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Status

Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current I'ma fuck this bitch, I fuck her off the shrooms (Yeah), woah
2 likes
4 mos ago
Introducing Recollections: Moon: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
1 like
4 mos ago
We laugh all day like Dumber and Dumber.
3 likes
5 mos ago
das not a flex
2 likes
9 mos ago
Categories don't matter when standards aren't being enforced.

Bio

"You're a fine warrior. Call me sentimental..."







Currently updating...




"I'm a dominant..."
REALLY PUNCHY GUYS
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@redbaron1234
[@Kamen Evie]
[@KaiserElectric]
@Drag
[@KremeSupreme]
[@Megsychan]
[@Oddsbod]
THE DISAPPOINTMENT CLUB
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@Spoopy Scary
[@Junkmail]
[@Maxx]
@Luminous Beings
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OTHER SCRUBS
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[@Moth]
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SETTINGS
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The Tyrant Shell Universe - Mechapunk (Mecha and Cyberpunk mixed together).
The Black Fall Universe - Modern-Superhuman tale.
LINKS
_______________________________
The Collective - My Discord Server.
The Ghost Lounge - My 1x1 Thread.
The Ghost Archives - Character storage.

Most Recent Posts




"Magic has a way of finding itself to people."
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"Open your mind, heart, body, and soul to the universe..."
____________________________________

Beyond the ordinary lies an invisible threshold—a line dividing the possible from the impossible. Some people cross it easily, born with a trait or inclination that draws them toward the unknown. Others are pushed. Regardless of how they cross, those who do discover a truth both exhilarating and terrifying: Magic is real.

This Magic is not pulled from ancient tomes or distant stars; it’s born from within—fueled by human emotion, belief, and personality. Those who awaken to it gain powers that reflect their true nature at their core. These individuals, varied in form and ability, are collectively known as the Paranormal. Their world is a gateway to infinite stories and adventures, where the laws of reality bend and the soul takes center stage.

The abilities granted to Paranormal beings are called Paranormal-Abilities. The most basic of these is the theoretical opening of a “third eye,” a metaphor for perceiving the unseen forces at work. Only the Paranormal can see Magic in action; to everyone else, only the consequences are visible.

One of the most iconic abilities is called a Recollection. This vivid, immersive flashback allows someone to witness events they weren’t present for, as if standing within the memory itself. Recollections can be triggered in various ways: during dreams, upon touching a meaningful object, or in the presence of someone associated with the memory. Sometimes, those with deep magical knowledge can even share a Recollection with others.

Paranormal beings are drawn to one another and magical events, often against their will. Some believe that certain traits make individuals more likely to be drawn into these situations or to encounter them.
At the heart of each Paranormal lies a unique power known as an Abstraction. No two Abstractions are precisely alike, as each is a manifestation of the individual’s soul. Though some may seem to possess multiple powers, these are simply facets of a greater whole. An Abstraction cannot be nullified or replaced—except in one scarce and specific case. To prevent chaos, Paranormal beings are protected from one another by an invisible force called the Emotional-Field. This field acts as a natural limiter, preventing most offensive Abstractions from being used directly on other Paranormals. For example, a pyromancer cannot boil another’s blood, a telekinetic cannot rip out a heart, and a mind controller cannot take over a fellow Paranormal. Some abilities, such as healing or telepathy, are typically unaffected, but others may be weakened, blocked, or require creative workarounds. Specific, rare Abstractions can bypass the Emotional Field, and others may modify it, lessening its protection, stripping it away, or twisting its effects. But these cases are exceptional.

Those who lack both an Abstraction and an Emotional-Field are called the Blind. They cannot perceive, understand, or interact with Magic in any way. However, some who have been exposed to Magic may gain a limited awareness known as Aware. These Aware individuals still lack the protections and powers of the Paranormal, leaving them just as vulnerable as the Blind—if not more so.





"When the lines break, reality bleeds."
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..................................................................................................
The Linebreaker Event stands as a cataclysmic turning point in the balance of the multiverse, a rupture unlike anything seen before. It began when a powerful Paranormal known as the Witch, in an act of desperate ambition, performed a forbidden ritual with Mother Deep—an ancient Apparition of devastating power and malevolent intent. Though the Ancient known as The Butterfly intervened to halt the ritual, their efforts ultimately failed. Mother Deep, unleashed by the Witch’s incantation, shattered the fragile dimensional barriers that separate worlds, tearing through the very fabric of reality.

This breach was not a simple tear, but a complete obliteration of the borders between dimensions. The consequences were immediate and profound. Time itself began to unravel, stuttering and looping erratically in pockets across existence. In some places, moments repeat like broken records; in others, time skips forward without warning, leaving chaos in its wake. From the darkest abyss of the Pit, monstrous creatures have slipped through the cracks, invading realms that once seemed secure. Portals to long-lost pasts and distant, alien dimensions now flicker open with unsettling unpredictability.

Perhaps the most unnerving consequence of the Linebreaker Event is the Parallel Effect. This phenomenon caused an involuntary and widespread swapping of minds and bodies between inhabitants of two universes: Shadow and Kindle. Those from Shadow—a world where magic is suppressed—found themselves thrust into the bodies of Kindle’s inhabitants, often with little understanding of their newfound powers or surroundings. Entire lives and identities were scrambled, forging strange new realities and fractured alliances. The Butterfly, once the guardian against such cosmic threats, has vanished without a trace, leaving the multiverse vulnerable and directionless.

As this multidimensional chaos escalates, the boundaries of existence continue to weaken. Reality teeters on the edge of collapse, and those caught in this maelstrom face challenges that test the limits of their resolve, sanity, and power. The Linebreaker Event is not just a rupture of space and time—it is a profound unraveling of fate itself, where the past, present, and possible futures collide in violent disarray. And amid the shifting shadows of this crisis, the question lingers: what greater horrors lie waiting beyond the shattered walls of the multiverse?
SHADOW
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PORTLAND, MAINE
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THE SHATTERPOINT
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OVERVIEW
Welcome to Recollections: Linebreaker, another RP set in the supernatural horror/urban fantasy universe known as the Recollections universe. Most people think there’s only one world. One life. One reality. But that’s not true. The All-Verse is a network of parallel universes. Normally, these worlds stay separate behind strong barriers, which only magic is capable of piercing. It started in Portland, Maine, in a universe called Kindle, with an individual known only as The Witch. Cloaked in red and masked by a cow skull, she was a menace—her magic reckless, ancient, and destructive. No one knew she was being used as a tool for something far older, far worse.
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The Witch sought out, Mother Deep, a living ocean of multiversal scale, to pry forbidden knowledge from the abyss. She wanted the means to perform a ritual of impossible scope—one that would rewrite the boundaries of existence. Mother Deep, an ancient predator older than any star, gave her exactly what she asked for, but the gift was a trap.

When the ritual was complete, a pillar of light tore open the sky, and the Linebreaker Event began. Some say The Butterfly—the Ancient that watches over time and the spaces between—should’ve stopped it. But it didn’t. Whether it was too late, too far, or already tangled in something else, no one can say for sure. All that’s known is that the walls broke, and nothing stopped it.

Mother Deep, who could only appear where dimensional cracks existed, suddenly had an endless network of fractures to exploit. Now she could seep into any corner of the All-Verse, manifesting wherever reality had split. Portland became her first foothold—streets turning to rivers of black water, buildings sinking into impossible depths, and creatures from her domain spilling forth to hunt—but it was no longer the only one. The Linebreaker had given her free rein, and the abyss could pour in anywhere, ready to claim world after world.
Afterwards the Parallel Effect struck.

People from an everyday, magic-free world — Shadow — suddenly found themselves in the bodies of their Counterparts in this broken dimension. They were thrust into a world of magic, gaining abilities they have little understanding of but are key to solving the crisis. They found themselves trapped in lives they didn’t know—living with powers, enemies, and responsibilities they never wanted. They woke inside a ruined chemical plant, right in the middle of Mother Deep’s rampage, forced to survive in a dangerous new world. The Butterfly is missing—gone without a trace. And with it, the being who should be holding the barriers together is nowhere to be found.

Now, the only chance to fix things is to:

Find The Witch. Seal Mother Deep. Repair the damage.

Or watch everything fall apart.

Above all else, the themes of this story will be Connections, Identity, Emotions, and Memories.
RULES & NOTES
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LINKS
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You already know I'll be here. I'll even have Nori create me a brand new character just for you.


the only way I'll get a good character from you
You already know I’ll be here. I’ll even create a brand new character just for you.


Will it be a good character tho? : hmmmyes :




OVERVIEW
Welcome to Recollections: Linebreaker, another RP set in the supernatural horror/urban fantasy universe known as the Recollections universe. Most people think there’s only one world. One life. One reality. But that’s simply not true. The All-Verse is a network of parallel universes. Normally, these worlds stay separate behind strong barriers, which only magic is capable of piercing. It started in Portland, Maine, in a universe called Kindle, with an individual known only as The Witch. Cloaked in red and masked by a cow skull, she was a menace—her magic reckless, ancient, and destructive. No one knew she was being used as a tool for something far older, far worse.
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
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The Witch sought out, Mother Deep, a living ocean of multiversal scale, to pry forbidden knowledge from the abyss. She wanted the means to perform a ritual of impossible scope—one that would rewrite the boundaries of existence. Mother Deep, an ancient predator older than any star, gave her exactly what she asked for, but the gift was a trap.

When the ritual was complete, a pillar of light tore open the sky, and the Linebreaker Event began. Some say The Butterfly—the Ancient that watches over time and the spaces between—should’ve stopped it. But it didn’t. Whether it was too late, too far, or already tangled in something else, no one can say for sure. All that’s known is that the walls broke, and nothing stopped it.

Mother Deep, who could only appear where dimensional cracks existed, suddenly had an endless network of fractures to exploit. Now she could seep into any corner of the All-Verse, manifesting wherever reality had split. Portland became her first foothold—streets turning to rivers of black water, buildings sinking into impossible depths, and creatures from her domain spilling forth to hunt—but it was no longer the only one. The Linebreaker had given her free rein, and the abyss could pour in anywhere, ready to claim world after world.
Afterwards the Parallel Effect struck.

People from a normal, magic-free world — Shadow — suddenly found themselves in the bodies of their Counterparts in this broken dimension. They were thrust into a world of magic, gaining abilities they have little understanding of but are key to solving the crisis. They found themselves trapped in lives they didn’t know—living with powers, enemies, and responsibilities they never wanted. They woke inside a ruined chemical plant, right in the middle of Mother Deep’s rampage, forced to survive in a dangerous new world. The Butterfly is missing—gone without a trace. And with it, the being who should be holding the barriers together is nowhere to be found.

Now, the only chance to fix things is to:

Find The Witch. Seal Mother Deep. Repair the damage.

Or watch everything fall apart.

Above all else, the themes of this story will be Connections, Identity, Emotions, and Memories.

Thoughts? Questions? Fuck-yous?

...
Interactions: None.




It begins in darkness.

Utter, crushing darkness.

It’s just a dream.

But it’s always a dream.

And the nightmare is never over.

I feel it first — the cold seeping into my bones, the weight of a thousand shattered screams pressing against my mind. The world around me twists and warps, colors bleeding into corrosive acid, and I’m trapped inside my own body.

Nyrah’s claws tear through the night — not mine, but mine. Her roar is a thunderclap inside my skull, drowning out my pleas and my desperate attempts to fight back. I’m screaming, powerlessly, as my hands tear the flesh of people I once called friends... sisters.

The faces haunt me — their eyes full of betrayal and fear, their voices lost in the storm.

Then, suddenly, the chaos breaks.

The roar fades.

The acid burns away.

And I am alone.

Alone with the ragged pieces of myself left behind.

Breathing, shaking, remembering.

The nightmare recedes but never truly leaves.

Because the shadow inside me waits — always waiting.

But I am still here.

Still me.

Princess' Apartment > Streets of Cloverfield.
It began in the stale air of Princess' Southbank apartment. The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows over the cluttered floor. Princess stirred, slowly pushing herself out of bed. She was clad only in a faded blue tank top and worn booty shorts. Princess’s body ached—not from sleep, but from the burden she carried beneath her skin. In her soul.

Ļ̸̧͍̙̰̻͉̺͋̓̇̊͘͜e̴̫͔̱͑̋̏̋͘ţ̶̦͕̯̻͇͂́͂̍ ̵̧̭̱͚͎̻͎̦̅̄̿͝m̸̙̫̚e̵͈̭̤̻͆̆͘͝ ̸͖̮̳̲͚̓̀̍ȏ̴̮̿̇ù̷͓̻͇͍̿t̷͇̬̰̖̦̠̓͐͜.̴̮̭̱͚͊̍͂̉̄̕.̴̨̪̝͔̣̘͖̖̅̒̉̾̐͂́̅ͅ.̴̹̹̹͋

The whispers of Nyrah slithered through her head, quiet but unyielding. Clawing at her sanity any given second. A constant reminder that Nyrah was still there — waiting, watching, hungry. Princess pushed the voice out of her head. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed and rose, shivering as the cold touched her. She slipped into her clothes, pulling on a loose red sweater and black leggings—a simple outfit. Her feet slid into some very old UGGS that were in desperate need of replacement. The worn floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she stepped into the South Bank streets, rough and scarred like the city she once called home.

She could feel the weight of countless eyes before she saw them—faces twisted in disgust and anger, murmurs sharp as knives trailing in her wake. Princess pulled her sweater tighter around her frame as she walked down the cracked sidewalk, the dull morning casting light over the worn buildings of Southbank. The voice inside her whispered again — L̸͉̲͒̇̀e̸͈̋̑̀t̷̛͓̩̗̉ ̴̝̀m̸̧̛͈̮e̷̠͔̋ ̸͎̯͈̈́ō̷̼̚u̷̪̅͜t̷̺̹̽̈͜,̴͓̦̚ ̵̥̈́P̷͖̉̽͠r̵͓̯͑i̷̗͓͆͠n̷̺͗̍͛ͅc̸̗͛ͅe̸̱̣͊s̵̬̩̖͌ṡ̶̬͜ͅ— but she forced it down, focusing on each step.

Lost in her reverie, Princess didn't notice a little girl, no older than nine passing by her. The two didn't even so much as make eye contact, but Princess's head whipped around to get a good look at the girl. She's a little young to be wandering by herself... Princess thought to herself before her head and eyes went forward, and she was distracted by the next big thing.

Ahead, a small crowd had gathered near the corner, drawn by the booming voice of a man standing atop a battered wooden crate. He wore threadbare robes emblazoned with an unsettling symbol — the one of the Heavens cult. Princess gulped as she heard of these bastards. It seemed like every day, a new corner had a crazy bastard screaming about the end of the world.

“... The end is upon us!" He screamed, swinging a bell around, "The world must be cleansed by fire and ruin, for only then will the pure rise from the ashes!”

His eyes blazed with fanatic fervor. “The Second Cataclysm will bring the Messiah’s paradise! The weak and corrupt will be swept away, and only the chosen shall inherit the new dawn!”

Princess edged the crowd, listening in, the words stirred memories too close to the bone—the promise of destruction as salvation, the twisted faith of Heaven. She was half tempted to use that bastard Nyrah's power to spray him - No. No. No No. Princess sighed before she just chose to continue her way to the park. Her eyes caught a flash of recognition from a young follower — a gaunt girl clutching a ragged doll, her gaze cold and distant as she watched Princess pass. The girl’s eyes seemed to say: You’re a monster.

Princess’s throat tightened. She turned on her heel away from the preacher’s fervent cries and pushed forward through the streets of South Bank into the Willowshade Park...


The Brotherhood Outpost.
Interactions: None.





The heavy steel door groaned as Élodie pushed it open, stepping into a cavernous chamber bathed in muted blue light alongside another member. Around the room’s perimeter, arcane runes pulsed softly, carved deep into the floor and rising the pillars, casting ghostly symbols in the air. The runes flared suddenly—sending ripples through the haze. Before them, shimmering figures flickered to life, translucent and towering: the holographic projections of the Brotherhood Councilors. Their robes flowed as if caught in an unseen breeze, their eyes fixed intently on the two, Élodie and the woman, who lowered her gaze with quiet respect...

"... Amethyst Vangrave," One member of the Council said, "And Élodie Séraphine Baptiste, the Council requests a status report on the situation in Cloverfield."

Élodie straightened, the Rose Petal at her hip. Beside her, Amethyst Vangrave’s posture was rigid, every movement deliberate, her gloved hands clasped behind her back. The silence between the Council’s words and her reply stretched thin.

“My lords and ladies,” Amethyst began, her voice having a distinct Belgian accent. “Cloverfield’s situation is more than we feared. The north bank has been rebuilt into a glittering facade, but across the Nimtaké, the South lies in ruin - its people abandoned, its factories rusting, and its streets claimed by the desperate. That neglect has become a breeding ground for threats. Undead activity is no longer confined to the shadows. They move openly after dusk, coordinated, as if commanded.”

Élodie stood beside her, spine straight, but her gaze flickered to the Council’s spectral faces before she spoke. “We are only five in number, and the South demands all our attention. Patrols have been lost—not to direct assault, but to calculated misdirection. Fires, staged riots, and cries for help that lead us into dead ends. And on several occasions… doubles. Things wearing our faces, our voices, watching us before slipping away.”

Amethyst inclined her head toward the Council. “The mountain tremors are growing more frequent. Old creatures are leaving their hiding places. Werewolves on the outskirts. Rumors of new vampire covens. If something older than Nyrah has been stirred, we are not prepared to face it without reinforcements.”

One of the Councilors—a tall, robed figure with his face hidden—spoke first. His voice was smooth, yet carrying none of the urgency Élodie had hoped for. “The decay on the South Bank is unfortunate, but hardly unexpected. That district had festered long before Nyrah’s arrival. It is not our concern. Our priority lies elsewhere.”

A woman cloaked in shadow leaned forward, her voice cold as a blade.

“The Vampire Hunter and Undead Hunter were lost during the Cataclysm, their fates unknown. Without them, the city’s defenses falter.”

Her gaze sharpened. “But the Dragon Hunter — that relic from the Brotherhood’s deepest archives — was deployed only once, a weapon of last resort to slay Nyrah herself. If that weapon still survives, it represents our only hope to stop what still stirs beneath Cloverfield’s surface.”

A third Councilor let out a dry chuckle, “Élodie Baptiste, you lost the Undead Hunter once before. How do we know you won’t lose them again? The stakes are higher now. Failure is not an option.”

Élodie’s jaw tightened, but she kept her gaze steady. ”... It was not by my choice.”

“Words are cheap,” the Councilor replied. “Actions are not. Be vigilant.”

Amethyst’s lips twitched—whether in amusement or irritation, Élodie couldn’t tell. No mention was made of the South Bank’s suffering, the doppelgangers wandering the streets, or the civilians caught between magic and madness. The Council’s sole focus was the Hunters.

“The Hunters are your mission,” The lead councilor declared. “Not the beggars’ districts. Do you understand?”

Both Amethyest and Elodie bowed and spoke in unison.

"Understood."

The holographic Councilors flickered, their forms wavering as the runes dimmed and the chamber’s muted blue light settled back into stillness. The heavy steel door behind them groaned once more, sealing the chamber. Élodie exchanged a brief, sharp glance with Amethyst. The cold dismissal of the South Bank gnawed at her—a part of Cloverfield she knew all too well and could not ignore. But here, in this room, duty demanded focus on the task at hand.

“... The Council may care only for the Hunters," Amethyst began, "The city is falling apart. We cannot afford to have tunnel vision.”

”I agree, sister,” Elodie nodded. ”The situation could easily get far, far, worse. Far beyond the help of the Dragon Hunter.”

Amethyst squared her shoulders. “I’m taking the Paladins out for a sweep. We’ll track any signs of the Hunters... But, I think it's time we check up on Nyrah's host.”

”You are correct,” Elodie said, ”Nyrah's containment is fragile.”

They gave each a silent nod as Elodie pushed the doors open. Élodie paused just beyond the threshold, the cold air of the corridor brushing against her skin. She closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and began the incantation. Her voice was low and steady, weaving the ancient words that summoned the Corvid Shift.

Her fingers traced a delicate arc through the air, the faint glow of her Green Lux pulsing with each syllable. Feathers sprouted where her arms had been, spreading wide like midnight wings. Her body lightened and shrank until she stood no taller than a real crow. With a few strong beats of her wings, she lifted off silently, soaring out of the outpost and into the shadowed skies above Cloverfield toward the fragile prison where Nyrah’s host was held.

Below, the city of Cloverfield sprawled—divided, damaged, dangerous. But for now, Élodie soared, a silent watcher preparing to face whatever darkness awaited.


Willowshade Park.
Interactions: None.




The sky hung low and gray over Willowshade Park, the chill in the air seeping into Princess’s skin despite the fading afternoon light. She sat slumped on a bench, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The grime of her cramped Southbank apartment still clung to her, but even here, the world felt cold and unwelcoming.

Nyrah’s voice whispered again.

“̶̤̅͋̈́͑͠͠L̶͙̱̼͔̜̃̃̽̇̄͆͝ȩ̶̩̩̦̮̻̝͌͌͐́̓͑͛̌͗t̶̡̩͈̖̳̭̞͎̭̞̙̀̑̂͋̉̇̏̎̿̐̇̀ͅ ̸̗̟͔̌̿͆̌͑̄͆̀̄̓͠m̴͍̬͔̐͒̎͠ę̷͈̼͈͉̺̓̑ ̴͈̯̘̈̒̿̃̀̔̃͝o̷̡̬̖̟̱͍͋̂͑̿̓̏̽͑̈̂̊̅̚ų̸̢͓͇̜̗̫̩͙̹̹͋̅͑̂̿͐͘͝ṯ̸̛̙̦̪̱̗̺͋͑̄̈́͛̀̔̌͊͂̆͜,̵͉͙̩̣̆͐̌̃́͂͌ ̷̢̢̙͖̺̖͓̫̯͠͝P̸̦̬̲̀̀̑́̏̇̋̚͠r̶̢̛̖̼̮̺̠͈̬̘͇̩̻̅̂̾͝ḯ̴̡̜̱͚̠̉̈́͐́̾ͅn̷͙̟̫̜̬̋͐͒̿͌̏̽̈̿̏͝͝͝ͅc̵̦̗̾́̉͂́̑̐̅̂̍̋̆͠ě̵̝̤̟̘̓͆̈́̏̕͠ͅs̵̡̲͔̪͓̹͙͙̦̄͒̊̎̽̈́̂̇͜s̷̫͑͛͌̉̃͐͠͠.̶̨̘̲̗̳̝͇͍̖̮̃́̿͊͗́̓̕͜͝ͅ ̷̨͖̜͖͙̜̝̥̀͛́͊̾̿̒̍̃̎͐̅̚͜L̷̩̳̪͚̼̰͙͒e̷̯͉̮̝̲̼̗̲̘̣͑̃̒́̋̈́̉̅͝͝t̶̡̗̞̩̖̝̒͜ͅ ̷̡̫̻̦̮̞̇͛̅͗͘͘͜͝m̵͎̜̮̿̅̒̕e̴̘͌̀̓̋̌̉̈́́̊̀̕ ̵̭͆͂͊̈́͊͌̇͝r̷̢̡͙̯̻̞̹̰̲̝͉̦̲̊̃̿̽̒͒͂̃̍͘͝ä̶̢͓͈̱̬͙̬̟̟̤̲͔̪́̈̑̾͑̄͐ģ̴̓͑͋̓͌̏̓̈́̀̎̈̑e̸̛̳̰̯͖͚̹̍͒̀͋̎̿̅̎̍͝͝.̵͈̓͛͌́́ ̵̢̢͔̟̺͉̙̙̜̻͍̱̇͜L̶̲̙͖͔̈̓̐͜ḛ̸͈̟̰̊ţ̶̣̦͇̫̳̩̠͚̀̊͂̈́̂̓͛̈͒͌̓́͝ ̵̡̡̨̝̤̗͎̫͍̗̦̣͇͒͋̔͆̓́̄̏m̴̭͔͓̠̜̙̮̋͌̏͝ͅe̶͚̻͔̫͔͍̞͓͑̀̑̎̆̀̓̂̐́͋̀͘ͅ ̵̠̹͈̜̳̼̠̟̳͌̍̽̎́͌̎͜t̸̡̛̮͍̣̹͍̽͋̐̿͂̒̈́̈́̐͗͂̚ả̸̧̝̘͚͎̫̮̬̫̖̰̼̟͒̊̕͠ķ̵̬̬͎̦̺̲̫͚͍̏͂̿́̚͘͜͜ȩ̷̞͓̞̼̰̥̤̪̭̇͛͜ͅ ̷̛̗̳̜̱͖̲̄̎̋̓͋̿͛̒͝ͅç̶̛͙͇̺̹͋̅́̄̅̿̉͐͆͐̕͝ö̸̞̟͔̹̀͊͂̏͗͂͆̈́̄ň̴̨̠̥͈̂̀́̓͒̾̒̍͐͝͝t̸̢͚͎̮̺̞͕̀̌͋́͒͒̂̑͝ͅr̴̛͈͛̊̓͊̎͒̍͐̅͆̾̿͜o̸̳̖̭͍̣̰͔͔̳͉͊͛͆̽̈́͜l̷͇̳͛̽̑̈̏̒̈̅̈́̾͒͐.̵͙̥͑̇͛̿̎̇̀̂͗”̶̼̞̜͍̻͚̤̏̅̑́͛̕

Princess clenched her jaw, biting down the tremor that threatened to shake her resolve. The voice was never far, never silent, like a dark pulse beneath her own heart. From the twisted branches overhead, a sudden rustle caught her attention. A black crow perched nearby. It cocked its head, regarding her with an unsettling intelligence. For a moment, the bird’s dark eyes seemed almost human.

Before she could react, the crow’s body shimmered, feathers dissolving into shadow and smoke. In their place stood a woman—small, yet commanding—her cotton candy pink afro a stark contrast to the dark cargo pants and combat boots she wore. Her presence radiated an eerie calm, and her deep brown eyes met Princess’s with a smile.

Élodie Séraphine Baptiste. The Brotherhood’s watcher. Someone that Princess is all too familiar with. Despite the woman's smile, Princess could only respond with a roll of her eyes as she sank back.

”... Elodie,” Princess strained as her head flew upwards towards the sky. ”What do I owe the occasion to this time?

Elodie smile grew wider as she placed a hand on her hip, ”Princess, you sound excited to see me.” She spoke in a thick French accent.

Princess just shrugged in response, ”You always show up when I don't want company.”

”Come now, mademoiselle,” Elodie began, ”Aren't we friends? I know it's-”

”... 'My sworn duty to protect mankind,' Princess groaned, rolling her eyes. ”Just get to the point. What do you want this time? Another reminder that Nyrah’s still clawing at my mind? Another lecture about control and responsibility? Another lowkey threat that your people are going to kidnap me and send me to some monastery in Europe?”

Elodie awkwardly laughed as she folded her hands behind her back and took several significant steps towards the bench. ”May I have a seat?”

”You're going to sit anyway,” Princess groaned again, lowering her gaze to meet Elodie's.

”I'll take that as a yes,” Elodie sat down next to Princess. ”No lectures today. Just a check-in. Someone has to make sure you’re not slipping... I know it’s been hard. You carry a war inside you, and it’s wearing you down. But that voice—that... thing—isn’t you. It’s a parasite, mademoiselle. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

”Like I don't know,”

”Yet here you are, alive and breathing. You’re holding it together better than most would,” Elodie smiled at Princess, “That’s why I’m here. To remind you you’re not alone. The Brotherhood didn’t send me just to watch; we’re here to help. To contain. To protect.”

Nyrah’s voice seeped back in, curling around the words like smoke slipping through fingers.

“̵̡̙͈̦̿͑́̕͝͝͝H̷̝͎̱̬̋̾̀̍̓͂̒̀̕̚ͅo̶̰͗̏͂͌͆̕͝w̴̤̳͓͈̫̅̋̾̀ ̸̞̥̤̙̓̈́̀̆̇͛̋̽͐̓͠c̶̛͉͓̮͚͈̞̟͚̔̀̽̎͘̕͜͜͝͝͝a̴̩̍̅͒̋̔̈́͂̚n̷̛̜̤̓͋̋̄̕͠͠͠ ̵͍̠̟͗͐͑̔̒̋̕͜͝͠͠͝͝y̵̡̡͍̺̲̳̳̦͌̿̓͌̚̕̚͝o̵̙̫͕̳̤͐̽́̍̏͌͑̏͛͠ư̵̯͇̺̬̹̟̗̾̾̉̍̄̕̕̕͝ ̸̢̡̛̳̘͚̬̗̞̠̹̠̆̉̔̿̄͂̈́͊͌̕͝ͅs̶̨̤̦̺̤̟̞̭̤̓̈́̔͋̎̿̎͛͂̚t̵̨̡̛̤̟̝̙̻̯̪̥́̔͐͐͛̋̾͂͌͝ͅì̷̞͕̗̺̦̟͉͓̅̑̋͂̿̔͌͛̎͘l̴̪̥̝̤̥̰̥̤̪̥̙̓͒͌̏̏̽̑̑́̒̎͝l̶̛͇̬̝͎̈́̉̀̀̆̌̽͂̄̚͘ ̷͉͙̞̮̰̠͎̝̎̄̓̏̋́̾̏̚͝h̷̥͓̦͔̬͉̙̤͙̃̊̈́͋̾̔͑͊̎̑͠a̵̡͈̺͔̮͓̐̈́̋̎́̓̿̿̓̓̚͜ͅṽ̵̡̛̫̥̰͕̮̤̙͌͌͌̑̓̚͘͠͝ͅe̴̛̛̠̰̫̜̖͆̅̀̆͐̏̓͜͝ ̴̛͉̻͍͚̬̯̞̟̾̀̔̎̋̓͛̿̅̇̕c̷͔͉̰̞̠̞̥̪͓̦͔̙͐͋̍̎̈́̇͂̐͘̚͘̕͠ơ̵̢̢͎͔̗̥̹̱̝̞͛̈́̾̓̈́̇͐̚͝͝ͅͅn̵̠̼̥͈̠͙̹̿̽̾̄̄͛̀̈́̀̄̅͜ṫ̵̺͓̤̐̇͋̅̈́͊̅̅͜͠r̴̨̯̲̮͎̯̙̯͉̥͎̰̆̄̉̉͛̈́͂̇̔̕ơ̵̡̛̪̫̥͖̥͍͍̦͓̘͙͐̔͛̄̄̈́͘͝͠l̷̛̟̳͈̰̱̞̾̿̏̈́̇́̋́̕͝ͅ?̴̡̛̜̻̯͎̇̓͑̈́̈́̒̄̈́͋͗ͅ”̷̨̛̛̛̖͇̙͇͎̞̦͇͎̇̀̒̽͑͂͌̚͠

Princess flinched involuntarily.

”Nyrah's been around longer than some universes! She's clever,” Elodie said, ”She may not be a problem now. But she's timeless. You are not. She's going to gradually try to scrape at your walls, looking for an opening to break free. Or worse. Regain control.”

Regain control.

Regain control.

Regain control.

Regain control.


Princess’s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching sharply. The weight behind Elodie’s words hit her like a hammer—cold, merciless, and deeply personal.

“̴̢̩̖̿͊̋̑͒̋͌̚̕ͅY̷̙͍͙̠͍͎̦͍̹̓̐̈́͘͝͝͠͠͝O̷͍͊́̋̓͗̋͑͆͘͘̕͠͠Ừ̸̤͊͛̓̄̓̿͘͝͠ ̵̛͔̖̞̰͙͎͚̤͓̹͌͐̓̋̈́̐́̏̋͆C̶̤͙͕̝̩͐̄̓͑̅̇̏͐̕͝ͅȀ̵̛̗͐̈́̏̇̐̄͘͠͝N̷̡̛͔͙͉̞̟̠̟̮̏̔̽̀͛͋̓̍͝N̴̛͉̰̹͍̖͇̲͓̗̝̈́͆̐́̆̀̽͘̚O̷̡̩̙̠̮̤̥͍̥͙͛͂̐̿͋̔̀̓̅͠͝T̷̤̱̲̱̙̳͐͌̈́̐̒̅̎̈́̑͝ ̸̡̪͚̱͙̬̟̲̜̥͇͐̎͐̓̐͗̏̔̒͜͝ͅH̴̢̤̫̠͈͎̝̩̬̗̲̫̗̗̞͛̏͛͐̈́̋͋̋͘͠͠E̴͔̱̪̻̤̺͉̰͂̽̽͊̐́̾̚̚͠ͅL̷͓͍̱̫̰̥̟̬̥͓̀̈́̿͛̈́͆̾̈́͘̕͝P̶̨̡̡̹̮͕͚̖̠̠̦͙͚͔̻̈́͛̇̽̒̐̇̐̅́͜.̴̢̡͔̘͉̗͇̯̰̪͖̟͛͗͐́̎̈́͋̆̎͗̑͆͐”̸̨̨̠̰̋͐͊̒͛͗̓̓͗̕͘͠ͅ

Princess’s teeth clenched until the taste of blood filled her mouth. She buried her face in her hands, rocking slightly on the bench...Elodie’s voice softened but carried an edge of steel. “Nyrah won’t stop pounding until she breaks you down. But you can stop her. You have to. The longer you let her chip away, the harder it gets.”

Princess clenched her thighs with her fingertips until blood began to drip down. The more Elodie talked, the more she wanted to...

.̴̯̃͆̄.̷̨̣̺̥̠̮̥̳͖̤̝̽̐̋̈́́̿͜͜.̵̘͇̻̠̝̥͚̅̌̈̿̓͛.̴̰̮̓̎̎͐̉̂̃̈̒͐̇̚̚.̵̧͈̭̞̼͎̱͓̖̬͈͚̟͐̒̆͋̀̾̏̍̓̆̿̿͒͜͠͝.̶̡̨̢̩̮̲͙́̽̓͒̄̊͗.̸͖̈̓̈́̆̐̂̍̒̐̇̆̒͌.̷̨̮̺̮͍̥̩̭͚̄̑̾̓͆̓͐.̶̩͓͍̜͇͇͚͛̃̒̀̂̀̓̎́̀̑̀͜ͅͅ.̴̱͎̱͉̺͉̱̳̾̿̒̊͌̽̇̀́̇̒͘͝.̸̡̛̰̘̝̭͉̺̣̥̲̙̺́͑̌͊̍̑̆̎̊́̃͋̕͝.̶͇̐̀̀͑̎̾̊͒̀͘̚͘͘.̶̧͔̼͈̲̱͖̩̪͕̗͙̦͚́̐̎͝.̶̡̮̼̪̾͗͌͌̈́̓̐̎̈̇͛͌̏̃.̷̡̥̣̲̣̅̌.̷͎̝͈̞̦̜̱͉̀̉̐̋̍͋̅̄̿̆.̵̗͙̋̒̾̆̒͒̔̅͝.̸̲̓̓̂̓͊͛K̶̢̡̬̮̫̰̣̱̰̱̞̑̀́̎͂́͛͒͐͌̃̕Į̶̢̛͕̝̻̝͈̰̩̻̖͍̰̓̏͑̒͊͐͊͂̈͆̔̓̕̚͜ͅĽ̶̡̧̡͕̝̟̦̪̱̺̗̥̦ͅL̷̨̪͔̭̒ ̵̧̛̛̛̠̦͇̓͐̌̓̈́͒̈̔̓͘͠H̶̼̠͚̺͙͉̙͇̳̫̬̬͉̀̔͂͠E̴̯͔̺͉͕̫̘̝̐̿͋̈́̀Ṛ̶̢̨̞͇̥̫̖̝͉̻̬̻̔͑́͒̾́̿̒̇͆͘͠͝͝.̴̤̭̞̈́.̵̲͓̿̃̈́͐͒͐̌̀̀̾̉̕̕͝.̸̗̳͈̮̠̱̻̲͍̠̙́͊̒́͒̈́͌̎̑̕͘͝.̶̢͐͛̆̋̍̾.̸̡̙̫̟̹̣̘̟̪̻̖̪͔̉̄́͊̽͗̽̅̾̉̇͆̃̍.̴̧̮̺̯̲̼̙̫̼̄̉̈́̀͂̆͑̊̈̈́͝͝.̷̢̳͍͇̜̠̭̖͐͊̓͊̃̅.̸̻̭̞͕̫̀̾̉̃͆͒̅̌́͐̀̔.̷̡̧̻̯̥͔̣̘͚̊̎͊̓̾̍.̴̮̻̼̆͑̾̓̉͋͊͘͜.̸̛̗̪̦̏̈̈̓͐̈́́̓̾̎̃̚.̵̳̹̲̭̫͕͚̺̩̒̄͐̏̔̃͆̾̈́͘ͅ.̸̧̫̜̮̦͉͇̦̲̹͎̊̈̕͘͜ͅ.̴̡̧̧͙̟͖̯̞͈̮͙̳̭̪̈́.̶̜͂͘̕.̵̡̛̫̖̟͇̩̬̮̠̤̭̖̙̏̊̒͒̆̊̿̇̃͂͠ͅ.̴̨̲̤̬͕̺̦̗̝̗́̏͐̃̈́̾̿̎̈͒̚̕̕

Princess couldn't take it anymore. She barked out, desperately trying to keep her voice down, yet failing, ”Look, Elodie, can you please just shut the fuck-” Princess’s plea was swallowed by a sudden, searing agony clawing up her right arm. She gasped, eyes widening in shock and pain as her fingers twisted, nails sharpening into jagged claws. Thick grey scales burst through her skin like molten shards, spreading with a sickening crackle. Her arm convulsed violently, the flesh and bone reshaping into a grotesque talon. She gritted her teeth, a strangled cry escaping as every nerve flared white-hot.

Elodie’s calm facade shattered in an instant. She lunged forward, grasping Princess’s transforming arm with a fierce grip—not to stop it, but to ground her. "Don’t let her win by surrendering to the change!”

Nyrah’s voice surged like a hurricane in Princess’s mind, pounding at her sanity.

“̴̯͖̿̿͝͝K̸͎͕͆́̃ͅÍ̶̩̭͓̖L̸̢̦̻̯̅L̴̡̍̈ ̶̛͔̆̋͜H̵͈͊E̶̘̻̲̔̂̒͊R̷̪͌͒̈́ͅ!̸͔́̽̇”̴̤̣͍̰̍̆


Princess shook her head violently, tears threatening to spill. “I—can’t... I don’t want this—” The claw on Princess’s arm flexed again, tearing deep grooves in the bench, sending splinters flying. The serpentine limbs writhed beneath her skin like living things. The room—or rather, the park—felt suffocating. Princess’s breath hitched as panic flooded her senses.

Without warning, she yanked her arm back, the grotesque claw scraping with a wet, rattling sound. The pain was unbearable—but she stood, shaking and desperate.

”Mademoiselle-” Elodie tried to say.

”Elodie, no,” Princess said, raising a hand at Elodie as she took cautious steps back as Elodie took cautious steps forward. ”I have to go. If you actually had a shred of decency, you won't follow.

Princess didn't wait for a response. Instead, she spun on her heel and took off running, clenching her bloodied and scaly arm. The madness clawed again, and she tore forward into the shadows of the city.

Run. Fight. Survive.


Because if she stopped now... if she let Nyrah break her—

There would be nothing left of her at all.

And that was a price she refused to pay.
THE.BROTHERHOOD.OUTPOST

............................................................
"We stand unbroken—guardians of hope where others see despair. "In Tenebris Fortitudo."
The Brotherhood Outpost in Cloverfield is a makeshift base housed in a half-ruined, repurposed warehouse on the edges of the city’s devastated industrial South Bank. Once a sprawling factory, the building now bears the scars of the Cataclysm and neglect, patched with salvaged metal and marked by faintly glowing protective sigils. Scaffolding and tarps surround the exterior, revealing ongoing repairs and magical fortifications struggling to take hold.

Inside, the space is bare and utilitarian, filled with makeshift walls, crates for furniture, and flickering magical lanterns. Arcane chalk markings and hastily drawn runes cover the walls and floors, a testament to the Brotherhood’s urgency and limited resources. The outpost serves multiple functions: a command hub and training area with maps of Cloverfield’s districts, a sparse barracks for the small rotating group of Paladins stationed here, an armory and workshop filled with scavenged weapons and broken machinery, and a cluttered research nook for quick rituals and emergency healing.

As the Brotherhood has no formal chapter in Cloverfield before the Cataclysm, this outpost feels vulnerable and tentative. It operates as a forward base for reconnaissance of magical threats, providing aid to South Bank residents, scavenging for supplies in the ruins, and maintaining uneasy ties with local factions who rule the fractured area. Despite the bleak conditions and constant threat of attack, the Brotherhood members stationed here are fiercely dedicated.
THE.ROSE.PETAL

| Élodie Baptiste’s Signature Weapon |

“A delicate blossom."


ORIGINS & CREATIONS:
| The Rose Petal is Élodie’s custom adaptation of the Brotherhood’s standard-issue Knight’s Edge. Forged from the same rare magical alloy but redesigned exclusively for her by the Brotherhood’s master smiths, it reflects her unique combat style and elemental affinities. It was consecrated through secret Brotherhood rituals aligned with her philosophy and history. |

TYPE:
| Rapier (can segment into a whip) |

LOCATION:
| Carried by Élodie at all times; kept in a specialized sheath for swift deployment during missions. |

NOTABLE OWNERS:
| Exclusively wielded by Élodie Séraphine Baptiste since its creation. |

ABSTRACTION-GRANTING:
| No. |
.............................................................................
The Rose Petal is a rapier unlike any other—its blade gleams a deep, blood-red reminiscent of fresh rose petals, slender and razor-sharp. Designed for precision and speed rather than brute force, it complements Élodie’s fluid combat style, allowing her to strike swiftly and elegantly. The weapon’s balance and form let her weave through enemy defenses with ease, while the floral engravings pulse faintly with her Red Lux whenever she channels her elements through it.

When Élodie invokes her magic, the blade ignites with flickering embers or crackles with icy sparks, amplifying her spells in seamless harmony with each precise thrust or parry.

Though it is primarily a melee weapon, the Rose Petal can extend into a whip-like lash of red thorned vines in moments of dire need, though Élodie prefers the artistry and discipline of the rapier form. The weapon is more than a tool—it is a physical manifestation of her journey: beautiful yet dangerous, refined yet unyielding.

The enchanted crimson alloy serves as a conduit, sharpening her focus and strengthening her connection to her elemental arsenal. Fireball, Icicle Rain, Chain Lightning—all flow through the Rose Petal seamlessly, making it both weapon and magical amplifier. The Rose Petal embodies Élodie’s core belief: magic is not brute force, but a precise dance of power, grace, and responsibility.
THE.KNIGHT'S.EDGE

| The Brotherhood’s Signature Weapon |

“Adapt to the enemy, and the blade becomes an extension of your will.”


ORIGINS & CREATIONS:
| Crafted by the Brotherhood’s master smiths using a unique magical alloy, the Knight’s Edge was designed as a versatile and reliable weapon to equip every member of the order. Its creation fused ancient forging techniques with enchantments derived from collective belief and ritual, ensuring it could meet the demands of supernatural combat across generations. |

TYPE:
| Shapeshifting Sword. |

LOCATION:
| Distributed broadly among Brotherhood members worldwide; commonly carried during missions and training. |

NOTABLE OWNERS:
| Every active Brotherhood Adept and Paladin carries a Knight’s Edge, including historical figures like Sir Alaric Voss and Lady Mireille Duval. |

ABSTRACTION-GRANTING:
| No. |
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The Knight’s Edge is the standard-issue weapon for nearly every Brotherhood member, symbolizing their shared heritage and unity. Its unique alloy and craftsmanship allow the weapon to shift forms on command, adapting fluidly to different combat scenarios. Whether cleaving through undead ranks with a blade or ensnaring foes from a distance with a whip-like extension, the Knight’s Edge offers exceptional versatility.

Customizable with elemental enchantments—fire, ice, lightning—and temporary magical enhancements, it empowers its wielder without granting independent powers. Instead, it acts as a conduit, amplifying the user’s magical skills and combat proficiency.

As a mass-produced artifact, the Knight’s Edge reflects the Brotherhood’s philosophy: disciplined adaptability and respect for magic’s potential, ensuring every member is prepared to face the evolving darkness together.
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