she decided, taking up her cell phone and swiping through her news feed.

Flower Power: Plant-Based Superpowers now a Reality, Claims Miami Biotech Researcher


Intrigued, Felicia forgot all about her coffee, though her free hand continued going through the motions of making it. A little skeptical despite her own experience with the thorns, which she for some reason still associated with snakes, she skimmed through the generic PR language and half-baked sensationalist keywords of the article and skipped straight to the reader comments—



Faustina 9 hours ago

Nobody:

American Liberals: "Meat is Murder 2: Electric Boogaloo"



—a decision which resulted in hot coffee entering Felicia's sinuses. After a brief coughing fit, she continued reading, but the rest of the comments were really just similar memes with the occasionally toxic comment that was hidden, but she still ended up clicking the un-hide button and reading anyway. For the most part, it seemed that people weren't taking this seriously, at least not publicly. As she continued researching, she managed to find a transcript of part of the segment. What is he, a coffee bean? she thought, bemused. If he drinks coffee, does that make him a cannibal? she imagined somebody posting in the comments, snickering in spite of herself.

But, really... it was the first interesting thing that had happened in the news in a while, that didn't make her want to go out and deck somebody. It would also, she realized, only take one text to give her an excuse to be in Florida during the time of the summit. One of her uncle's relatives had passed away recently, and he was going there to wrap up some loose ends that nobody else in the extended family could be bothered to deal with after realizing that their names weren't in the will. As she realized her desperation for any kind of information, she sighed, pushed aside the nagging guilt creeping in from taking two vacations nearly back-to-back, and sent the text.



I'm going camping in Florida as part of a business venture.
Pack some outdoor clothes and come pick me up.


10-4



Felicia laughed audibly as her uncle agreed to this selfish proposition with no context whatsoever. He knew her well.

Her laughter was interrupted suddenly with a cracking sound coming from the A/C unit. Looking up from her phone, she suddenly realized that night had fallen in the time it had taken her to do all that research and reach a decision. Discretely opening the video recording app for evidence, she walked over to the window and tore the curtains aside, giving the would-be burglar a Really? kind of look. But, seeing Felicia's scant clothing and nobody else in the house, the intruder only continued his work of attempting to remove the A/C with a crowbar. So, she grabbed the shotgun propped up in the corner next to the window and racked it with one arm, trying to keep her phone steady with the other. "Say cheese!" she said ominously, capturing the masked intruder's widened eyes on video before he scrambled away into the night. Turning the phone to face herself, Felicia gave the camera the same Really? look. Putting the shotgun down, she put on her sassiest voice.

"This is why you LIS-TEN to your elders, Mr. Sheriff!" she chastised, snapping her fingers at the camera before shutting the video off.




Friday, June 18, 10:45 PM


Felicia was awoken from her nap, not by snakes nor an alarm clock, but by the doorbell. Immediately, she knew who it was.

In the military, if you're not 15 minutes early, you're late, her uncle Jacques, 45 and a former Green Beret, would say.

The gruff military man, a Hulk Hogan-looking fellow clothed in a blue denim jacket and jeans stained with motor oil, was met first with the smell of bug spray, then the sight of his niece in combat boots, black denim hot pants, and a sleeveless black leather jacket and tank top. With a fist bump for a greeting, and a single suitcase wheeled over and stowed away in the back of the forest-green SUV, Felicia was riding shotgun without a single word exchanged between the two. Jacques turned the key in the ignition, and music began politely blaring at just below conversation-level.

"Need a beer?" Jacques asked rhetorically, handing Felicia a can. "Beer" was an energy drink, on this side of the family.

She took it gratefully, without looking at him. "I've got plant essence," she says simply, preempting his next question.

Jacques frowned, nodding slowly. Felicia didn't make things up for a laugh. "Well, what do you know about it?"

"Not much, but get a load of this," she said, making a fist with her free hand. Thorns emerged from the sides of her knuckles, like some gnarly-looking set of brass knuckle knives. Then, with a flick of the thumb on her other hand, she quickly punctured the can and shotgunned it. Jacques didn't even see the thorn that did it; it was there and gone in a flash. Just as her uncle is exhaling dramatically at the sight of this, Felicia crushes the empty can against the side of her face, causing it to take on the texture of bark, as though she were some kind of magical tree creature straight out of a CGI fantasy flick.

There was a reason Jacques jokingly called Felicia's energy drinks "beer." He'd been a sober man for nearly 20 years, and this was beyond anything he could dream up while intoxicated. Yet, Felicia either didn't notice that the side of her face now matched the camping gear, or she was so used to it by now that it was no longer of much concern. Oddly, the thing he decided to take issue with was her hand, reaching for another "beer."

"Well shit, Felicia, it's only seven hours to Florida from here, how many times you wanna stop?" he asked as he buckled his seat belt.

"We can be there in six hours, if you drive like me," his niece joked back.

"Not if you keep drinking like a fish, we ain't."




Saturday, June 19


The flat roads of Florida had given Felicia a nice, smooth ride to nap through, after giving up trying to stay awake—but the smooth paved roads eventually gave way to gravel. Rousing slowly, Felicia felt oddly refreshed, and the sun oddly pleasant. Grabbing another "beer," she took hold of the passenger side door handle, and promptly tore it out of its socket.

"Uhh..." Felicia sat there, dumbfounded, staring at the mess of broken plastic and metal in her hand.

"Well, that was gonna happen eventually in a 20-year old car. Hold on," Jacques said as he walked around the back of the SUV to her side to let her out. In her current getup, now complete with biker gloves and sunglasses, she looked about as approachable as a barbed-wire fence, especially standing next to Jacques, who had gone very out of his way to open her door for her. She snickered a little, thinking that she might look like a VIP with a bodyguard, if she'd come wearing a suit.

"What are you smirking about?" Jacques interrupted, as though reading her mind. "Let's go see what all the fuss is about."




After taking some time in the restroom to re-apply sunblock and other things, Felicia entered the conference room just in time to know that she hadn't missed anything of value. A lot of words like "unity" were used, and Felicia imagined the speech writers, no doubt sitting in the front row, smiling and congratulating themselves. Bunch of schlock. Keep using those Pavlovian words. Tells me whose opinion matters here, Felicia thought bitterly, walking to join the others of the Cabin 2 group.

She began aggressively brushing dandelion seeds out of her hair as she stood against a nearby wall, as though she were too important for the others. But... God, my legs are stiff as boards, but of course, the only empty seats are next to small children, she thought, considering that she might scare them and have to deal with the mom. She'd resigned herself to standing for now, as she listened to the other introductions. Well... life gave her lemons, alright, she thought, smirking just a little bit at Mara's "Lemon Essence." Suddenly, having her hands covered in puncture wounds didn't seem so bad by comparison. But next, to her horror, her uncle was about to introduce himself.

"You said it," Jacques interjected, acknowledging Dolly and her comment about PETA. "Name's Jacques, I'm from Oklahoma, former Green Beret. Miss Hot Topic over there, with axle grease in her hair—and daggers in her eyes—" he adds, as Felicia glares over the rim of her sunglasses at him, eyes rolled up into her brow in that Really? look. "—that's my niece."

"Felicia," she relents, still not sitting down. "From New York," she added, not exactly lying.

"Essence of tobacco," Jacques finishes, making the "embarrassing uncle" face and earning a few chuckles.

"I'm a landlord, here to learn about how best to serve clients with plant essence," she lied, trying to sound as boring and generic as the speech they'd all just sat through. Now that I think of it, that's actually a good question...
It worked, I'm there. I'm also very, very late, but anyway—

I said I'd recycle a character, but ended up very much not doing that. The only thing that got reused was the names of her powers.



Tell me if you like her!
The link really isn't working, though. Tried it on every browser I have available, says it's "invalid," either expired or I'm not allowed to join.
Discord is telling me that your server link expired. Are you still open to new additions?

I coincidentally ended up making a modern AU character with plant-based powers not too long ago, for an RP that never went anywhere. With a few tweaks to her history and abilities I could probably have a CS up like... tomorrow, If you're still accepting.
Get up, Ashley.

...Leave me.

Lord Clive is here to see you.

Clive..? ...I know nobody by that name. Send him away.

Hmph. As you wish.

...

How long do you intend to mourn? It's high time you put the past behind you.

What does the word 'past' mean to you?

I won't spend the rest of my life looking after a useless girl who does nothing but sleep. Even if she only eats once in a blue moon.

Then, leave me. Like mother, like father... like the Goddess.

You speak as though you've learned something no one else has, but you've only just now learned what everyone else knows already.

...What?

Life is cruel. People are cruel. You are the only one who has your own best interests at heart. The only person you can count on is yourself.

...What are you selling?

If you cannot put the past behind you, then put it beneath you. Grow, evolve, transform.

So much so that the you of today wouldn't recognize her own self on the street. As though you were reborn from the ashes.

I have... no talents.

You have one. Do not deny it. Even so—if you're not good at anything, find something no one else is willing to do, and do that.

Like standing up for justice?

Like standing up for justice. ...If it pleases you. Though, the image of knighthood hardly suits you.

No. I'll do it my way.





"Uncle..." Ashley mumbled as she lay on a wooden crate, which was being used as a makeshift operating table for Aleria. As Ashley drifted in and out of consciousness, she picked up a few key pieces of information. The first being that, at some point, she had lost consciousness. The second being that, at some point, Aleria had removed the arrow from her shoulder and closed up the wound. Thirdly, that her mouth was full of the taste of iron.

For someone who had drunken relations with a barbarian woman she'd just met, she's surprisingly reliable...

BANG.

Ashley's cycle of resting and waking was ended by the sound of an explosion. She jolted to an upright position, which made her feel as though her head had just flown right off her shoulders and into the stratosphere—a predictable result of the inevitable anemia she'd just received along with her injury. If she hadn't been expecting it, perhaps she'd have really thought she'd lost her head for a moment.

"What in the seven hells... was that..?"

Ashley couldn't quite understand what Aleria said in response, but it did register—eventually—that she'd been handed a vulnerary, and was most likely expected to finish it. She'd probably be tasting iron for the next day and a half, but that was a small price to pay to get back into the battle quickly.

"Disgusting. ...Give me another," Ashley demanded, as though she were a problem customer at a bar.

By the time Ashley decided that the room had in fact stopped spinning, and only the ocean's movement remained, the sounds of battle had dimmed significantly. That was either a sign that a miracle had happened and it was time to press their advantage—or, as was much more likely, that their loss was inevitable and it was time to accept their defeat. With this dichotomy in mind, she slowly rose to her feet and threw her cloak back on, a bad attitude plain on her face for all to see.

I won't wait here to be claimed like some spoils of war, she thought bitterly.




As Ashley slowly climbed the stairs that had nearly sent her through the very crust of the earth and straight into the underworld, she took stock of the situation above. There were no longer any archers, and while there were indeed weapons on the ground, Mikhail's spear and Tonka's axe were still firmly in their owners' hands. Even more unbelievably, there were no heads missing from Ashley's Allies.

Perhaps the Goddess hasn't abandoned me just yet, she thought, without the slightest flicker of emotion on her face.

"Oi, Mikhail. Are you not finished yet?" she demanded, as though this miraculous victory were somehow utterly pedestrian to her.

The dripping condescension did not go unnoticed among their enemies, who were utterly terrified now. None of them had caught a glimpse of the moment Ashley had been hit, and they had no idea that she had been flirting with the reaper only moments ago—thus far, their only impression of her was that she was all but entirely immune to magic, and had apparently been so confident in her crew's victory against such an overwhelming disadvantage of numbers that she didn't even feel the need to provide her support. No, their leader had only revealed herself in order to complain that their crushing victory had taken a few minutes.

Perhaps it was the slow, dramatic way she walked, letting her boots hit the deck loudly to announce her presence—as she did while walking on stage—that gave it away, but Mikhail could clearly tell that she was in no position to be oozing this level of confidence. She was bluffing. Indeed, at this very moment, Ashley was doing her best to keep a stable footing and posture, and the intimidation factor was almost accidental.

"We surrender!" "Please, spare us!" the pirates pleaded.

"Pirates, pleading to a woman for mercy... what irony," Ashley replied with no emotion whatsoever—not even a fake one.

"But we're not pirates! We're mercenaries, just like you!"

"You became pirates the moment you fired your first shot. And this knight—who is not a mercenary, for those keeping score—has no mercy to offer to pirates."

"What kind of knight degrades herself to witchhood?! Or what kind of vile Lord knights a witch?! Is that allowed in our country?!"

In a moment, Ashley reached past her sword, deeper into her cloak, and drew another sword. This one announced itself not with the typical sound of a sword being drawn, but rather a flash of violet light, with some fragments of it flying off the sword like sparks and dancing through the air like pieces of broken glass. In an instant, the man who had pleaded with her for mercy had lost both his head and his defensively raised hands. As his decapitated, de-limbed corpse crumpled to the ground in a heap and quickly formed a pool of blood at her feet, Ashley gave the man who insulted her and Clive a moment to contemplate his fate before taking his head as well. She then returned the devilish-looking sword to the unseen sheath from whence it came.

"Sorry, but I'm not taking any more questions today," she said calmly, slowly rising from her stance back to standing upright.

"...Kill them all," she ordered, completely checked out—trying to sound bored, rather than tired.

Ashley could feel wet spots forming beneath the bandages on her arms. Her cursed sword had reopened old wounds—literally. She'd made a bad move, and she knew it, but thankfully it wouldn't end up hurting her too much this time around.
Taking this more seriously than expected, huh. I suppose you'd normally think that, she thought. Though she'd called it research, all Axelle had really done last night was fall down the YouTube rabbit hole like usual. She'd surprised herself a little with just how much she got into it, simply because her roomie seemed into it. but what else can we do? It's not like we can just ask a teacher. Also, if she was being honest, these "supernatural" events—something you'd think normal people would be thrilled to experience—were kind of annoying, if unforgettable.

Axelle resisted the urge to cover her face with embarrassment as she remembered one previous day's events.

Some vines had grown out from the drain and quickly taken over the shower, causing Axelle to swear loudly in French. Stormy might not have understood much of it, but the loud "NON!" had given her away. She'd immediately felt pretty embarrassed by her outburst as she wondered what her roomie must be thinking. Most of that day was spent worrying about what to do; should they call a plumber? Should they pour weed killer down the drain? Was that even safe? Thankfully, the vines had mysteriously disappeared by the time they got back to the dorm. The only proof that any of that day's weirdness actually happened was the mysterious bottle of weed killer still sitting underneath their sink, unused.

She snapped back to reality when she suddenly heard Stormy speak with a perfect French accent.

Axelle made a disapproving sound with the last of her coffee, slurping it loudly through a straw. "Sorry, my check engine light came on. Did you say something about being a bother?" she replied, in a voice which was soft but also slightly stern. "It's every girl's dream to live with a rock star, right? So, have more confidence." As Stormy looked up from her phone, the sweet smile Axelle gave her after she said that seemed to say something like "I don't want to hear you put yourself down anymore, okay?"

Seeming satisfied, Axelle opened the door for Stormy. "Non. After you, ma cher." She smiled playfully, with Stormy's question unanswered.

~✶~✶~❀

Normally, Axelle would sit alone in the front of the class, but at this school, her life was going to be a bit different. Moving quickly to the back corner, she took over a cluster of half a dozen desks, pushing them together to make one big table for the book club girls to sit at.

"Again, Alex?" a redheaded girl said as she made envious eyes at the box of cinnamon rolls.

"I'll stop baking when I'm dead," Axelle proclaimed with the voice of one who was proud of her craft. "Today I have something for everyone, though—check it out. Normally you'd have to wait until October to buy these, but I pulled some strings... Hmhm~♪" she collapsed her book bag dramatically, showing everyone the boxes of chocolate mint cookies.

"So that's your game, huh. Make everyone hungry, then sell girl guide cookies," the redhead accused with a smirk.

"Oh no, I've been found out~♥" Axelle replied playfully as the boxes quickly dispersed throughout the classroom.

As the other book club girls arrived, Axelle would wave them over to the cluster of desks she'd pushed together. "I made one for each of us, so please take one," she'd say to each of them, nudging the box of cinnamon rolls here and there.


Axelle Leroux


From the cell phone half-tucked underneath her pillow, a nearly-silent ringtone went off next to Axelle's ear, signaling the end of her six hours. As she was gently roused from her beauty sleep, Axelle had the same thought she'd been having all night still echoing in her mind.

I need to get to bed... She thought again, then blinked a few times.

. . .

...You are in bed, ma cher.

She stretched out all of her limbs, taking in the faint chirping of her alarm, and the smell of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls which always lingered in the room. As she swiped to turn off her alarm, she checked her phone while she slowly shuffled over to the fridge.

6:01 AM








That girl's seriously up earlier than a retired Green Beret, Axelle thought apathetically. Her behavior is appalling, but her dedication is... something.

She yawned, and turned her phone's screen off. Then, she quietly opened the fridge, took out the small, foil-wrapped tray that held today's batch, and set it down gently onto the small countertop that the school's faculty had the gall to call a "kitchen area," as it had been labeled on the brochure. Next, she clicked on her small portable oven—a gift from her mother, and no doubt an attempt to tickle her nostalgia, as her favorite birthday present had been an Easy-Bake Oven from her father. With the oven preheating, it was time to jump in the shower.

Tossing her shirt and underwear carelessly onto the floor of the bathroom—who cares, nobody would see her do it—she clambered into the shower and turned it on. She shuddered as the cold water hit her skin like a bucket of tacks—but, the sound of the shower turning on was less harsh if the water hit her, rather than the floor of the tub. She was less likely to wake up her roommate this way, and it did a great job of waking her up, anyway. Washing her hair was also an ordeal—but, long hair was a woman's pride, or so her mother had said once—or half a dozen times—who's counting? Still, she tried to finish her shower as quickly as she could... which was still about 30 minutes. Axelle was the kind of girl who got through the day at her own pace, even if said pace was slower than 24 hours per day.

Wups, she thought as she toweled herself off, realizing that she hadn't brought a change of clothes with her into the bathroom. Living with a roommate was going to be an adjustment for sure. Quietly, she turned off the bathroom light, peeked out from behind the door to make sure Stormy was still sleeping, and quickly began cobbling together something to wear. Something I won't die of embarrassment in, but don't mind if it gets dirty... Oh no, I'm taking way too much time thinking about this! After she finished raiding her clothes drawer and closet, she swiftly sneak-dashed back into the bathroom to continue her self-care routine.

Before she knew it, it was seven, and she could hear Stormy getting up. Finally, she could dry her hair properly with the dryer while Stormy got coffee from the best coffee shop ever. That place had the good stuff: fair trade, no slave labor—oh, and it tasted good too. After she finally emerged from the bathroom, she flicked the lights on and looked for Stormy, but found nothing but a messy bedspread and an unlocked window. Why doesn't she use the door like a normal person? she thought dryly. She shrugged, tore the tin foil off the tray, and put the warmed-up cinnamon rolls in the oven.

While she waited for them to bake, she looked around the room that was to be her new living space. Stormy had already made herself at home, taking over all of the walls and some of the ceiling with her posters. As for Axelle, she had brought barely anything. On her nightstand, there was a single display case with various pins and awards from her days as a girl scout. Or, at least, there would be, if she could muster the courage to take it out from her stack of boxes, which were still in the closet. I'm sure a girl like Stormy would think it's lame, she'd thought every time she considered it. Then, there was her cassette audio diary—even more lame. She had some vinyl records, but if Stormy caught a glimpse of those, Axelle probably wouldn't be able to stop her from peeking into the other boxes. Finally, and most unfortunately, she'd probably never get her hands on any of her volleyball trophies until after her mother's funeral.

By the time Stormy was showering, the cinnamon rolls were starting to brown. "Oh, you're looking cute today," Axelle whispered to the half-dozen cinnamon rolls, lined up neatly on the tray. "Poke~♪" She stuck a toothpick into one. Yep, they were done. She slipped on her oven mitt, took the rolls out of the oven, plated them, and put the plate in a small box she'd acquired from a bake shop. "Crap, makeup!" she suddenly realized, scrambling for her purse. She didn't have time for much; just a little bit of this, a little bit of that... she had to stop herself from humming the song.

As Axelle "finished" her makeup, there was a knock at the door. "Can you PLEASE say something to your roomie about all the noise?" the twin-tailed brunette at the door demanded, right about the time Stormy emerged from the shower and began singing her lungs out. "I'll say something to her," Axelle replied quietly, smiling sweetly as she closed the door on the girl.

At Stormy's prompting, Axelle checked her phone again and read the newest message.

"I spent all night researching, so I'd be a little miffed if she cancelled because of a light drizzle," she replied matter-of-factly, though she'd been against the idea at first.

Slowly, she gathered her things. Purse—check. Strawberry and creme frappuccino with cinnamon rolls—check and check. Book bag full of girl scout cookies—check, check and check. She wouldn't need her textbooks. Despite her resting "daydreamer" face, she was actually laser-focused during class, and had a fine-tuned "this will be on the test" radar. Her phone had Google, a calculator and a notepad, and that was more than enough. "Lead the way, ma cher," she said to Stormy, smiling warmly. "For the coffee," she said routinely, handing Stormy about $15 CAD.

As the carpeted floor of the dorms gave way to tile, Axelle's heels began clacking loudly on the floor.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, remembering something. "I promised the neighbor I would say something to you about your loudness."

Beat.

"So, I'm saying something," she says matter-of-factly.

...and, that was the end of that conversation!

Sure, Stormy was loud, and a bit of a party animal. One would think that being around her would be like being at a loud party 24/7, but a loud "party of one" was a bit different. As long as she wasn't being pressured to drink or be boldly social, Axelle didn't mind being around that type of atmosphere, even though it didn't really suit her demure, poised-but-playful wall flower bit. Her stance on Stormy's antics seemed to be "as long as you make it home, I don't see a problem with it."
~Journey~


Ashley gave Xara a load of shit for holding them up for hours—something she only allowed him to do because she had allowed Kavius' confession to their responsibility for the explosion to calm her nerves a little regarding her pursuers. Luckily for Xara, Ashley had no idea what he'd been doing all that time, aside from acquiring some supplies—and luckily for Ashley, Mikhail and the others were there to dissuade Xara from trying to do something similar to her. She did try to interrogate Kavius regarding the duel, pretending to be interested for more "normal" reasons than to gather more details regarding their fighting styles, but when it came out that Kavius somehow managed to beat the mage, she had difficulty focusing on her original intent. "You beat him, but lost to me? Something doesn't check out here. Who's holding back against who?"

After unsuccessfully trying to push it out of her mind, Ashley decided that she'd better check in on Aleria, to make sure that what happened was at least consensual—she had smelled of alcohol, after all. As was typical of Ashley's way of thinking, she wasted a lot of time and brain power trying to come up with a way to delicately broach the subject, before realizing something obvious: Why am I still trying to find an opportunity to ask her? If it's this hard to catch her alone, she must actually like Tonka. They've become inseparable. Asking the question is redundant. Upon having this realization, Ashley decides that she'd better give up, rather than risk making one or both of them angry with her undesired concern.

She was both glad for and somewhat annoyed by the quietness of the sea. At some point, she had decided that she'd better cut back on the coffee and try to match everyone else's sleep schedules, but now that she was here in the moment and the withdrawal headaches were more than just a theoretical something "future Ashley" may have to deal with, the fact that making a pot of coffee was now actually possible made resisting her addiction that much more difficult. For the briefest of moments, she contemplated making Mikhail a sort of accountability partner for her, but she felt so utterly ridiculous for even thinking of it that she gave up on the idea immediately. Just one cup of coffee. Just one. And a bit of wine to dull the... shit, what is this, the Santa Lyrica? Of course there's no wine, you idiot. Only the strongest stuff for burly seamen. She eyes the moonshine warily. I haven't really drunk much alcohol aside from the poisoned stuff Lady Madeline gives me at parties, have I? Hmm... I can handle about... this much, maybe?

When next Mikhail saw her, they both got to find out what kind of drunk Ashley was. "Hoi, Mihhell. Dun bovvah mee. Ah'm dwunk. HUCK!" She hiccuped loudly and suddenly, completely disrupting her grumpy demeanor. "I's shorryy. Ah donno wathaell deesh saylersh puddin at—" She points at the bottle of moonshine. "Aye wazzna dry'n twogeddrun. On'st." Apparently, she didn't know what kind of alcohol it was. Still, despite drinking what she must've imagined was a very conservative estimate of how much she could handle, she was apparently that much more of a lightweight.

Later that day, after she'd sobered up a little, she suddenly spoke up. "Hey. ...I've been a little selfish. Back home, at the tavern, it seemed like you wanted to speak to the 'real Ashley.' So, since this mission may be our only chance to speak together as equals, I wanted to... show you something a bit closer to how I am at home, I guess. Actually, I may have gone overboard just to see what you'd think of me. ...I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She shifts awkwardly, looking out over the railing of the ship at the stars on the horizon. "I'm a dark knight. Er, dark mage—and a knight. Both those things—" she clarifies, still a little tipsy. "—so choosing my words carefully is often a matter of life and death. I know my way of speaking is a bit stiff, and the way I have to switch between hiding my emotions and exaggerating them to fit in makes me seem... well, I get all kinds of comments about it. Anyway..." She turns away from Mikhail, a little shy now.

"Oh, but you deserved that joke about your 'lance.' You didn't believe me when I called you handsome, and that ticked me off just a lil' bit, yeah?" she says in a faux-grumpy voice. "My heart may be given over to the darkness, but I still have feelings, you know? A gentleman like yourself should be more considerate, really," she drawls like a spoiled noble lady, as though she were mocking somebody in particular with this "bit" she was doing.




~Ecological Dead Zone~


The next day, Ashley realized that the calmness of the sea was unnatural. Yesterday—although she was drunk—was an ordinary day. This was not.

As she always did with Troe, she considered his words as carefully as she did her own. Without trying to lead her in any particular direction, he'd asked her how she was feeling today, while doing his best to pretend that engaging in small talk wasn't something completely unusual for him. "Yes, I feel it too," she confirms, cutting in line a bit with his planned list of questions. "I've worked with curses, evil spirits, and various mind-altering drugs. Even been bitten by a black widow once. You know that feeling of impending doom you get when you're poisoned like that? That unspeakable dread? ...Well, if you know it, you know it—but this isn't quite like that. It's more like the feeling of being watched, but... much more intense." Ashley continues to ponder a bit. "You ever been in someone else's manor—maid and menservants coming and going, clamoring every which way, busy about their work—but then you turn a corner, and there's nobody there?" she says ominously. "And you start to wonder about why. Why is nobody here? If someone sees me in this place, will I be in danger?" Ashley persists, making a bit of a clueless face. "It's that kind of feeling. This... profound sense of not belonging. Like I've unknowingly set foot on holy ground, angered some powerful something that's sneering down at me, and I'd better pray that I don't anger it any further."

It wasn't often that Ashley spoke her true feelings on something, with no reservation, so she took this opportunity to privately ask Troe a few questions of her own. "You know. Just because something no longer has a mind of its own doesn't mean it can't coordinate with others of its kind," she says, assuming that Troe will know what she's talking about. "You know how insects can communicate using pheromones? For example, you kill one hornet, and suddenly, the entire nest is attacking you? ...At first, I was thinking that our best option to secure the reward money would be to bring a live specimen back to the capital, perform a live dissection, and report our findings in person. But, as I keep thinking, more and more—especially with this foul mood—I find myself thinking: forget the reward money; what about the safety of our country? Let's do the research on-site, and report our findings normally—maybe bring back a severed head to appease the adventurous among us. But whatever evil is at work at Irinoth, we should leave it here—not risk bringing it back with us. Don't you think so?"




~Ships are Approaching~


Ashley had her eyes on the horizon the whole time, looking out for the Santa Lyrica, and was one of the first to notice the approaching ships—and their trajectory. "BATTLE STATIONS!" she cried out, shortly before the first round of enemy fireballs flew up into the air.

Ashley reached a hand forward, creating a magic circle. It was an off-white, slightly violet color, and legible only to mages. Of the various forms of dark magic, this was a subtle one: that of a kind of "counterfeit" holy magic. Its runes pronounced suffering upon the enemy, masquerading as judgment.

"Woe to the inhabitants of the earth, who turn their eyes and ears from the Goddess and her precepts. Children of men, I know thy iniquities: how thou plunder and kill innocent men, and ravish women. Therefore, hear this word of judgment concerning thee: This day, the sea shall be thy master, and ye shall have the winds for a tormentor; yea, ye shall have each other's flesh for meat, and blood for drink. So have I written," Ashley finishes, pointing forward as the magic circle disappears... and nothing seems to happen, at first.

But aboard one of the enemy ships, there was chaos. All at once, a swarm of locusts had descended upon their sails, chewing at them. If nothing was done about it, their ship would be severely, if not completely disabled. One reckless mage, clearly a new recruit, was trying to delicately scare the insects away with flame, before a more senior sorcerer nearby scolded him severely, then began using ice instead. Others joined him, and soon the situation was under control, but not without damage to the sails, and a disproportionate cost in magic.

"Take evasive action; keep us out of range of their archers for as long as possible, and see if you can't separate the ships from each other—that one should be slower now," Ashley barked to the helmsman, before running back down to the main deck.

"O Goddess, my eldest friend. Be my shield. Envelop my mind, that I spare no thought for my enemies. Envelop my heart, that I may not be troubled. Envelop my body, and mold me into the image of an angel of death." As she says this, a thick, dark miasma emerges from under her cloak, surrounding her.

"Is that..?!" one of the mercenaries aboard the locust-infested vessel exclaimed quietly.

"Aye. The rumored dark mage, wanted dead or alive. Today's our lucky day. We bag her, you and me are set for life!"

"Khhk-khhk-khhk!" Ashley snickers, pure malice spreading across her face as she smiled. "That's right! All eyes on the witch! Waste your magic on me!"

Ashley cackled as fireball after fireball came hurling toward her like meteors, and she batted them out of the air like they were nothing. She limp-wristedly shakes her hand as though it were slightly too warm, mocking the enemies through the looking glass. As though they suspected it to be some kind of a trick, or a fluke, they try again with a second volley, only to fail a second time.

However, as it became obvious that Ashley's plan to evade the enemy ships had a definite shelf life, the voice she used to bark orders became more desperate. "Do we have any cargo we can toss?! Anything?!" she begged Tedreus, mentally going through everything she knew about naval battles—which, admittedly, wasn't much—but she had to think of something. She had to.

"Nothin' that'll make up that much difference in speed, little champ. You did yer best. Our best option now is to fight 'em man to man."

Ashley knew what that meant, despite the captain's attempt to make it sound simple. She looked crestfallen.

"Prepare to be boarded!" Ted shouted out, while Ashley took the moment to swallow her pride.

She angrily casts another miasma, using it as a smoke cover against impending archer fire as the two ships—which had hardly had time to be separated at all—approached, and the faster one was very nearly within range to shower them with arrows. "Everyone, retreat below decks now!" She shouted, maintaining the others' cover as she watched them scramble. By the time she herself began to run for the hatch, arrows had begun raining down, and were missing her by narrower and narrower margins as her cloud cover started to dissipate. Before she could shut and lock the hatch, one lucky arrow made its way through the crack and embedded itself in her left shoulder.

At first, Ashley didn't know what had happened. It felt like she'd been punched. It wasn't until she started falling down the stairs, and the arrow started getting knocked around and jostled against the gaps between the planks in the wall that she started screaming. But, she wasn't crying for a healer.

"Lock the hatch! LOCK IT PLEASE!!" she screamed, channeling all of her agony into those three words, as though it were the last order she'd ever need to make.

Tedreus obliged, scrambling over her writhing body to get to the hatch while Mikhail helped her to her feet.




~Below Decks~


Ashley had steadied her breathing as best she could by the time she was brought to Aleria.

"I hoped I'd... not need your... services... so soon, Sister..." she breathed, trying to ease the tension. Her shoulder was torn up pretty badly, as though she'd tried to remove the arrow herself, though she obviously wasn't so inexperienced as to try something like that. Something else must have happened. She was losing blood fast, and without a healer on deck, she would, at the very least, be down for the count. She seemed to be taking it well, though. So well, in fact, that she was still—weakly—barking orders.

"I need... mages... the portholes... knock'm dead... drown'm..." she mumbles weakly. Were there portholes? She couldn't remember. "Mikhail, you... take over—for me..."
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