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12 days ago
Current they should let me into the presidential debates as like a stage hazard. i should be like the negligent drivers in onett, plowing into whichever seniors don't heed the warning that i'm coming
4 likes
2 mos ago
frantically flipping through my notebook as i realize i'm late for my monthly bit. bomb. bomb. caesium capsule meets stomach lining. bomb. murder confession. bomb. need new material before they bomb m
1 like
3 mos ago
Never stop creating. Never stop improving. Live life fully, honestly, and the mystical adventure never ends. Thank you, Sensei. I think I'll train tomorrow.
9 likes
5 mos ago
My dreams are getting weird. They usually involve sterile lighting and a bunch of guys in labcoats discussing sedative dosages around me and getting really scared when i try to go to the bathroom lol
1 like
6 mos ago
i consume enough energy drink i changed my zodiac sign, i'm more taurine than any motherfucker born in April and i killed eleven people in that applebees two miles down the road
5 likes

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Rudolf Sagramore


"Works for me," Rudolf breathed, voice thick with relief as he about-faced more or less in time with the third and fourth cracks of Eliane's firearm. "C'mon, Fey! Let's cut 'em down!" he barked, pushing to the fore where the Valheimr, rallying at the sight of one of their leaders surviving the cataclysmic fireball and still fighting, had begun to congregate again. The back half of the Kirins had more or less locked her down for the moment, sure, but unless they capitalized her battlefield presence alone would end up locking them down. The rank-and-filed would be given enough breathing room to regroup, and encircle.

If that happened, they were as good as toast.

So he surged forth, into the lesser of two evils. Esben, Eliane, Galahad, they all knew what they were doing. With Izayoi and Chisaki more or less taken care of and being pulled out of the fray... All that was left was rote repetitions. Those were what he was good at.

Parry, stab, slice, shove. Never lose threat, never lose momentum. Descend upon them like a storm, and your strikes will boom like thunder. Between his force and Robin's speed, whichever openings one Edrenian couldn't find the other would pry open in short order. The stark contrast in styles, rhythm, and attacks would wear most anyone Valheim could field short of the aforementioned Captain far behind down.
Gerard Segremors


He weathered the various concerns thrown his way with little fanfare or argument, only offering an opaque, game smile. To begin with, it was a pretty bold proclamation by every metric, even his own— not hard to believe that the Captain wouldn't want to invite the idea of such drastic measures being necessary to begin with. Granted, he'd not said he meant to go it alone...

But really, who would bringing that up be fooling? He was a poor liar, his tone gave away a lot that his words neglected. Probably best he stay that way, at least for now.

If anything, this proved her building confidence— no potential sacrifice plays necessary. Doesn't matter if I can hold out. The Roses can do it clean.

"The more the merrier. Consider it done, Captain." he nodded swiftly, before rolling out the shoulder of his sword arm as he made his way over, marching up to flank Fleuri. Fionn seemed to be hanging behind, deliberating something, bothering Gertrude, Gerard wasn't sure what, but he'd catch up if he meant to. For now, he was focused on the task ahead.

"How fitting that it's the two of us hunting her down, on a bright sunny day." he replied to his compatriot, golden eyes flickering between brush, upturned rock, channel carved by the torrent of released mana, felled tree. Behind them, he began to chart a path— the more ground they could chew up before Rolan's imminent smokescreen cleared, the more immediate the threat they presented would be. Get close enough, and they'd force the hands of the pair on high, one way or another. "Speaks to the burgeoning poet in my soul."

A cloud from high above appeared to land upon the hilltop. Enough wisecracks.

"Let's move." he breathed, darting up the slope towards the first of many boulders, large enough to hide his person.
Rudolf Sagramore


"Just m— Just our luck, she's as tough as she looked." Rudolf clicked his tongue from close by, furrowing his brow until the single-eyed grimace he wore became a proper scowl. In the chaotic melee of their retreat after Kirin had carved itself whole again, he'd seen a similar scrape bloom above his left eye, sown in some exchange that doubtlessly would have felt an eternity back. They'd almost been clear, and he's believed he had a second to leave the annoying head wound for truly safe harbor, but with her here...

He rubbed away at it with his sleeve, ignoring the sting, until both eyes opened again. This helped distract him from the white knuckled grip beneath his gauntlets, disguised the shaking steel as he watched the woman stalk forward, glaring daggers at them all. She seemed to grow in his vision, like an angry bear, where he was a scrawny stray dog.

I wanna go home! She's gonna kill us! Can we run? She's not that close yet, I think we can run!

"And she's after us— We can't lead her back to the haven,"
he breathed, raising the swords in a loose guard. "We gotta at least slow her down so the lord's escort can get enough distance. Ideas?"
Rudolf Sagramore


@Psyker Landshark@Ithradine@vietmyke

"On it." breathed the soon-to-be blur of red and silver, his larger blade once again resting against his back as the infiltration team broke into the open air. I wish I could.

Once again, the young warrior let the moonlight gleam against the steel of his humbler swords, needing their certain bite again instead of empty pomp and circumstance. Fire blossomed, thunder cracked, steel groaned in agony overhead as he leapt into the throng, cutting, stabbing, kicking, shoving, killing. The Valheimr added crimson to the hues of flame that cloaked him, too awestruck and rattled by the explosion of Eve's magic to regain their footing in time to check him.

You've lost Esben. This could get ugly if they realize you're alone in the middle. his passenger advised, for once in neutral tone. Don't give me that. I'm in a bad spot if you die.

They wouldn't. He wouldn't. Don't put that out there, when the aforementioned Southron had nearly shot them. Look ahead.

With Galahad's swings and Arton's materia, at once the Valheimr were sown into the wind, forced back and staggering as the the twin ringing shields of steel and sorcery crashed into what remained of their lines, a bell against their helmets.

A grunt, a burst of force through the body. The feeling of something light in the limbs, but broad through the chest, eclipsing fear.

They were then reaped by the whirlwind, as the yellowed eyes of the younger swordsman flickered into each strike he made against the rear at a level beneath consciousness, for all the world seeming to forget the frantic expression his waking mind still wore on the face. Beneath the weight of his and Arton's pincer, the connection point would come in mere moments.
Gerard Segremors


"If we're taking volunteers, I think I should be on duty for Krysia." came the even-toned rejoinder from the opposite way Renar had come, as Gerard ambled back into the main mass, having begun his own loop a few minutes behind and uncovered nothing he hadn't already heard Renar lay out. Luckily, the time he'd lagged had earned him the privilege of the pauper maid's help, if only to justify her inaction— They now had proper identities regarding the two figures judging them from on high. The mage's name was familiar from... somewhere. He couldn't place it, but it felt like home. This wasn't the occasion to turn that over for more than the walk back.

"I put a lot of my time here in beneath Sir Cyrus," he explained. "And had a track record of squaring up against bigger, stronger enemies already. Jeremiah, the Demonbreaker, so on. You've seen most of it yourself. When she comes into play, I ought to be able to leverage that and tie her up a while. I've learned much about keeping myself alive against overwhelming power."

He glanced to the side, at the lounging pearlescent blondes.

"Lady Gertrude doesn't seem to believe she can do anything, and she was the one that trained with those two the most. I'll take that as a sign I've long odds of knocking the big girl off the board totally, if any. So I can't promise that. But I do believe I'm a good bet to intercept and stall. I can adjust to the range and power coming back at me. Hang around if she connects once or twice. Provided we can ensure her movement..."

He bowed his head.

"I believe this is the value I bring to the table, ma'am. I'll go where you send me."

Left unsaid, as an order from many superiors throughout the centuries contained here, was the fact that she could afford to burn him on this.

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR@Octo@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin
Rudolf Sagramore


@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Izurich

The crackle of lightning overhead, the smell of charring flesh, the screams of men who were frying heart-first...

Rudolf suppressed an urge to gag, and focused on the ringing steel of the Valheimr's swords meeting his own as best he could, forced into the front again by the way things played out. Like it or otherwise, with Izayoi serving as Hien's direct escort, the task fell to him to be the hammer to Esben's scalpel— he was a bigger man, but not built and bred for war the same way—

You're barely keeping your lunch down. Don't get a big head about "built for war", boy. If you really were, would you have needed me? By the way, your left side's in trouble.

"!!"

A quick backstep brough him behind the tile of one of those upturned tub-stall-situations (looked like a spigot overhead, not important right now) and clear of the stab that was nearly slipped between his ribs. He clicked his tongue and furrowed his brow, mind racing as he parried the man to his front. He was losing initiative with this now, having to meet three, four swords at once head-on. Even accounting for their crude form, he needed to either break their numbers up, or figure out how to lock them all down at once. Something that'd give them the edge he was losing after that moment of surprise had passed...

Tight space he could dominate. The feeling of fending off multiple people at once. There was a way. Hammer and scalpel.

He swallowed the iron ball between his throat and his chest.

"I can push," he barked to the saboteur behind. "You execute!"

He caught a bind and used it to shove the swordsman back, opening a gap between them. He couldn't settle for half-measures anymore.

The paired blades returned to their scabbards on either hip, and his right hand drove high over the shoulder as he surged forward again, towards the hole the Valheimr had busted open.

Three glints of light shimmered into streaks of death ahead—

And each were met and sent back by a mighty arc of silver, a parrying hew that checked them all, forced the men to leap back. Something that big, surely, would have smashed straight through them if they didn't give it the berth it deserved.

Rudolf stepped forward again, breathing deep, posture tall, pressing into their space. Think of Otto. Think of Imre. Plaster their faces onto these goons, and let your body remember.

He could handle this. He could inch the party forward. He just needed to show threat— with Esben around to manage the flanks, utilize them even, these guys wouldn't be around to catch the lie.

Sparring either of his brothers was like fending off a dozen men at once. He wouldn't manage that with the unfamiliar range, stance, openings...

May thy blades chip...

Half that number wasn't so tall an ask. Focused on defense and distance like this, the mystery from lands unknown would be perfect. He didn't need to cut them all.

He lunged into their range with a swipe, wickedly fast for any weapon this size, forcing the Valheimr to react. The keener swordsmen of their number would doubtless notice the suddenly, improbably tight command over the steel, his slight frame seeming untroubled by the heft or length.

He just needed to keep them from cutting him, or thinking they could worry about cutting anyone else.

And shatter.

On the riposte, it danced into each opening the Valheimr would find in his guard.
Gerard Segremors


"Seems sound enough on its face." Gerard replied with an assenting nod, voice a low puff of smoke. His eyes were too cast upon the apex of the hill, wary daggers pointed towards the vague pair perched on high as he played the last minute over again in his head. He'd been across the blast, nearly turned away, and the flash of azure had crept through the corners of his eyes in the same instant as Rolan's voice reached his ears, nearly dying in the man's throat. He'd whirled about-face to try and get the Captain, Gertrude, His wedgemates, anyone close by clear... but only had the phantom burn at the ends of his nerves to show for it, as the torrent of mana shore through armor, skin, muscle, and finally burned his mind out as it reached bone.

All of that, in the span the Gerard that entered the dream might have spent on a blink. That was as good as caught unawares. Properly humbling, given how they'd only just torn through Prince Erion's guard. As the light had cleared and he'd run his habitual "what the hell just hit our guys" headcount, the Roses were revealed to, as always in this place, be whole, hearty, and assembled anew. Collecting himself in even pace with everyone, he took the reminders as they came.

"If they're giving us time, for my money it's wise to use it. Assuming running a lap on the perimeter doesn't count towards their definition of 'climbing', it'd be good for a few of us to scout for those separate points of insertion, get a clear picture of our options. Might find more obscured routes, might find funnel zones that'd get us killed if we had to commit to them, might find a sheer cliff face behind. All would be good to know about early." He scanned the surroundings, before glancing down to the smallest of their lot, reincarnated fairly nearby. "Captain. You're more schooled on troop movement and tactics in the broader scope than me. How's it all look to you?"

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR
Rudolf Sagramore


@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Izurich

A game smirk played across the slight young man's face, shifting the blade into position betwixt his fingers behind the back. He summoned up phantoms from the past in his bearing as his gold eyes measured the assured grip of the Valheimr ahead, the distance between them, the barrel breathing down his nose. What would that man say, to kick this off...

"Only a warning— You don't have the caliber to make that happen."

Blades flashed, and as one, Kirin was free to turn the tables.

Scary! This was way too scary! Esben, how the hell did you con me into agreeing to this?! He was gonna shoot the both of us! And get some kinda kick out of it, too!

His shortsword, light and fast, found its way up to guard first as he pivoted off to the left in a burst of speed, interposing the blade between his body and the barrel of the sergeant's pistol— and as luck would have it, the sudden force would likely knock the Valheimr's extended arm into the bloody arc of Izayoi's iai strike before the smirk could even leave his face.

She'd handle him. He surged forward, both blades drawn now, weaving between the storm of flame Eve loosed as he bore down upon the soldiers intended to receive them, targetting first any of the men that seemed to have communications equipment on-hand— the further they could prolong the period before alarm was raised, the better. Less chance of the Valheimr moving Lord Hien ahead of schedule.

He crashed into their ranks, a one-man wedge to dominate their immediate attention.
Gerard Segremors


"Oh, this again."

He'd been doing well to harry off any errant attempts to crumple their left side within the flow of the battle as it stood thus far, the physical gulf more than wide enough between him and any two or three Talderians able to fit within that angle effectively. Where they had the numbers, he had the force and speed to manage their sequenced blows in turn— some staggering of their tempo necessary in the tight conditions to keep their blades from accidentally crossing, and killing them both by having to disentangle so close to his own biting longsword. In afterthought, he imagined this to have been something like what Jeremiah, or the old man Cazt, had felt along the other end of the Roses' own coordinated tactics—

But the comparison swiftly faded. The Roses had never, even with his intrepid ass among their number, given themselves to a plainly suicidal gambit like this. Another man might have found something admirable in the singular dedication to the cause, but Gerard's long mercenary experience left a different, gilded shade.

He clicked his tongue, frustration spiking, as the Talderian spearman in front of him responded to his silvery point ramming through the abdomen by clutching the crossguard as though the last embers of his fading life depended upon it, far too close in now to use the polearm he'd dropped in the act. Unlucky bastard. Didn't know how many Boars Gerard had crossed blades with in his day. He accepted that much as part of him, immutably. No longer as an obstacle to his goal— simply instead a pool of method, seasoning, and motivation to help him achieve the ideal.

Bogging him down from the front would leave his flanks open to either of that man's peers. He needed to move quickly. Wrenching power out of his hips, trunk, and torso, Gerard let go of his hilt with the rear hand as he pivoted on the heel, bringing the dying man crashing into the path of his compatriot's thrust on the right, biting steel suddenly contending with a wall of ancient armor and inert muscle beneath.

That freed left hand swiftly drew the sword at the dead man's hip free and forward, lashing out and finding the second attacker's throat, before he could completely return to his guard after the sudden interception. He'd leave it there, if they were going to pull this bit out. Enough time and space with that to finally pry his blade free, about-face, and let a swing crash onto his guard—

The heavy thrum of a faraway crossbow killed that exchange, as the deadeyed hedge knight embedded in the main found his mark in that second and a half bind, catching the visor. "Thanks!" Gerard called, prying the second Talderian sword of the day free from the suddenly limp grasp before bounding to rejoin the wedge. Best to always keep a disposable on hand until further notice— and all through his career thus far, he'd proven no stranger to turning the enemy's equipment back onto them. "We'll pry them open! Capitalize!"

@Psyker Landshark@Eisenhorn@The Otter@Crimson Paladin
In Secundi Lux 29 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




As the bulwark of Kheper, Selma had long treated the staff and logistics teams around their base of operations to the emerald light show of ascending to radiance already— they’d dug their heels in and waited a good while now, after all. Never hurt to have one element immediately ready to go, and hurt even less to have it be the one with stamina for days and a built-in warning system. Never one to slack on her work, she’d spent the weeks since her examination looking to refine and iterate on that seismic sense that had proven a keystone in her passing marks. Pointedly, the building they had been stationed at was built more than anything else to carry sound.

While she had yet to touch upon any breakthrough as major as those the summit had forced out of her, she was, at this point, quite confident she had as clear a read on their immediate surroundings as anyone could, tying milling points of vibration to each face in the crew that feverishly transmitted information around and through Saint Nicholas’s venerable cathedral. As her focus meandered between point to point, she inevitably took in snippets of the chatter flowing into the radio comms. She couldn’t stick to any one conversation too long, needed to keep casting a wide net to catch any would-be saboteurs trying to knock them out ahead of schedule— but as a composite, she gleaned the most important thing of all— this was the big one.

She heard more than that, too—

Caught in the depths of the wood and stone, bouncing between the smallest cracks that time had weathered in the humble spires, gilded domes, and carved archways of the old tower, the breath of music still lived within, singing hymns of joy and hope in the ghostly chorus of generations past. Those that knew this place not as Palmyra, but as Vladivostok. Those that knew nothing of the scourge that assailed their ancient home.

Ever the traditionalist, our heroine sat perched upon a knee with her head down, hands clasped near the heart as she let the sole of her boot press into the walls, letting the phantoms of choir, organ, and heavy bell high above wash over her. She was no Orthodox— theology was always a little high-minded for her in general— but all the same the big girl drank in the music, drank in the belief behind it, and resolved to pay her dues to the history she, and only she, was privileged to connect with.

Hmmm hmmm hmmm...

Kheper were always a quiet bunch by nature, but this attunement with the voices of the earth left even Selma, the brashest of them, reduced to absently weighing in on the idle chatter that floated between her girls, “hurry up and wait” enough to draw it out of anyone. As Rivka sidled up close by and began to entomb herself in soft, heavy blankets, it was with some chagrin that Selma was incapable of sharing the symphony. That firecracker, so much more than she, was the one who would appreciate how song and will survived the ages.

Time passed. The winds raged. Rain hammered. The building creaked upon the hill. Her subsonic vigil continued.



There was a swell in activity. Sharp voices from young cadets cut through the tense chatter, relaying a problem that had cropped up some five blocks removed from them. Hearts began to hammer. Far enough to not be an imminent threat, barely passed over by the big girl’s furthest listening, but close enough that Kheper were on call to investigate— but Selma caught the edge in the Captain’s tone as she said “Protect at all costs”. Same as Wei’s, seemingly a lifetime ago.

With this vortex of Nox overhead, battering the city all through the long night, everyone here knew as well as she— all likelihood said that they were headed in for a fight.

Mighty bellows deep in her chest blew a wind to match the storm as she rose to attention, cracking her knuckles beneath the metallic gauntlets of her Parma. Each popping joint cast the outpost outside her cone of vision into a moment of sharp relief in the mind’s eye, something she used to her full, petty advantage— Swiping a cup offered a while back from Liam, who she recognized from the ball, while Rivka’s transformation blazed front and center.

She’d waved him away initially, on grounds of not wanting the caffeine to push her pulse too high while listening in, but now…

“Can’t let this go to waste. Cheers~” she chuckled, tapping her cup against his own with a cheeky grin before downing it all in one massive pull. Lukewarmed by the nighttime chill, but no less effective for it, she felt her mind sharpen and a lightness flood out from the torso, as though embossing the flow of Nox within. Good. Strong stuff, justifying the bitter smoke of it. Pulling her scarf up to ward away the cold, she stepped out into the night promptly, letting the hammer inside sing as Kleinbruder appeared in her grip.

Ready, she reported, scanning the wet, empty streets. That easy grin still plastered itself on her visage, never to leave, but her gaze was alert in a manner foreign to their prior trials— her instructor had done well to impress upon her proper respect for situations like these. “Everybody stick close, alright? As long as we don’t stray more than a couple blocks…”

A pair of fingers to the carotid, confirming a hammerlike beat on heightened time, mirroring an uptick in the heart.

“I’ll be able to keep an eye out. Same goes for the approach on the station. If I feel anything weird, we’ll all know ahead of time. Be keeping you guys back here as in the loop as we can, Captain. Anything left before we bound, ladies?”
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