Avatar of Enigmatik


Recent Statuses

21 days ago
Current There’s always RPG beef going on around here.
2 mos ago
Half of modern rock country is 'you die when you're killed? Weak,' and the other half is 'SOCIETY IS DOOMED BECAUSE OF POLITICAL INTEREST GROUPS' and honestly I live for it.
2 mos ago
I have no idea how someone can see my posts with 'Thembie Supreme' above my name, propose a 1x1 with me and then say 'there are only two genders' and act surprised when I want to play an NB character.
2 mos ago
Someone repping Crowder here is even funnier considering that writing and roleplay communities tend to be incredibly diverse. The only laughs we'll get from Crowder is by laughing at him.
2 yrs ago
Merry Christmas and keep the change, ya filthy animals.


User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

A Horse With No Name

Featuring Senhore Ninguem

I was looking at a river bed
and the story it told of a river that flowed
made me sad to think it was dead

A horse plodded its way along a dusty riverbank, each hoofprint implanting itself into the cracked earth beneath it. Above the horses' head floated islands of rock, upon which swarmed men, woman and machines, busying themselves like ants did to support their hive. Atop the horse's back sat a rider, wearing a wide hat and a wider poncho, one hand lightly resting atop the reins.

The rider adjusted their hat and looked out, across the lodefield that they'd reached after two day's ride. It would have been easier to take a jetbike, but that would have been a little too conspicuous for their liking. Besides - they'd be leaving here on the back of one anyway. The figure took a swig from their canteen, then urged their steed on. Just a little distance longer. A little distance further.

In the desert, you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain

At the center of the lodefield sat a squat, ugly processing plant and its accompanying support structures. Vehicle platforms to ferry goods and workers to and from the fields, squat bunkhouses to keep those workers out of the baking sun. Shops and bars to keep them entertained and spending their paycheques right back to the company.

It was a neat little operation - and the perfect place for a group of wanted criminals to lay low. Or, it would have been, if there was any place to truly hide on Azulvista. Reaching the outskirts of the small settlement, the figure slid off the back of their horse, spurs jingling a little as their heels hit the ground.

After nine days, I let the horse run free
'cause the desert had turned to sea
there were plants and birds and rocks things
there was sand and hills and rings

They tossed the reigns of the horse to a stableboy and followed it up with a small credstick, tipping their hat a little in thanks, then turned to leave. They had timed their arrival nearly perfectly. The sun was low in the horizon, bathing the sky in deep hues of yellows, pinks and reds, and the workers were coming home from the fields, haulers and rumblers slowly moving their way back towards the base. Above them, floodlights clicked on, bathing the chapped dirt and simple roads in light perhaps even less forgiving than that of the sun that was leaving them.

The figure turned and headed towards the building that so many others were heading towards. A sign overhead proudly displayed it as the Motherlode, and already light and life and music filtered out from its swinging doors. The rider banged off the dirt and grit that had accumulated on their boots, then headed in, attracting no attention amongst all the other patrons.

Taking up a position in the corner of the room, they scanned the area and waited. A waitress came up to ask them if they needed anything, but the figure simply shook their head. "Waiting for an acquaintance," was all they offered by way of explanation, and the minutes continued to tick by, until... Three men, brusque, burly, and all clearly having just come from work, heading to the bar all together.

Pushing themselves off the wall, they clacked their spur against the wooden floor, loud enough to turn a few heads, then reached to their hat, adjusting it up just enough that the barest glimpse of their neck was now visible.

"Leone Bastilla, Hugo Molina and Raul Ortiz?" Their hands set comfortably at their waist, the three men pausing, then slowly turning to face the lone figure.

"Who's asking." It wasn't really said as a question, but the figure would humour them regardless. Reaching underneath their poncho, the figure drew out a badge emblazoned with a star, their fingers covering up the identifying information.

"Federales. You're under arrest for armed assault, kidnapping, the taking of hostages, theft of federal property and murder." The figure took a step forward, and the rest of the crowd slowly pulled back from the figure. Lodefields were full of criminals and ex-cons, but most of them had come out to the fields for a second chance - a way to earn good money without oversight, where their crimes didn't matter much. As the figure had predicted, none were willing to stick their necks out in this altercation.

"You out here alone?" That one was a question, the three men slowly spreading out to form a loose semicircle. The leading man - Leone, reached down to his belt, and the federales' eyes followed his arm down, to the gun sitting at his hip.

"You draw that and you don't leave here alive. Only warning." The rider's hands vanished behind their poncho and for a moment the crowd froze, only to calm a little as they drew out a cigarette.

"You out here alone?" Leone repeated again, the other two men now also reaching for their weapons.

"You going to keep saying that?" The cigarette moved from hand to hand, and although the figure's eyes were shadowed, it was easy to feel their gaze boring a hole through the man across from them. "Or are you going to come along now?"

There wasn't a reply from the three men. In a desperate burst of motion guns were wrenched from holsters, and patrons dived for cover. The federales simply flicked their cigarette into the air and wrenched themself to the side, bullets whipping past where they'd just been standing and smashing into the woodwork of the bar behind them.

In one smooth motion their poncho was tossed to one side, their left hand coming across their body to draw a bulky black revolver. It barked three times in rapid succession, the sound ear-splittingly loud in the confined space. Then, everything fell silent bar the unmistakable sound of blood leaking onto panel flooring.

The figure caught the spinning cigarette and slid it into their mouth. Without speaking more words, the figure paced over to the bodies on the floor and checked each one for a pulse. They pressed the dead men's fingerprints down against a small scanner, ran that same scanner over their faces, then finally put a small mark next to each one's name. Deceased.

"I'll let your security handle the bodies. Case is closed."

Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
but the humans will give no love

Hail to the Khan

Featuring Orda Khan
Notifying Player: @Eventua

A small smile played over Orda Khan’s face as he processed the news. Perhaps this place was not as rich as Old Sol, but they had an opportunity here. This realm was poorly controlled by weak, fragmented groups. There was no strong central authority to repulse the full might of a Horde, and they could easily establish dominion over the area near the Gateway. It was almost perfect.

The orders went out swiftly. This was to be almost no different from any other expedition into an asteroid belt. They were to establish supply lines, conduct expeditions to find new resources… And inform those that they came across that this territory was now under the rule of the Khaghnate.

There was just that one crucial difference: Intercept any of the ice haulers or their tagged cargo. For those that did not resist, every courtesy was to be given to them. For those who did… Let the White Horde grow.

He however, along with a few of the more powerful vessels under his command, were not about to sit idle. They had learnt that there were other groups out there in this system: In the inner belt, around their promised planet, and he intended on making contact with all of them. There was no use in establishing oneself if none were aware of you after all.

His eyes turned to the endless stretch of Uzay before him, and as the White Horde scattered across it, he felt a swelling satisfaction take hold. Who knew what potential lay before him? With a system at his call, his Horde would grow rich. His brother may have secured the Golden Horde… But he knew as well as all the Khans that such a position was precarious, and could be toppled.

You just needed to push with enough strength.

Juan Paolo Jonás Is A Pirate

Featuring… Juan Paolo Jonás
Notifying Player: @Tortoise]

The skies above Mars had become a hub of activity ever since Larenzo Martillo had made his fateful deal with Gregor Mayer. Construction craft, surplus military vessels, trade vessels… All had moved their way to the Red Planet and settled themselves around what was fast becoming a bustling spaceport set above Olympus Mons.

But a very unusual ship had come into this fleet. It was small, unarmed and not very impressive, having only a few crewmembers to its name… But it wasn’t here to take part in this frontier frenzy. No, instead it came to fuel it.

Capitán Juan Paolo Jonás sat in a high-backed chair and grinned like a madman. His family had thought him mad, for leaving behind the Azulvistan system to invest himself into this bizarre plebeian attempt at a mercenary company… But he had seen something more in Coronel Martillo’s move for influence. The plebs were fine soldiers and make no mistake, and he had no doubt that the planetbound mercenaries would see plenty of contracts… But he had brought with him ships, and ships were something altogether different.

As he could already crow about, for a client had arrived.specifically seeking out the services of the Extrasolar Mercenary Corporation’s vessels, and Juan Paolo was more than happy to oblige. For now, the navyman sat behind a heavyset wooden desk, swirled a glass of near pitch-black rum, and let a smile play across his face.

The door across from him swung open, and a severe looking woman tromped in, high heels clacking against the metal floor. Her bodyguards glanced inside, then reached to the door handle and shut it firmly, leaving just the two to do business.

“Aah, the marquesa de Isla de Santa, a pleasure to meet you in the flesh. Can I offer you refreshments? A drink?” Jonás reached for the decanter of rum and gave it a swirl, the alcohol leaving a distinct wake against the glass.

“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline.I assume you are the señor Jonás whom I was told to contact?” The marquesa settled down into the less comfortable chair across from the ma, setting a briefcase down next to her.

“Indeed madame, but I think you’ll find it’s Capitán. Worry not! No offence was taken… Now, how can I help you?” He set the decanter down with a clink, then let his finger ring the rim of the glass.

“I presume you have not failed to notice the gigantic ramshackle construction currently dwarfing all but the Meeting Place in this system.”

“Indeed I have not marquesa. I presume this is relevant to your commission then?” He took a slow sip, the liquor burning as it slipped down his throat.

“It has come to my attention that three Azulvistan diplomats boarded it, and departed it having conducted a sale of five thousand and five… ‘Syms,’ along with a thousand and one minds for these syms.” She frowned.

“Our constitution does not cover those who are not citizens of the state, but it is nonetheless the duty of patricians to stand up to injustice where we see it carried out.Those three men may not have seen it this way, but to me, the purchase of bodies… Of minds?” She shook her head. “It is little better than slavery. An institution best extinguished wherever it rears its ugly head.”

Juan nodded somberly. “So you wish for us to do something about it?”

“Indeed. I am under no apprehension that you could attack such a large vessel without causing a diplomatic incident, but their home system is known, and they must traffic millions of individuals within it. I want your men to send a message. A decisive one.”

The capitán grinned. “Something I am sure they will be happy to do… But persecuting a campaign, even a just and righteous one, cannot be done on an empty purs-”

The marquesa waved her hand dismissively. “I represent a group of individuals similarly displeased with this arrangement. You will have your funds. We will expect results.” She abruptly stood up and was about to leave before Paolo Jonás coughed. He knew how this went, but nonetheless stood up and offered a hand across.

“To a fruitful relationship then. You will have your results.” The other patrician took his palm, grasped it firmly and shook.

“Further information is within my briefcase. I wish you good hunting.”
Gadri Abzan and Madame Morvanne

Addressing @Antediluvixen

Gadri pulled themselves to their feet and carefully rewound their saw, placing it back where it belonged among their other tools. Its job was done, and now it was time for another to take the fore. As all good smiths did, they had quite a few hammers adorning their belt and lined up in their wagon, but only one would do for this strange situation. Three pounds of alloyed starmetal on a thick steel haft, shimmering in the clearing carved out by this alien craft. The weight was familiar in their hand, the script intricately woven into its haft a tale of splendour, craftsmanship and durability.

But in a pinch, it could crack skulls just as easily as it worked a piece of white-hot metal.

A figure poked its head out of the hatch that Gadri had opened, then yelped and dived back in. The only thing that the dwarf had glimpsed was a pair of fluffy ears and the briefest sight of eyes, which told them... Almost nothing as to its inhabitants, other than that they were perhaps one of the beastraces.

Or at least, that's what Gadri had thought, until a second pair of ears came out of the capsule, soon followed by one of the oddest specimens they had seen in their three-score-and-ten years in the caravan. They had seen the beastraces in all manner, shape and form, and equally they had seen any number of dwarflike races too... But the only peoples they had seen that came somewhat close to the stranger now emerging out before them was the snakelike Dinnin- half of one, half of the other.

And this was definitely not a Dinnin.

In fact, not only was it (she?) definitely not a Dinni but she also appeared to be armed, and was now yelling very, very loudly in a language that Gadri had never heard. Before the dwarf could hope to begin puzzling this out however, a message - carried by the wind from the caravan to their ears, swept over them.

Stay away from that thing.

Morvanne grit her teeth a little as the message reached her ears. One of her hands had already come down to her little satchel to draw free her wand, but this... This was wrong. All of it, badly wrong.

Contrary to what some may think, Obliturges had no intrinsic ability to understand essences. They existed in all living things and many unliving things besides - seeing the ever-present powers that laid behind the world would be a maddening experience… But she didn’t need to see the roiling energies surrounding this foreign object to know that was wrong.

It lay in the furrow it had carved like a cancer - unnatural and foreign. The forest resisted it, the skies had rejected it… And now Gadri had let whatever dwelt within it free.

“Non est mea culpa…”

Malleck ‘Freepaw’

Addressing @Tortoise]

Of all the folks currently within the caravan, it was perhaps Malleck who realised what was going on first. His ears were broad and sensitive - sensitive enough that the onrush of air tickled the sensitive hairs at the edges of his hearing long before the unrefined senses of the human he was next to. His head snapped back, away from Athulwin, and he stared up into the sky, eyes just about making out the uneven shape as it tumbled down through the air.

He stared at it until it vanished behind the trees, and for a moment, the only thing that ran through his mind was a simple ”A God?

Then came the storm. A sundering blow loud enough for his ears to fold over in pain, the entertainer wincing a little at its fury just as the gust of wind blasted over the halted line of wagons and carts. He looked up just in time to see the energies swirl around his monastic compatriot… And stay there creating a storm that buffets the young Ainok. His tambourine lets out an almighty clatter as the swirling energies rattle its zills about. For a moment he takes a half-step forward, unsure of what to do but every instinct telling him that nothing is not an option, before Athulwin’s mouth opens, and the winds die almost instantly.

But then it as if nothing happened, and the sparkle that is so common in Malleck’s eyes has returned. His friend is struggling to stand. Before Athulwin can so much as let the flame tickle the back of his throat the hound-man is stepping forward, taking one of the monk’s arms and bracing it over his shoulder.

”It’s Malleck anyway, he joked as he began to stand back up. ”I think you humans have a joke about formalities being owed to their parents? But nah, it’s always just Malleck. Freepaw’s to let myfolks know that I ain’t done nothing wrong to be wandering like this.”

His tail begun a steady rhythm of wags
and he let a toothy grin split his lips. ”Come on then Mr Athulwin, let’s go meet this God, hmm?

Nothing to see here!

I genuinely thought I'd accepted this when I first saw it, it's excellent. You create the weirdest concepts and I'm here for it.
Gadri Abzan and Madame Morvanne

Gadri had slowly been making their way to the front of the caravan when the rumbling began. Their eyes were dragged up to the sky, towards the source of the roar - trailing fire and smoke, scorching its way across the sky...


A gift from the Light-and-Flame. It had to be. For it to fall so close to them, and so blatantly? They watched as it vanished out of view and turned, starting to run back towards their caravan when the blastwave swept through the forest. The trees shook and creaked violently, leaves and branches tumbled down in a hail of foliage. Bracing themselves against a nearby stump, Gadri waited out the wall of force that washed over the caravan, then quickly straightened themselves up and turned back towards their caravan.

Dwarves weren’t particularly great travellers over long distances, but they were natural born sprinters. Their legs were as stout as they were short, which meant that when one started moving, they could get some real power behind each step, driving the blacksmith back the way they’d came, quickly hurrying back inside their forge to pull out what few tools they needed, then immediately dashing out, barely remembering to lock the door behind them.

“I’m going to investigate!” They called out, once again to nobody in particular, then off they went, legs carrying them as fast as they could towards the sight of the crash.

It might have been to nobody in particular, but this time someone did indeed pay attention. The force of the impact had sent plenty of Morvanne’s knick-knacks flying all over the place, even slamming a heavy book into her forehead, where a hefty bruise had already begun to form. The madame herself had been quite enjoying the quieter period rolling through the woods, especially with how peculiar the essences surrounding it were, but this new falling star demanded attention more than cleanup did. She’d have plenty of time to tidy everything up once she returned, but she’d be surprised if she ever got another opportunity in her life to investigate something such as this.

So it was that less than a minute after the dwarf had thumped off through the woods, she too was locking the door to her wagon, hitching up her skirts and making her way through the undergrowth. Even at a careful speedwalk she was quick enough to just about keep Gadri in sight – the dwarf having to slow enough once they were off the road that their size difference came into play.

It wasn’t long before the group investigating this strange new phenomenon arrived at the crash site. A deep crater was carved into the mud and dirt, ploughing through one of the forest’s tremendous trees and partially uprooting it. Astonishingly, it seemed as if the tree was resisting this new invader, having fallen back down atop it, roots almost strangling the metallic intrusion into its world.

Gadri edged their way closer to the crater and peered over the edge. A mixture of disappointment and excitement shot through them, mixed with an overwhelming sense of curiosity.

“Well… It’s not starmetal.” That much was obvious, even to a layperson. Starmetal fell in single contiguous pieces, often pockmarked and speckled with pits and dents, and usually had a dull metallic sheen to it. This strange structure had clearly broken up as it came in, shards of metal and fragments of unknown material scattered across the trees and ground surrounding the crater. It looked to be scorched as well – the side facing downwards towards the earth turned black, while a small… Panel? On the topside of the structure had a chrome gleam to it still.

“Not anything I’ve learnt of either…” Morvanne took a half-step forward, only for Gadri to hold a hand up.

“Alright. Listen up.” They turned to the group. “I can’t say for sure what this is, it seems likely that there’ll be some potent magical energy around it. I can withstand that. There’s no guarantees that you can. I’ll go, see if it’s safe.” They turned to Morvanne, who simply nodded.

“It is… Spiritually powerful. I can almost taste it in the air. I’ll observe.” She gestured with a hand forward, and with that, Gadri entered the crater, using tangled roots and disturbed earth as footholds to clamber their way down.

They approached this… Extraterrestrial invader cautiously, drawing out their hammer and tapping it a few times against different parts of the peculiar craft. Each strike rang out like a bell, but with a tone that even the dwarf couldn’t place. Whatever this was constructed out of… Alwyne knew it not.

Then, they circled around the craft, dragging their fingers along the side. Even with the damage sustained as it crashed into the ground, it was obvious that this was no natural structure. Even if the shattered parts jutting off at uneven angles hadn’t been there, or the odd but deliberate shape of the craft had been totally deformed, there was the simple fact that there was clearly some sort of ladder affixed to the outside, sized for someone significantly taller than a dwarf.

Not that this seemed to stop Gadri from grabbing a hold of one of the rungs and hoisting themselves up, working their way higher until they’d reached the unscorched panel trapped beneath one of the tree’s great roots above. Bracing themselves against it, Gadri rummaged around in their toolbag, then drew out a chain saw and unravelled it, easing one of the handles underneath the branch before pulling them both taught.

It was not an easy task. The root was thick and healthy and seemed to fight the teeth of their tool every step of the way, but in a contest between dwarf-made steel and even this broad tree’s bark, it was only a matter of time before the former won out. With a creak and a crack Gadri wrenched the root free from the rest of the tree and was about to pack the saw away when the panel let out a tremendous hiss and popped open, forcing the dwarf to scamper back down the ladder to avoid being shoved off the craft entirely.

“What in the Light?”

Argh! Imgur not playing ball with me. Will re-upload when I finish cleaning it up.

I'm reposting Morvanne because she's basically content complete. I'll need to do some more edits, mostly proofreading and completing all the various colours that need to be done, but the core won't change from this unless she needs to be overhauled in any way!

And made my post! A quick one from Gadri should folks wish to come across them as they stroll to the front of the line, and then Malleck doing silly Malleck things.

Your fun African Wild Dog (the species on which Malleck and his people are based) for this post is that they have all kinda of vocalisations, none of which you'd really expect to come from an animal named 'Wild Dog!' They chirp, hoot, squeak and even sneeze to communicate.
Gadri Abzan

Gadri sighed as the wagon ahead rolled to a stop, rattling to a halt like every single other vehicle ahead of them had done. Another thrown wheel or broken suspension. They tugged, frustrated, at the end of their beard, then stood from the driver's seat and headed into the main forge. The terrain here was infuriating - too much stop-and-start to set up the forge, yet oppressive and uncomfortable enough that they couldn't take the opportunity to actually appreciate the quiet.

Not that there was ever much quiet for the caravan's dwarven metalworker. They grabbed a heavy leather satchel sat next to the door, tightened the strap holding their hammer to their apron, then stepped out the back door, firmly pulling it to and locking it. Far too many valuables to trust even other caravaners around this particular wagon.

"Going to see if I can't clear the holdup quicker," they explained to nobody in particular, then set out at their usual steady pace, boots sinking a little into the soft, constantly damp mud.

Malleck 'Freepaw'

Talking to Athulwin (@Tortoise)

It was too green in these woods.

Too green, too wet, too... Alive. In his time inside the caravan, Malleck had seen all sorts of sights alien to most of the painted folk, but the one thing that he could never quite get over was how lush everything seemed normally. When you grew up surrounded by chest-high stalks of yellow-green broken up by the occasional pop of colour from a bush or tree, even a simple temperate meadow seemed like an impossibly verdant explosion of life. The Forest of Emerald though, with its overwhelming palette of... well, emerald green, was something else altogether. It almost hurt his eyes to stare out at the sun-dappled grass, dew dripping down each stalk, or look up at the hardwood pillars that jutted into the sky, taller than any building he'd seen.

But that wasn't the worst part of all this - oh no. The worst part was that the vast canopies that hung above the caravan were thick enough that at night, you could only just make out the starlight where it slipped between wide, heavy leaves. Instinct told him that Otota had shifted across to the east and closer to the horizon line, but until they finally gave this strange place the slip, instinct was all he had. The last glimpse of Otota he'd had was eight days ago.

Needless to say, that he was somewhat on edge, and when the wind-whispered message from Athulwin came he practically leapt out of his skin before realising who and what it was. He nodded - the gesture entirely meaningless, then pushed himself up from the back of the stopped cart he'd been resting atop, giving a wave to the kindly older woman who had shared a fire with him last night. "Thank you for your time! And the soup, it was delicious!" Then, with steel-shod staff in hand and a tambourine tinkling against the side of his rucksack, he set off. There'd been the constant muttering of refugees among the Caravan for a few days now, but so far he'd not seen hide nor hair of them, and Athulwin's suggestion was a good one. Now, all he needed to do was to track down Athulwin, and from him find the location of the refugees.

As he strolled along, waving and cheerily greeting those that he passed by, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. There was a presence hanging over him - spiteful and intelligent. It liked that he couldn't see Otota. It sounded ridiculous, but he was convinced that at least some part of the forest had it out for him.

Then again, maybe he was just starting to go a little crazy. Either was a possibility.

Twenty solid minutes of walking along the stopped Caravan later and he finally caught a glimpse of the familiar shape of their navigator's carriage. A spring entered his step, digitigrade legs easily accelerating him into strides that were surprisingly long for a creature his size, hopping over a small puddle to land just outside the man's rear door.

"Knock knock! Malleck here! Got your message Athulwin!" He followed the sentence up with a noise that most who had interacted with him had come to know - a high-pitched chirp, followed by a quick yip. Knocking had somewhat baffled the Ainok when he had first joined the caravan - his people's homes were made from hide or bartered fabric, 'knocking' just wasn't something you could do, so instead they used that distinctive call to let people know that someone wanted their attention. Other races, he had quickly learnt, preferred you to bang on a solid object, so he'd split the difference and just said 'knock' these days.
© 2007-2023
BBCode Cheatsheet