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Current the aliens in area 51 are just the cover story for what that godless facility truly hides: covid-20
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yung arms
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horrified learning about the samson option in full tonight. i'd thought it was just about restoring enemy hair so they chill out. in hindsight shouldntve told my barber i was "considering enacting it"
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4 mos ago
I’m floored. I can’t believe he’s gone. One of my biggest inspirations and for my money the best to ever do it across all storytelling media has passed. Rest in Peace, Miura-sensei.


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He has great respect for Mayon and her followers, he just has a Reonite temprament and hails from a majority-Reonite town
Fleuri is also an aggressive fighter, a believer in "the best defense is a strong offense". He uses a greatsword because dismemberment is generally a reliable way to put foes down. Unfortunately, as he learned in their last mission, chopping off limbs isn't always enough against foes that can regenerate.

Reonbros to the end, team “Just Go In” never die

All you need is solid fundamentals and more righteous anger. The only question you ever need to ask yourself is really just "what if john wick had a sword"

Very, very similar stuff. Gerard's a former mercenary, so no stranger to fighting dirty with or without swords— in the raid on Jeremiah's camp at the beginning of the game he was picking up enemies' spears and shit. Unarmed it's mostly country boy wrestling, just like in the fighting manuals.
Aggression, physicality, diligently honed technique, and more than a little disregard for personal safety is the name of his game. It ain't much, but it gets the job done more often than not. Only nearly got cooked two or three times for his trouble!
3-5 business days I'm told
New 5G connection?
He's a complimentary fella, that boy—

One of my main commandments of writing Gerard is that he almost always holds his peers in extremely high regard, speaking as glowingly of them as he speaks humbly of himself

Friendly dude, once you put aside the Doomguy impression in combat.
Phew, squeaked it out.
Gerard Segremors


So that was why they called it the Shrine of Silver— it looked like a fragment of moonlight fallen to the earth, an obelisk of flowing argent pointed towards its ancestral home.

As though Mayon herself had descended, and gifted her followers a pillar from her home.

The ride out here from the fort had been a rigorous one, haste overriding any last vestiges of or designs upon subtlety. They had rolled through the countryside of Thaln, the thunder of the Goddesses returning to a site of ancestral worship. He, in truth, had only a foggy idea of a connection perhaps between their Order specifically and the Stone, but as a devout worshiper of her twin Goddess, Gerard understood well the significance of Mayon's foremost shrine coming under potential danger. As they rode into close proximity of the site, the surrounding ring of stones just barely crested the trees of the Brennan Forest, tips of white of the the curtain of silhouettes. Deep within his breast, below armor, below skin, below even his heart, he felt as if that moonlight had flowed into him as well; like gentle, nurturing aether surrounding his spirit.

And yet, he couldn't ignore the tension. Beneath the gentle nighttime breeze flowing through him, beneath even his primal, instinctual awe... the atmosphere was thick. He could chop it in half with the blade on his back, if he were to take his battle sense at its word—

So too it was, then, that upon hearing the sound of a horse galloping out of step as they'd slowed he whirled, reaching for steel. A pincer attack? Lure the knights with a message they had no choice but to investigate, only to fall in upon them from behind? No, this sound...

Only one rider. A horse he'd seen a day or so before, outside Candaeln— the very same moonlight that had illuminated the stone for their retinue had cast enough brightness onto the field behind for his sharp eyes to make out both horse and rider fairly quickly from the rear of their formation. He remembered it seeming temperamental, and as for the woman he'd mistaken for an attacker...

A pretty Hundi woman, clad in armor that seemed almost decorative, ornamenting her form as much as it was guarding it— that said, what steel there was was clearly forged well, maintained better, and caught the light as she rode to a slow canter, about a minute out. Shoulder length dark hair, bushy tail, large longsword across her back... A new recruit, if he remembered right. He'd not gotten opportunity to meet her yet, not in person.

Pity this is the circumstance where our paths first cross, and not a proper welcome.

Guess it's better than her riding up to accost us, though... These weeks have made me jumpy. Like I never left double-waging.

At this point, satisfied enough that he was at least fairly sure he knew who she was, he turned for a moment to the knight beside him. Perhaps just a formality, seeing as they were certainly as aware as he'd be with their seniority, but nonetheless a confirmation that there wasn't an immediate threat.

"One of ours back there. Just fell behind a bit— might have paced the ride poorly."

Was that a whispered lie? He couldn't say. He certainly hoped he'd have remembered her tagging along in their investigation of the fort, but they'd not gone back home to pick up reinforcements. Time was paramount. They couldn't have afforded to. Where had she fallen behind, if such was the case?


She was new, as he still felt he was. He'd been in spots akin to hers before— a first impression was an important thing. Knightly Orders, despite being a collection of the Crown's warriors, were effectively communities in and of themselves. There were better ways for one to stick out.

He looked over his shoulder again, amber eyes meeting hers, and quietly waved her in. He could see her face a little more clearly now, as it grew closer to torchlight— pensive. No kidding. He would have been too.

You were simply rear guard, as I am. Nothing out of place here from me.

Hed'd ask his questions when she caught up in full. Best to keep it quiet for now.

After all—

Those golden eyes were cast towards the front again, searching the Standing Stones, the Moon Pool, the shrine itself. He was no shrewd investigator like Sir Jerel, nor as seasoned a veteran as Sir Fleuri or Dame Tyaethe, but to be distracted was to be unaware was to be killed. There were those among them that would have keener intuition, surely, but that same tension that had so troubled him upon the Hundi's approach had also saved his life in the battles before.

—He needed his ears open.

"Knock 'em dead, Fraulein!" Selma's unrepentant, cheerful voice called after the cloud of purple and white drifting away from their table, after she'd made a spirited showing of the flash of lighting that was her winningest smile to her teammates. The giant of a girl had answered it with a toothy grin of her own and a brazen thumbs-up, revealing diligently manicured nails in the process— normally, she was content to let her work wear them down, but a ball meant looking one's best. As Rivka caught the eye contact, and was turning to leave, the larger girl cupped a hand to her mouth and sent her off with a wink and one final stage whisper. "Remember, Hastan girls love a little spice!"

Spice, of course, that Rivka had in spades. Selma had been privy to the redhead she'd been smitten with over their first weeks at the academy; more than once the subject of the songs belted out in mezzo-soprano in the shower the next room over. With her old phone toasted by their trials in the subway, Selma had to admit— as much as it was confusing the first few times, it made for a very good substitute alarm clock.

Can't deny that kinda passion. She's gonna hit this place like a hurricane—

“Ladies, if I, or one of you don’t make it back from this, it has been an absolute honour.”

"Don't sweat it, babe!" She snapped off a sharp salute, mimicked to a tee from old military documentaries her brothers had often passed the time with back home. "You can count on me; we're all gonna make it!"

And as Aoife marched off into the void, into Rivka's wake, there were only three left. She took a moment to consider the two other girls, her final pair of irreplaceable sisters, and how they seemed. In truth, she didn't wanna leave either of them to hang out to dry— much like her, they'd both been clearly bored almost to the point of tears by the grand speech about commemorating this years class of recruits or whatever, dry tones and drier, dustier words that five generations of Ars Magi had probably heard before. For that, she could hardly blame any of them, let alone herself.

Crystal, however seemed tense— more than tense, actually. She was good at masking it, and the may people here she'd likely only see once or twice and then never again would likely believe her misdirection, likely believe she was carefully neutral about everything. But Selma, big dumb tree that she was— Selma saw how carefully she was breathing, the way her eyes had darted between her teammates every so often while the droning adults dominated the microphone, how introverted she naturally was already. She had to be hating this "being put on display" thing like hell itself— and she couldn't even freeze it over in response to not chewing gum.

As for her roommate...

"Never done the waltz, huh?" she repeated back to her roommate, meeting the gaze she noticed herself being pinned with inquisitively. Chie had been slaughtering herself all through their training, through every last bit of their studies, still not over their early-on mishaps. Her words to the contrary, that she didn't need to push herself to the point of burnout, and that what had happened was no fault of her own, had fallen upon apparently deaf ears. A girl like her... probably didn't wanna deal with some unfamiliar guys schmoozing her, if she had to guess. "Hmmm."

They both needed to take a breather, really... Something to get them relaxed enough that they didn't implode, either at the party or later on, behind closed doors. Something fun, even in this stuffy affair...

She shot the two a sly grin. "Y'know, you came to the right girl with this— Rivka may have her musician's sense for rhythm, but only yours truly has as much experience on the gentleman's end of a dance." She nodded once, twice, plan forming inside her head. she'd played this role many a time before in her dance electives at school—

She stood, rising to her full height smoothly, double-breasted navy jacket pressed clean and crisp against her torso, long legs concealed in the academy's golden trousers. Her strong shoulders, bolstered with pads beneath epaulets of aurum, filled the officer's top admirably even as she folded her arms and cupped her chin, emerald eyes sliding over to Crystal momentarily.

—and knew how to play it exceedingly well.

"I gotta say it's been a bit, though, so if you don't mind lending an eye and making sure I don't step on her toes..?"

An open invitation to tag along. She hadn't pried much into the other girl's affairs, not feeling it right to dig anywhere a person didn't elect to share unless it was life-threatening, but she'd seen clarity in her footwork thrice over before they'd even been pronounced Ars Magi. If she had to place a bet on it, Crystal knew how to dance, and with that diligence of hers, she knew it well.

Up to her if she accepted. She didn't want to leave the poor girl to her lonesome if she could help it. But as for the matter of the moment...

The hand then shifted to a fist as she made a show of clearing her throat, closing her eyes momentarily. These officers seemed just as bored with the affair as they were, so somebody needed to let everyone know how things were done around here— that they had standards, right? Definitely. It wouldn't due to just coast through this bit. It wouldn't leave the right impression.

It wouldn't have the spice.

Selma, Selma, Go Give 'em Hellma!

And then, she stepped forward and pinned Chie with a confident smirk, looking directly into the brunette's eyes. She extended a hand with careful, deliberate grace, opposite hand behind her back in a picturesque bow, leaning forward just enough that her gravitic roommate, so coy in her request, could take it as she rose with ease. Already, Selma had embodied the gentlemanly aura in her posture, all straightened shoulders and controlled decorum of motion, but then—

"Milady Masuzu," Her voice had dropped low, lower than either had heard from her before, into a cool, smoky contralto. "May I have this dance?"

She was gallantry.
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