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There's not much about me to say.

I was born in December 1998, and I've been doing Forum RP since 2011. I live in Southeast Asia-- the Philippines (GMT +8:00) in particular, so if I'm not around, I'm probably asleep or otherwise busy. I mostly do Group RPs and Tabletop Games (off-site). I've never been in a 1x1 RP, but some of the premises seem interesting enough.

I like Fantasy, Sci-fi, and certain Anime settings. I do shy away from certain genres as a matter of preference (historical, slice-of-life, grimdark, etc), and if I know nothing about a fandom setting in question, I'm far less likely to throw my hat in the ring-- but if the premise is interesting enough, I may give it a shot regardless.

I like to be relatively active, though life gets in the way sometimes. If you're lurking and are trying to get me to post, if you want to be a mutual friend, or if you want to invite me to a specific RP, just let me know...I don't bite. So long as you aren't rude, we'll get along just fine, and even then, I may extend a sort of professional courtesy between us as writers.

With that out of the way, if you're here, you're probably looking for more of my writing. Thankfully, I've recently compiled a list of my characters (with links to their respective RPs) from this site. If you want to check them out, the link is here.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! May the RPs you're in be of an acceptable posting speed, and eventually, come to end on a decent conclusion...

...A man can dream, eh?

Most Recent Posts

Co-GM IC:

The Keep - First Floor


The assassins, having partially succeeded in their objective, moved to exfiltrate. Though the Duke had surprised them, the poison they had delivered would be enough to put him out of commission for a while, or perhaps even kill him, if his health was already failing. It was likely that with swift action, he would survive, but... these assassins were not sent here on a suicide mission.

And thus, they ran through the corridors, their steps now not nearly as silent as they once were. They could no longer use the Servant's Entrance near the kitchen-- guards would be there soon enough, after all. Instead, they moved towards the keep's garden, where they could easily scale the walls and escape into the city.

Their path, however, took them past the Throne Room, the War Room, and several other important rooms. It would not be unlikely for members of the Royal Guard, or for soldiers to chance upon them as they ran past. Unless they acted quickly, these assailants would likely make their escape, unopposed.

The Keep - Second Floor


Zatana's silent entry and dynamic entrance had not been without its effects. She skillfully landed a heavy kick to the first assassin's head, which caused the man to crumple. He was not unconscious, but he was dazed and reeling. Sensing this, the Record-Hunter tightened its grip on the man, wrapping its long, serpentine body around the assassin's arms and legs. Although the familiar was made of paper, it was supernaturally strong, and resistant to normal attempts at cutting-- the man was subdued, for now.

Her next attack was equally effective, and the dagger slipping into the man's already injured calf. The second assassin fell to his knee-- with three injuries, things were not looking good. As Balthazar closed the distance to try and knock the man out with a solid thwack of his cane, something fell at his feet:

A round, black ball, with a lit fuse.

The old man's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly moved to knock the grenade away from him. It was too late, however, and soon, the room exploded in a cloud of stinging grey smoke. Balthazar coughed and coughed, tears flowing from his eyes. Distracted like this, he could not cast any spells. Unfortunately, while the alchemical concoction seemed to be largely non-lethal in nature, everyone in the room who was not prepared for it: whether it was Balthazar, Zatana, or even the other Assassin, was now caught in the middle of it all.

Thankfully, while the door was closed, the window was still wide open, and soon, the smoke had dissipated enough to see. The second assassin, still injured from the two-pronged assault of the Warlock and the Drow Shadow, had left a blood trail lead all the way to the window. He had made his escape. Balthazar, still reeling from the effects of the stinging gas, stumbled towards the window, where he saw the assassin gently floating to the bottom of the keep.

"A Feather Fall spell..." He coughed out slightly, before looking to his Drow companion. "Go after him-- even with his head start, he can't move quickly because of his injuries. You may still be able to catch him." Balthazar said, turning his gaze to the man on the floor.

"I'll handle this one."

The Trade Square


As the Prince ate the food handed to him, he felt nothing wrong... at least initially. The poison, known by many names, but most commonly as Assassin's Blood, was a tasteless, colorless, and odorless liquid that could be mixed into food or drink. Although not a fast-acting, deadly poison, it was quite debilitating, especially to those of weak constitution-- or to those who consume it in large amounts.

Soon, the man would feel strange, and then ill... if the toxin was allowed to run its course, the Prince would be bedridden for a few days. Still, the Prince was a healthy man-- in the worst-case scenario, he would simply be bedbound until the poison was neutralized. Of course, it would mean that he would be unable to fight; receiving wounds while poisoned was a quick way to complicate and compound medical injuries until permanent injury, or even death, had occurred.

Meanwhile, the assassin Acrius was facing wielded a blade slathered in the concentrated venom of a snake. While nothing particularly special, this poison can seep into wounds inflicted by weapons or other trauma, causing excruciating pain. The venom can then circulate within the body, destroying the balance of the internal organs, essentially incapacitating those of a weaker constitution. The Royal Guardsman didn't know what the poison was exactly... but he knew that it would be prudent to avoid being struck, for his own well-being.

The assailant begins to circle around the man, as if waiting for an opening. When he spots one, he doesn't rush in, instead opting to throw a set of three throwing daggers in a tight fan from his off-hand. These daggers were similarly poisoned, but the movement was predictable enough to dodge or deflect. In truth, however, if Acrius decides to dodge, in a direction, he would be hard-pressed to dodge the crossbow bolt from the rooftops-- the daggers were merely a distraction for the true threat!

Once Acrius was poisoned from one way or another, both assassins would close into melee range for the kill, confident in their ability to face him, now that he was debilitated. If he was able to avoid attempts at poisoning, however, the assassin would likely decide that discretion was the better part of valor, and move to escape, instead. The fight would then devolve into a chase across moonlit rooftops until the criminals were apprehended, or until they managed to evade their capture.

Of course, Acrius facing off against a pair of assassins in a dark alleyway in the middle of a festival was sure to draw the attention of those who were nearby, even if the sounds of the townsfolk's revelry made it difficult to hear, at times. If the man needed to, he could also try to draw the fight into the streets, but the assassins were mindful enough not to carry out such an attempt in plain view




December 30th - Observation Post



Elliot nodded as he looked over the man's draft. "It's rather impressive, knowing that it's made of scavenged gear. You've done well, considering the limitations." He said in reply to Michael, before appending a few comments. "...just remember that with greater magnification, comes a smaller field-of-view. Periscope binoculars are good at safely viewing a singular target from a distance, but are less useful for viewing the battlefield as a whole." The marksman explained, lending his insight. He had a feeling the sapper already knew what he was doing, considering the schematics before him, but Elliot figured that his advice would help him refine his work quicker.

"Personally, I prefer to keep a wide-view periscope for general battlefield surveillance, and my scope for looking at specific objects." The boy commented. "...Though I suppose I have a bit of leeway in that regard. I'm certain someone in a less specialized role could find a lot of use in this."

Now done talking shop, Elliot then turns to face the new arrival: a woman with brown hair who towered over both him and his sapper companion. The most striking of her features, however, were her eyes. The marksman knew that countenance well-- he had seen similar ones in veterans, whether that's face-to-face or from behind the optics of a sniper scope.

He wondered if his eyes gave off a similar expression.

Michael had taken the liberty of inviting her to join them-- something Elliot would have done as well had the sapper not beaten him to the punch. The woman, however, decided against it, instead opting to remain at her post. It was true: there was a job to be done here, and idle chatter-- or in this case, discussion on jury-rigged equipment, was not necessarily on the to-do list... but if something did happen, the marksman would know long before it became an issue.

He supposed it was the principle of it all, but then again, there was no way to know for certain.

If the soldier before him wanted to stay on duty, then it was only right to reciprocate. "Fair enough, miss." He said, giving her an apologetic nod. "...Though by the looks of things, we should be fine for the next few hours." Elliot explained. His cursory surveillance of the area showed little signs of the enemy's intent to move towards them-- the timing wasn't right either; the enemy was more likely to rest a little longer before making any overt moves. Were the atmosphere more tense, the marksman would've skipped the niceties altogether, after all.

Elliot considered insisting that the soldier join them, but... in the end, the choice was up to her. It was impolite to force someone into a conversation that they had no interest in participating in, after all. The idea would have to come from her.
Balthazar continued his casual consumption of tobacco for several moments, before emptying his pipe outside the window, letting the cold breeze scatter the remaining ashes to the four winds. As he watched the town from a distance, something alighted upon the windowsill:

A white bird, with skin of paper, and feathers of ink.

The irony of a Record-Hunter --a familiar that makes no sound-- taking the form of a songbird was not lost upon the man. Balthazar neatly tucked away his pipe, before raising a hand to allow his familiar to come closer. The origami figure hopped onto the palm of his hand, before unfolding into several sheets of parchment.

"Now, what have you found?"

The spymaster quickly scanned the document, reading it twice over, before committing it to memory. Balthazar then set the parchment down, picked up his tome and cane, and then snapped his fingers; casting a spell to extinguish the candles in the room, leaving only the one on his desk. His bedroom was soon engulfed in darkness, save for a single flame, flickering in the wind.

His preparations were only half-complete, though. Were he in his prime, he would have been able to set a proper magical trap, but his old age has limited his repertoire. Instead, he must improvise. Balthazar walked over to the darkest corner of the room opposite the desk, uttering an incantation underneath his breath. Soon, he was shrouded in shadows, wisps of blackness emanating from his body like fog. In this light (or lack thereof), he was nigh-invisible to those without the ability to see in darkness.

The old man then simply stood there, an ominous figure in the blackness... and waited.

Several moments later, they had arrived, just as his familiar had reported. As the door creaked open, the spymaster made no sound-- he would have one chance to turn the tide. A man dressed in a black hood soon entered the room, dagger in hand. The assassin looked about the room and failed to spot anyone, instead opting to read the papers strewn about the desk-- likely to see if this was the room they were searching for.

"This is his room." The assassin confirmed his lookout's thoughts, beckoning the other to enter the room. "Let's grab his files and start looking for him."

Even so, Balthazar was silent as they rifled through his things. He had been careful enough to leave nothing particularly valuable upon the desk, yet incriminating enough to catch their eye. The true trap, however, would reveal itself momentarily. As the lead assassin stopped to inspect a stack of parchments, he became entranced with the various esoteric symbols written upon its surface. Although he could not comprehend the language, his head began to hurt.

"Ngh... what in the Nine Hells?" He said underneath his breath as he averted his eyes.

He did not notice the symbols grow brighter until it was too late.

In an instant, the pain had intensified-- a mental attack! This elicited a grunt of agony and caused the man to drop the stack of papers. The parchments then reformed into a miniature origami figurine resembling a winged serpent, and leaped at the intruder who had read its master's work. Meanwhile, Balthazar stepped forth from the shadows and took aim, quickly releasing the spell he had prepared beforehand, firing off a blast of inky darkness at the other assassin, clipping the man's lower leg and causing him to stumble.

"Surrender quietly." The old man said ominously. "For your own sakes."

Although initially caught by surprise, the assassins quickly reoriented themselves--it seemed they had little interest in going quietly. The first assassin tried to turn towards Balthazar, but with the Record-Hunter running constant interference, it was difficult for him to lend any meaningful assistance to his comrade. The second assassin rose to his feet, blood seeping from his injured leg, and raised a dagger towards the warlock, before charging forward. The old man leaned away from the first swing, before ducking out of the way of the second strike.

The familiar then wrapped its long, serpentine body around the man's feet to try and trip him up, finding moderate success in binding those appendages together. The warlock, not to be left undone, then fired off another blast of dark energy at his assailant, the ray of shadows only managing to graze the assassin's shoulder.

All this ruckus, however, could be heard from outside the room, in the halls. If Balthazar wished to force a retreat or dispose of these assassins, it would be as simple as using some of his more powerful spells... but he needed them alive, and for that, he needed help. He did not say it, but he was counting on some reinforcements.

Whether or not they would arrive on time, however, was up to Fate... and until Fate would provide him that opportunity, Balthazar would hold out as long as he could.



December 30th - Observation Post



Pleasant as it was for the other boy to welcome him so readily into the trenches, Elliot's face was as impassive as ever... though his expression showed that he was more than a little bit impressed at the young man's work in the trenches so far. "So I see." He said as he drew closer, kneeling down as well-- if only so that he didn't need to slouch anymore. The marksman's eyes rested upon the periscope; now that he's had a closer look at it, it seems like the sapper was telling the truth when he said that he had modified it.

"Elliot." The marksman said simply. "You can call me Elliot. What about you? What's your name, sir?" He was curious-- the sapper before him didn't seem like an officer; and most officers don't do grunt work like this, anyway.

At the sapper's request, however, Elliot reached around and unslung the rifle hanging on his shoulder, letting the firearm lean against the nearby sandbag revetment. The attached scope and suppressor in plain view made it evident that while he was a Private, he had appeared to be a skilled marksman in his own right. "I don't mind-- I have experience in using periscopes before. If you'll let me..." He outstretched his hand, waited for the boy to hand it to him, and then took the ramshackle device in his hands, handling it with care. If modifications were made, it was important to treat it more like a prototype, than a tried-and-tested piece of equipment.

He fiddled with the device, peering through it a few times before raising the thing above the parapets. Elliot then let his body lean against the dirt wall as he looked through the periscope. "Hm." He let out a thoughtful noise as he swept the area, his trained eyes focusing on different objects in No Man's Land: a patch of barbed wire, a puddle of water, a mound of dirt...

"It works fine... Did you use optical lenses to make this? I noticed a bit of magnification-- not as intense as my scope, but enough to look at things more closely." Elliot asked, as he lowered the periscope to look at the boy, a curious expression on his face.

A marksman would know if their sight was modified in some way, after all. If his hunch was right, then it would seem that this young man was trying to make a pair of periscope binoculars. Most periscopes didn't have any magnification to begin with, after all. Combining the two objects seemed like a good idea, but in its current state, it required further refinement.

It was certainly a good proof-of-concept, though. Elliot knew that some periscope binoculars existed, and if this thing was handmade from equipment scavenged from the field, then its creation was certainly an impressive feat in its own right.

@Conscripts
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