HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

I can get one up soon, yeah. I'll shoot for later tonight/tomorrow

Secundi Lux

Selma was a working girl for as long as she could remember— the family business was the family business, after all. You didn't get to sit out on the last vestiges of humanity's agriculture. When the day broke, you got up and hopped to it. No matter what aches or pains assailed her, the young sapling had it down to her roots that go time was go time.

The burst of light, sound, and pain felt like a punch to the nose, of course. When you had no idea something like that was coming, you couldn't brace for it, couldn't take a strong defensive stance in the mind or body. Even her tough hide only offered so much protection from a cherry bomb sucker punch... but it clearly did much more for her than the soldiers had access to. Even Captain Wei was down for the count, as far as her blurred vision could clock. Uh oh. That's really not good. Craning her neck further, she grit her teeth and squinted at the only two things she saw on their feet— tall, masked, and decidedly dragging away her two new friends, judging from the thrashing close beneath them. If there were ever a "go time"—

Sharp pain to her side brought the world back into focus, a new stimulus resetting whatever in her brain had still been left reeling. Two knuckles, just under the ribcage, and a hiss of Baeterrae-tinted purple in her ear brought much needed direction to a swimming sea of colors and sound.

"Eyes behind us, devushka, we could be surrounded."

—With the mental tabula rasa, and an understanding of the situation the girls had found themselves in, "go time" was clearly now.

"Jawohl."

Since sight was limited by brightened eyes adjusting to a dark room, since sound was limited by her eardrums filtering out the explosion that had gone off in their faces (albeit enough for her to hear Chie's panicked screaming), Selma turned to her next strongest weapon. Everything that walked the earth took a step, and everything taking a step left its mark on the earth. Ground imparted force unto feet as feet imparted it unto ground, vibrations passing more readily through solid material like concrete, tile, and stone than a fleeting medium like air could ever carry.

Tap.

Pushing herself off the ground, the rising tree took a deep breath and felt the response to the vibrations send out by her knuckles rapping against the linoleum. More effective than her eyes ever could be even at full capacity, this dowsing ping offered a 360-degree layout of everything connected to the earth here— a mental map of subtle differences in vibration and reception. Very good for low-light situations. Rivka to her right, the assembled soldiers ahead and beside. Crystal and Chie up ahead, the former having freed herself and gotten much closer to their assembled backline, the latter still within the clutches of the two assailants, some four or five meters ahead. Whatever was behind... she would know about. Everything in this section for sure.

KRAK.

A second strike, a full punch against the polished hardness beneath as she rose to a knee, unintentionally mimicking her partner's posture. A second ping to keep the picture clear as one might expect, but now that she knew the layout of things, the composition, and the locations of everyone around her that she didn't find friendly, she could do something about 'em. In exchange for what little Nox she could use, for her only real trick with magic so far, she gained far more value in forewarning, which was as we all know, forearming.

THUD.

A stern stomp upon the black and white at her feet followed the crack of Rivka's rifle, heralding the big girl rising to her full height, her venerable bookbag now carried in one white-knuckled hand as opposed to her back. Inside was nothing too special— just a few notebooks and clothes, really. But trees weighed a lot living or dead, and this one was intent on making their assailants feel it.

"I've got our back! Is Chie still in trouble?" she called over her shoulder, the tightly woven fibers of the top strap of the backpack tensing under centripetal force as her wrist began to whirl, anticipating a melee. Unlike Rivka, a sport shooter par excellence, Selma's strengths lied a little closer to home. The ringing in her ears had cleared, finally, after that which the gunshot had wrought ceased.

If push came to shove, she'd launch her best shot at continued education into one of those featureless masks and settle the rest with her bare hands. It didn't matter if they'd just met, if they were all still really awkward around eachother, if they'd not progressed past small talk.

There was no way in hell she was gonna let anyone get taken.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

every motherfuckler in the state driving down to see their family in San Diego and getting their F-250s 4 new tires, yeah

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

I'll probably be a bit before I post again, one of the busiest weeks of the year and the hard part ain't even started yet

Secundi Lux

---

"Sure can, Rivka~ Leave it to Ms. Rosmarie!" the aforementioned tree chirped in response, dutifully hopping right back up out of the leather seat to grab hold of the largest case, its oblong shape and unusual balance practically feather-light in her grasp. Lifting it over her head and sliding it into the compartment above was no difficult task compared to the work she did day in and day out in what would become her previous life— all the difference was simply in how smoothly you needed to do it. For a bale, you could toss it around a little without worry, but something so delicate and precise as an instrument deserved all the gentle touch her towering frame could muster.

"Eaaaaasy does it... All set!" she flashed the Russian(?) a thumbs up and shut the compartment hatch, before reeeeeaching over across the aisle to the twintailed girl who introduced herself as Crystal, and plucking out a stick of the offered gum. "And you make an offer I can't refuse, Crystal. Good to meet you too, and thanks!"

Music was precious in a world like theirs. While Selma didn't fancy herself too artistically inclined, she nevertheless knew how music made her feel. It was the speech of the soul, a way for hearts to reach out and touch each other in ways that words didn't always know how to. She could tap her feet to almost any tune, but if those tunes ceased to be, so too did that simple joy of hers. She couldn't let any of it be taken from the world.

A feeling that was reinforced doubly upon the arrival of Captain Wei, a clipped military woman who all but commandeered the big girl's attention as she'd seated herself once more. She was straight to the point, almost stiff in her precise explanation of their current travel itinerary. She wondered who the Captain was beneath all that stoicism, professionalism, and decorum— what music did she like? Selma knew that being all business and no nonsense wasn't all there was to the dark-haired woman, nobody could live like that, but at the same time she could scarcely imagine herself managing the same demeanor. Not for long.

Would the Ars Magi that was previously supposed to shepherd them to the Academy have been the same? Would Selma, in time, after she had fought enough of that which came from those accursed walls of arcane fog? No way. I don't have it in me.

And yet, what was it but proof that Captain Wei took her job seriously? She'd been through brownouts like what was going on outside herself, she'd heard about the aftermaths of nights like this in the news. As somebody whose home had lied upon the outskirts, she'd even once been told to relocate to a shelter deeper within Hasta for a night, just as a precaution. She couldn't ignore how important it all was to keeping Humanity safe and sound. Neither could the Captain, who may not have been able to afford being any less focused.

As she watched the tracks on the opposite side roll by, punctuated by the errant stations and trains headed away, her emerald locks brushed up against the window as she mulled it over, an errant, idle thought escaping her lips.

"I hope we can clear that stuff out one day."

Crumpling the reflective foil wrapper into a pocket, she popped the stick in her mouth and began to contemplatively chew, sweetness washing over her tongue.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

She'll be ok

Secundi Lux

---

"Ngaaaaaaaaah~"

Whatever uncomfortable silence may have manifested between the five strangers was unceremoniously broken, as the far-and-away tallest of their number languidly streeeeeeetched her arms and back towards the roof, scraping the sky that much more before she blissfully sank in to the leather cushioning of the nearest seat. A face framed by evergreen locks bore a plainly relieved smile upon soft features, and after a moment one emerald eye popped open, taking stock of affairs.

For a girl like Selma Rosmarie, travel was an entirely alien prospect. Her family were settlers, rooted to their chosen homes, and deeply connected to the land they called theirs— that had not changed even in the wake of their century-old exile from Germany, as it was known in the old world. They maintained the homesteading spirit, preferring to nurture and cultivate where others might move to greener pastures. To them, it was a rare thing to even leave the agricultural districts of Hasta. To take to the skies to cross an entire continent? Unheard of. Leaving home was all too daunting. Her world had been so small before, and now...

The ride on the airship was a wondrous thing, really. To be so high up that landscapes stopped being scenic, and instead all melded into an endless canvas of woodland, steppe, meadow and mountain below had to have been every bit as magical as she and her four companions were. Even in spite of the obscuring Nox clouds, there was no way she hadn't clung to her viewport for two... eh, probably three hours, watching the earth roll by beneath her, paired with her best source of entertainment— an eclectic mix of musics piped out from her phone and into her ears. A non-insignificant number of them were far more heavy on screaming guitar than you would really expect to accompany such a gorgeous backdrop, but playlists unfortunately still eluded her. It spoke to the Concordia's luxuriant construction that the freely dancing giantess hadn't garnered any noise complaints during her portion of the trans-Eurasian flight.

That she had been made aware of, anyway. Must be some sturdy walls and flooring!

Flooring...

Whew.

All that was nice. But... It was also ethereal. In a way that didn't quite sit right with her, once the wonderment of flight had petered out some. Having worked upon soil and stone her whole life, she had to admit: it didn't feel right to not be standing on terra firma. When she had busted a move or two, it was one thing. A light, feathery step was good when you were carried by a fun rhythm. When you were walking, though? Or standing, or sitting? Or doing anything else? It was wrong to have that underlying sense of nothing beneath you. She had been reassured multiple times that she wouldn't fall through, and had definitely put the floorboards through their paces before she'd stopped to think about the matter, but she could still feel it. A nagging in the back of her head, saying "Selma, Selma, what in the Hellma?" whenever she shifted her weight and felt not the world, but a few layers of wood and steel beneath her heels.

Even stepping into the rail car, another artificial mode of transport, still had its connection to the ground. It just went through an extra medium or two in the track, rather than the airship's total removal.

She wondered. Did the other girls have the same problem? A few of them looked pretty classy, compared to a bumpkin like her, anyway, so she didn't regard it as too out there if they had been on an airship ride or two before... Was it as amazing for them, or had the sight of the world sliding by turned out to be something you could grow accustomed to? A routine occurrence? Was there anyone for whom uprooting and rocking over half the world's span could be normal?

These kinda questions didn't get answered just by rolling them down the cliffs of the mind until they hopefully hit an answer. Selma could see that much clearly, even without the naturally high vantage point. May as well find out. Hadn't had a chance until now, so best get striking while the iron's hot!

"Hallo!" she called to the rest of the assembled magical girl initiates, transitioning her remaining outstretched arm into a chipper wave at the wrist and putting on her best friendly smile. "I'm Selma! Anybody need help with any luggage? I don't know much about trains, but I'm sure I can lift whatever you need me to, so don't be shy!"

Her grin drew a little wider as she flexed her bicep in jest, but her words and intent were sincere all the same. If anyone looked to be struggling, or would just appreciate the hand, all they needed to do was take her up on it. No sense being cold to the people she was gonna fight alongside, right?

Secundi Lux

Selma

The Mundane

Name: Selma Rosmarie

Age: 17.

Sanctum City: Hasta, Venus

Description: Selma stands out without really trying. As one of the most statuesque young women you could ever meet, her tall and robust frame likens her more to a tree walking around than a teenage girl, but her goofball demeanor quickly undercuts any potential intimidation that stature may induce. Her speech patterns are more "coarse" than "rough", and a genuine frown is hard to find on her gentle features. More often it's simply the terse, grunted scowl of hard work than true displeasure. Her straight shoulder-length hair and eyes are both the color of the pines of her ancestral home, and her casual attire consists of a seemingly endless supply of loose work shirts in dark colors and long jeans. Her most prized accessories are the small, unassuming black ribbon perched in the back of her hair, and the silver pendant upon her neck.

Rosmarie

Personality: Selma Rosmarie is first and foremost a throwback. A traditionalist raised by traditionalists, her pointedly rustic upbringing produced a girl all but convinced she'd be most at home in the thick forests and surrounded by nature rather your usual cityscapes. The family business of contributing to Hasta's agriculture is, unfortunately, as close as the towering young woman could hope to get. Her appreciation for a hard day's work, an honest character, and deep respect for innocent life permeate her to the core, plainly expressing themselves in (almost) faultless integrity, unassuming candor, and drive to protect people from any foes, be they from without or from within. While not well-read, and at times admittedly simple, she also carries with her a folksy wisdom that can only be cultivated by long days tilling what little fields mankind has left, alone with one's mind and the greenery. While technological integration is impossible to escape, she's definitely below par when it comes to utilizing it.

Her honesty is the source of her unshakable self-assurance, completely willing to speak her mind and open about all that she is. Hers is the uncomplicated pride of refusing to lie to herself, or anyone else. She likes what she likes, talks as she talks, and thinks what she thinks. You have to be strong and resilient, sure, but you also have to be true to your heart. Simple pleasures like dancing to a pleasant tune, making a friend laugh, and the rush of fighting for the good of the world are food for the soul. They deserve to be shared with any who'll have them.

Background: Selma was born at the outskirts of Hasta, to a humble family of farmers that emigrated during the First Void from the heavily wooded mountains of the Black Forest. Devastated by the loss of their ancestral home, the Rosmarie clan clung covetously, perhaps even desperately to every tradition they had— while they could no longer exactly be people of the countryside, they could remember it as dearly as possible. They dove into the role of agriculture as a means of both living off the land humanity had left, and recapturing what they could of their lives deep within the woodlands of what was once southern Germany. They did everything they feasibly could by hand, passed on old stories left behind in a single book of fairy tales, and spoke reverently of the old country, accounts from the past known by heart to each member. It was not easy to transmute a family from a forest of wood to the outskirts of one built from concrete, but they were mountain folk: hardy, rugged, and resilient enough to weather it.

In this environment, Selma was introduced very early to work on the fields, picking root vegetables come time for harvest, sorting them by hand, and resting beneath the shade of the family oak, planted and nurtured as an acorn by the first generation of Rosmaries to find safety behind the Sanctum. Her respect for these traditions is healthy and unwavering, even in the face of the confusion of her more normal peers and friends. Over the years, the family had become just about comfortably middle-class again by a combination of frugal living and a few exceptionally good harvests after a begrudging "modernization" of their equipment. This coincided with Selma's first purchase of a phone, and perhaps more importantly her discovery of magical aptitude. Within this hardworking young woman was the potential to become one of the Ars Magi.

Her family could afford to let her take this to Nova Lux Academy now. She could go out and fight for what they had lost. Their land. Their home. The ground where they were meant to live and die. They gave her their well-wishes and unconditional support. This was bigger than them all. The big girl barely hesitated.

The Magical

Armgaus Name: Verdant Moss Emerald

Gladius: A heavy, robust axe, cheekily named 'Kleinbruder'. Its weighty head is bearded, and equally suitable for chopping down trees and Voids alike, whilst its sturdy wooden handle is curved to maximize force delivery in either one or two-handed grips. Etched into the sides of the head are fullers that form a runic pattern.

Parma: Very much the same unmistakable Douglas Fir of a girl. When transformed, Selma's mistletoe eyes gain a faint, arcane luminescence, and her hair grows a truly vibrant green. As for her attire, it hearkens to an idea of almost barbarism, tanned leathers and steel replacing the usual loose work shirts.

Pine Barrens

Elementum: Earth

Elementum Abilities: Ripper of soil, breaker of stone, maiden of mountains. The first thing about Selma is that she is strong, large frame and a lifetime of labor bolstered by the very earth she strikes. As indomitable and everlasting as the Black Forest range her family hails from, the girl's force of will and connection to the earth manifest as seismic tremors, effectively the ability to create crevasses, violent upheavals, and even the odd localized earthquake on contact. Her bones are hard, her skin tough, and her spirit endless, she's about as easy to knock down as the Alps even when not transformed. A lifetime of feeling soil beneath her feet has given her a good sense for how it vibrates, allowing her to pick up on most land movements larger than those of a vole. Seems to have some form of kinship with all but the most violent beasts of the wild. That, or errant birds genuinely do mistake her for a tree.

Secundi Lux

Second joke, same as the first joke

Selma

The Mundane

Name: Selma Rosmarie

Age: 17.

Sanctum City: Hasta, Venus

Description: Selma stands out without really trying. As one of the most statuesque young women you could ever meet, her tall and robust frame likens her more to a tree walking around than a teenage girl, but her goofball demeanor quickly undercuts any potential intimidation that stature may induce. Her speech patterns are more "coarse" than "rough", and a genuine frown is hard to find on her gentle features. More often it's simply the terse, grunted scowl of hard work than true displeasure. Her straight shoulder-length hair and eyes are both the color of the pines of her ancestral home, and her casual attire consists of a seemingly endless supply of loose work shirts in dark colors and long jeans. Her most prized accessories are the small, unassuming black ribbon perched in the back of her hair, and the silver pendant upon her neck.

Rosmarie

Personality: Selma Rosmarie is first and foremost a throwback. A traditionalist raised by traditionalists, her pointedly rustic upbringing produced a girl all but convinced she'd be most at home in the thick forests and surrounded by nature rather your usual cityscapes. The family business of contributing to Hasta's agriculture is, unfortunately, as close as the towering young woman could hope to get. Her appreciation for a hard day's work, an honest character, and deep respect for innocent life permeate her to the core, plainly expressing themselves in (almost) faultless integrity, unassuming candor, and drive to protect people from any foes, be they from without or from within. While not well-read, and at times admittedly simple, she also carries with her a folksy wisdom that can only be cultivated by long days tilling what little fields mankind has left, alone with one's mind and the greenery. While technological integration is impossible to escape, she's definitely below par when it comes to utilizing it.

Her honesty is the source of her unshakable self-assurance, completely willing to speak her mind and open about all that she is. Hers is the uncomplicated pride of refusing to lie to herself, or anyone else. She likes what she likes, talks as she talks, and thinks what she thinks. You have to be strong and resilient, sure, but you also have to be true to your heart. Simple pleasures like dancing to a pleasant tune, making a friend laugh, and the rush of fighting for the good of the world are food for the soul. They deserve to be shared with any who'll have them.

Background: Selma was born at the outskirts of Hasta, to a humble family of farmers that emigrated during the First Void from the heavily wooded mountains of the Black Forest. Devastated by the loss of their ancestral home, the Rosmarie clan clung covetously, perhaps even desperately to every tradition they had— while they could no longer exactly be people of the countryside, they could remember it as dearly as possible. They dove into the role of agriculture as a means of both living off the land humanity had left, and recapturing what they could of their lives deep within the woodlands of what was once southern Germany. They did everything they feasibly could by hand, passed on old stories left behind in a single book of fairy tales, and spoke reverently of the old country, accounts from the past known by heart to each member. It was not easy to transmute a family from a forest of wood to the outskirts of one built from concrete, but they were mountain folk: hardy, rugged, and resilient enough to weather it.

In this environment, Selma was introduced very early to work on the fields, picking root vegetables come time for harvest, sorting them by hand, and resting beneath the shade of the family oak, planted and nurtured as an acorn by the first generation of Rosmaries to find safety behind the Sanctum. Her respect for these traditions is healthy and unwavering, even in the face of the confusion of her more normal peers and friends. Over the years, the family had become just about comfortably middle-class again by a combination of frugal living and a few exceptionally good harvests after a begrudging "modernization" of their equipment. This coincided with Selma's first purchase of a phone, and perhaps more importantly her discovery of magical aptitude. Within this hardworking young woman was the potential to become one of the Ars Magi.

Her family could afford to let her take this to Nova Lux Academy now. She could go out and fight for what they had lost. Their land. Their home. The ground where they were meant to live and die. They gave her their well-wishes and unconditional support. This was bigger than them all. The big girl barely hesitated.

The Magical

Armgaus Name: Verdant Moss Emerald

Gladius: A heavy, robust axe, cheekily named 'Kleinbruder'. Its weighty head is bearded, and equally suitable for chopping down trees and Voids alike, whilst its sturdy wooden handle is curved to maximize force delivery in either one or two-handed grips. Etched into the sides of the head are fullers that form a runic pattern.

Parma: Very much the same unmistakable Douglas Fir of a girl. When transformed, Selma's mistletoe eyes gain a faint, arcane luminescence, and her hair grows a truly vibrant green. As for her attire, it hearkens to an idea of almost barbarism, tanned leathers and steel replacing the usual loose work shirts.

Pine Barrens

Elementum: Earth

Elementum Abilities: Ripper of soil, breaker of stone, maiden of mountains. The first thing about Selma is that she is strong, large frame and a lifetime of labor bolstered by the very earth she strikes. As indomitable and everlasting as the Black Forest range her family hails from, the girl's force of will and connection to the earth manifest as seismic tremors, effectively the ability to create crevasses, violent upheavals, and even the odd localized earthquake on contact. Her bones are hard, her skin tough, and her spirit endless, she's about as easy to knock down as the Alps even when not transformed. A lifetime of feeling soil beneath her feet has given her a good sense for how it vibrates, allowing her to pick up on most land movements larger than those of a vole. Seems to have some form of kinship with all but the most violent beasts of the wild. That, or errant birds genuinely do mistake her for a tree.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

---

Before him, foreign men-at-arms, their armor sleek and unsegmented, as if skin. Their frames twisted, proportions exaggerated, each point of bone tipped witch swooping, doubtlessly sharp curves of alien crystal. Truly alien visages, staring at sometimes him, sometimes those below, judging all who stepped upon their hallowed ground, who dared fly within their sky. An invading host from a world beyond the light of their sun.

Perhaps it was a similar feeling to first seeing the great Khan's horde at your city's gate, or the men who rose from the foam of seas, axes in hand and woad paint upon their skin. Perhaps Bedwyr was less the one-armed knight that returned the sacred sword to the lake, and more the raider in service of he who slew the Picts to take the isle for his own, apocryphally or otherwise. Whatever these massive, oversized yet underwrought things were thinking behind their dull emerald eyes and featureless masks... They looked upon the landing team as what they were.

<<Don’t start anything if you can help it but you are not, I repeat not, expected to let them take the first shot.>>

Konstantin Stojanović, the man of a hundred sorties upon Ganymede, breathed in deep as a very familiar swelling sensation rose from his chest, a rising lightness and tingling crack of electricity through his veins. He knew when he was being sized up. He had already done much the same since the time the plumes of dust and ancient soil had cleared. With respect, officer, the question was not of if.

Merlon, equipped with the new eyeball tracking package and machine-learning integration, watched the pilot's pupils dilate in anticipation, a primal focus directed upon two gleaming mockeries of the simian form, 500 meters below. That was a whole lot of metal cast without regard for the electromagnetic spectrum— nice and big radar signature. Easiest target it ever painted.

The awakened pair continued to swivel their "heads", impassively regarding the team. For a moment, one might have been forgiven for regarding the embattled pilot as paranoid, guilty of projection, far too bloodthirsty in his own right. And that may have perhaps been true, for that moment.

Then their gazes snapped to Gypsy Soul.

A rush flew through Konstantin, liquid lightning that rendered him pale as blood traveled to more important places than skin.

Mouths that could not be seen ripped open, a violent, discordant, and distinctly metallic trill piping into the man's ears even as it shook his cockpit. Like an engine shoved into a trash compacter, really. It set his ears, his skin, his mind on fire.

A gleam of fool's gold, twin points of infected sunlight coalesced before them, still focused squarely upon the fey mech.

The trigger was pulled.

<<Engaging Bandits.>>

And then there was thunder, meeting their beams of malignant ichor with the relentless fury of a storm. All four of the E-30s mounted upon the OF-02D's hull roared in percussive symphony, drowning out metallic screech with a cascade of eighty millimeter gunfire. At the same time, the steady mech-scale chug of the Super 22s heralded the sands below blossoming into a shower of flame and force, 105mm canisters delivering cones of explosive hail downrange.

Let it begin.