<Snipped quote by Daxam>
PoV, someone needs Zac's help:
Adamantoise gotta be like a boss battle using the Gummi ships. We fly up thinking it's a world, but nah, it's a giant freaking tortoise.
IAmTheIsland Member
A Victim of the Transience of Life
STATUS: That's right. It goes in the square hole. 13 hrs ago
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That's right. It goes in the square hole.
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1 day ago
Got called into work at 12:15 AM to cover a midnight shift because the guy is on vaca and the supervisor didn't plan ahead on it.
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"Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow." - T.S. Elliot
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I find that what's harder to think of than the deleted pbp sites are the ones that are still up, but completely devoid of life. Like looking at an abandoned city.
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Being 'sad' or depressed used to be the fuel behind my writing. But lately I feel like that emotional state is more hindering to my creative process than helpful. How do I adjust for this?
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Bio
Not born in a log cabin, I came into the RPing venture around 2009 and quickly joined about twenty roleplays more than I should have at the time. I've been around the internet in that time span, participated in and run RPs on multiple forums, and brushed shoulders with a wide variety of players and characters. Getting to work with new people has always been part of the allure of the experience.
My interests in RPing are pretty diverse, and not genre-specific; if there's room at the table and I can think of a dish to serve, I'll cook something up for just about any meal. If you know what I mean.
Post-Rock enthusiast
My interests in RPing are pretty diverse, and not genre-specific; if there's room at the table and I can think of a dish to serve, I'll cook something up for just about any meal. If you know what I mean.
Post-Rock enthusiast
Most Recent Posts
Adamantoise gotta be like a boss battle using the Gummi ships. We fly up thinking it's a world, but nah, it's a giant freaking tortoise.
Did Levi just get roped into an MLM?
⚞ WREN ⚟
⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱
⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱
___________________________
๑ Chapter 1 - Welcome to Corinthia ๑
Friday 6th February
6:15AM
___________________________
๑ Chapter 1 - Welcome to Corinthia ๑
Friday 6th February
6:15AM
___________________________
Wren’s arrival had timed concurrently with five others. For her part, this had been unintentional; a fluke, or coincidence; a happy accident, as some might call it, that their gracious host would only need to exercise the formalities of a welcoming once before permitting entry into the Corinthia home. Outside of her own lack of agency on the matter, Wren knew better: Magicka, and the universal forces it operated through, had their way in almost all things. She may not have been a Celestial Witch, but the years of the sort crowding into her headspace beyond space and time had been enough of a mentor to teach her better. A coordinated gathering of otherwise strangers such as this didn’t happen by random chance; the others, like herself, had been carefully guided here through the machinations of magic that best resonated with them. And it had all been orchestrated to bring all of them to this very doorstep at this very moment.
Wren trembled from within. Whether or not this truth made her feel objectively more sure of what she was doing, she wasn’t sure. So much of where she was, had been, and was yet to go had been out of her control to begin with. The decisions and actions of countless generations prior to her had woven the line that led her to the point she now stood in; she could forgive most of them, as few could have foreseen the consequences of what they had done, known that they’d condemned the last of their line to an unenviable demise if their works couldn’t be undone. To think that this venture, in which Wren intended to wrest dominion over her fate, had been yet another manipulation by powers above and beyond her… the irony wasn’t lost on her.
The train of thought had grown too distressing to stay aboard. So Wren turned outward to perceive her fellow arrivals.
The first of them, Gregori, she had overheard as his name, was young, but looked and carried himself beyond his years; Celestial, perhaps? The Witches attuned to the cosmos often looked older than they were, some even going out of their way to play the part. For the moment, he felt strangely out of reach to Wren.
Then there was their host, Juniper Hawthorne. She had a strong, firm presence as she occupied the threshold between the arrivals and the interior of the mansion. Yet there was a peace to her strength, a steady groundedness that compared to fierceness that usually accompanied such a powerful presence. Her lack of footwear, barely noticeable beneath her dress, and the closeness with the large Raven perched itself upon her hinted at one with a deep connection to the Earth. The Raven stole much of Wren’s attention as she felt its eye land upon her, and heard its chirping into the ear of its human companion. A brief unease took Wren, but a voice not her own spoke out through her soul: “The Raven approves.” Wren nodded, and fell at ease, as, if nothing else, she would start herself off on a proper footing with the mistress of the house.
Of the rest of the arrivals that filed forth behind her, Wren gave most only a cursory measure.
There were the McKinelys, introduced by the young woman of a punk-presenting pair, which Wren deduced, by the shared last name and modest resemblance, were of the same family. They both embodied the feeling of being on edge, though their means of managing it were, at a glance, distinctly opposite, with the girl being more brazen, and the young man opting to hold back whatever was waiting to lash out; one saw the precipice and leapt forth from it while the other watched over the edge from a safe distance back.
Then there was the one named Soren. Wren smiled at his comment about having packed snacks for the journey to get to Corinthia, but held herself shy of audible laughter, doubting she could do so without it sounding disingenuous. She noted an underlying gentleness to him, and the surface nervousness that had prompted his joking.
Lastly, and most impactfully, there was Noah [though not yet announced by name]. Her arrival had been the loudest, spoken in a distinct accent, and with little care for censorship or staying her sarcasm; she emanated an essence of not caring what anyone else might think; Wren didn’t doubt it was a trait she would do well to pick up from this colleague in Magic. Compared to the other, even Juniper, Noah drew an uncanny degree of Wren’s focus. It wasn’t to do with any physical qualities she possessed (the Wren was quick to inwardly confess to finding her attractive. Nor was it any feeling towards the manner in which she had announced herself, though, just the same, Wren had felt the confidence admirable.
What pulled Wren’s attention like a magnet was the energy of her ancestors pulsing through her. In her heart, she felt something that spanned time and space. A common thread. “This one is a lot like you.” Another voice cut into her inner-thoughts. “Yes. Another whose Magic flows through lineage.”
Another Hedge Witch? How can you tell?
“We feel the past around her.”
Was she, perhaps, pertinent to Wren’s personal objective then? The deep desire to forge an immediate connection raged with Wren’s soul. But the scene unfolding would not have taken well to her taking the center stage in such a way, and she lacked the unconcerned disposition of her fellow Hedge Witch. She resigned to a prolonged, poorly masked stare from a distance, hoping that [Noah] would be aware enough to notice, but not so much as to think or feel too strongly of it.
When the group was adjourned to settle into their respective lodging, Wren heaved a relieved sigh, and began up the house’s grand staircase to find herself a suitable room. It didn’t take long with her ancestors guiding her decision, finding a room that looked spacious, perhaps more so than it really was, not far from the top of the steps. “Perfect for all of us,” she said to the unseen spirits of her family past. A warm feeling assured that most, if not all, of her predecessors approved of the sentiment.
Closing the door to the room behind herself, Wren began the process of unpacking her belongings into her new home. She had traveled light for her initial coming, deciding that, should things progress positively, she could always send for more of her personal effects. For now, she had brought the essentials of clothing, hygienics, some preferred meal items such as a coffee cup, and an assortment of incense and candles to facilitate her routine rituals. Anything forgotten, or needed after she was properly settled, her Grandmother could surely bring, or have delivered; it wasn’t like she was far away.
A short way into the unpacking, as she hung up a knee-length winter coat, Wren felt a sudden coldness. It was a familiar sort of feeling, the means by which her guiding spirits caught her attention when they noticed something not quite right. “What is it?” Wren asked quietly.
“There’s someone else here.”
“Uh… Yeah. There’s six people in the house?”
“NOT WHAT WE MEANT!”
“Someone… not of the physical plane.”
Wren stopped, and dropped the blouse she had just placed on its hanger, which landed with a light clack on the hardwood floor. She turned around slowly, and opened the door to her room steadily, and as quietly as possible against the inevitable creaking that characterized old houses. She stepped out, instantly setting foot on the landing at the top of the stairs, and looked down at the front door of the house.
“See? See it? See… Her?”
“No.” Wren whispered. “Nothing. No one.”
“You really need to train your mind’s eye to perceive the spirits around you dear. It would really help you--.”
“Why? So I can see a circus of throwbacks everywhere I go?”
“Not the time kid. Try calling out.”
Wren breathed deep, and eyed the front door with scrutiny. “He-- Hello? Was that you down there, Juniper?”
Wren trembled from within. Whether or not this truth made her feel objectively more sure of what she was doing, she wasn’t sure. So much of where she was, had been, and was yet to go had been out of her control to begin with. The decisions and actions of countless generations prior to her had woven the line that led her to the point she now stood in; she could forgive most of them, as few could have foreseen the consequences of what they had done, known that they’d condemned the last of their line to an unenviable demise if their works couldn’t be undone. To think that this venture, in which Wren intended to wrest dominion over her fate, had been yet another manipulation by powers above and beyond her… the irony wasn’t lost on her.
The train of thought had grown too distressing to stay aboard. So Wren turned outward to perceive her fellow arrivals.
The first of them, Gregori, she had overheard as his name, was young, but looked and carried himself beyond his years; Celestial, perhaps? The Witches attuned to the cosmos often looked older than they were, some even going out of their way to play the part. For the moment, he felt strangely out of reach to Wren.
Then there was their host, Juniper Hawthorne. She had a strong, firm presence as she occupied the threshold between the arrivals and the interior of the mansion. Yet there was a peace to her strength, a steady groundedness that compared to fierceness that usually accompanied such a powerful presence. Her lack of footwear, barely noticeable beneath her dress, and the closeness with the large Raven perched itself upon her hinted at one with a deep connection to the Earth. The Raven stole much of Wren’s attention as she felt its eye land upon her, and heard its chirping into the ear of its human companion. A brief unease took Wren, but a voice not her own spoke out through her soul: “The Raven approves.” Wren nodded, and fell at ease, as, if nothing else, she would start herself off on a proper footing with the mistress of the house.
Of the rest of the arrivals that filed forth behind her, Wren gave most only a cursory measure.
There were the McKinelys, introduced by the young woman of a punk-presenting pair, which Wren deduced, by the shared last name and modest resemblance, were of the same family. They both embodied the feeling of being on edge, though their means of managing it were, at a glance, distinctly opposite, with the girl being more brazen, and the young man opting to hold back whatever was waiting to lash out; one saw the precipice and leapt forth from it while the other watched over the edge from a safe distance back.
Then there was the one named Soren. Wren smiled at his comment about having packed snacks for the journey to get to Corinthia, but held herself shy of audible laughter, doubting she could do so without it sounding disingenuous. She noted an underlying gentleness to him, and the surface nervousness that had prompted his joking.
Lastly, and most impactfully, there was Noah [though not yet announced by name]. Her arrival had been the loudest, spoken in a distinct accent, and with little care for censorship or staying her sarcasm; she emanated an essence of not caring what anyone else might think; Wren didn’t doubt it was a trait she would do well to pick up from this colleague in Magic. Compared to the other, even Juniper, Noah drew an uncanny degree of Wren’s focus. It wasn’t to do with any physical qualities she possessed (the Wren was quick to inwardly confess to finding her attractive. Nor was it any feeling towards the manner in which she had announced herself, though, just the same, Wren had felt the confidence admirable.
What pulled Wren’s attention like a magnet was the energy of her ancestors pulsing through her. In her heart, she felt something that spanned time and space. A common thread. “This one is a lot like you.” Another voice cut into her inner-thoughts. “Yes. Another whose Magic flows through lineage.”
Another Hedge Witch? How can you tell?
“We feel the past around her.”
Was she, perhaps, pertinent to Wren’s personal objective then? The deep desire to forge an immediate connection raged with Wren’s soul. But the scene unfolding would not have taken well to her taking the center stage in such a way, and she lacked the unconcerned disposition of her fellow Hedge Witch. She resigned to a prolonged, poorly masked stare from a distance, hoping that [Noah] would be aware enough to notice, but not so much as to think or feel too strongly of it.
When the group was adjourned to settle into their respective lodging, Wren heaved a relieved sigh, and began up the house’s grand staircase to find herself a suitable room. It didn’t take long with her ancestors guiding her decision, finding a room that looked spacious, perhaps more so than it really was, not far from the top of the steps. “Perfect for all of us,” she said to the unseen spirits of her family past. A warm feeling assured that most, if not all, of her predecessors approved of the sentiment.
Closing the door to the room behind herself, Wren began the process of unpacking her belongings into her new home. She had traveled light for her initial coming, deciding that, should things progress positively, she could always send for more of her personal effects. For now, she had brought the essentials of clothing, hygienics, some preferred meal items such as a coffee cup, and an assortment of incense and candles to facilitate her routine rituals. Anything forgotten, or needed after she was properly settled, her Grandmother could surely bring, or have delivered; it wasn’t like she was far away.
A short way into the unpacking, as she hung up a knee-length winter coat, Wren felt a sudden coldness. It was a familiar sort of feeling, the means by which her guiding spirits caught her attention when they noticed something not quite right. “What is it?” Wren asked quietly.
“There’s someone else here.”
“Uh… Yeah. There’s six people in the house?”
“NOT WHAT WE MEANT!”
“Someone… not of the physical plane.”
Wren stopped, and dropped the blouse she had just placed on its hanger, which landed with a light clack on the hardwood floor. She turned around slowly, and opened the door to her room steadily, and as quietly as possible against the inevitable creaking that characterized old houses. She stepped out, instantly setting foot on the landing at the top of the stairs, and looked down at the front door of the house.
“See? See it? See… Her?”
“No.” Wren whispered. “Nothing. No one.”
“You really need to train your mind’s eye to perceive the spirits around you dear. It would really help you--.”
“Why? So I can see a circus of throwbacks everywhere I go?”
“Not the time kid. Try calling out.”
Wren breathed deep, and eyed the front door with scrutiny. “He-- Hello? Was that you down there, Juniper?”
I just realized I turned Zac into a summon
More like in KH2 when Mickey would randomly show up when Sora was beaten sometimes and you could play as him.
I imagine summons working different depending on the character calling them. Lkke a White Mage character would have more like an FFX summon that steps in and acts as their offensive measure.
For a more combat focused mage they could be more like FFXV where they're the pinnacle of offensive magic embodying the purest form of their element and just completely wreck things with one blow.
Hoshi would likely have more of a support oriented set of summons. Matbe something akin to Ansem's guardian in KH1? Although I think we could also have our characters specialize in different KH mechanics. Like, one character runs the table on Drive Forms, another discovers how to use form change on their Keyblade, etc. Something to make everyone unique in what they bring to the table.
So far as the main quintet goes, I'd personally pin the following:
Alias. The Riku. Impecable synergy with his inner Darkness. Uniquely capable of traversing Dark Corridors and the RoD.
Hoshi. Dual-Wielder. Considering planned story arc, she'd individually able to dual wield Keyblades without use if Drives. Might come up with some builds for different Key combos. To think of it, Form Changes could also lump into this to make her more of a Keyblade Technician.
Levi. Drive Guy. Just strikes me as the one that can get on with everyone. Drives tend to be fueled by the bonds characters have with each other?
Lucian. Summon Guru. As a Prince of Heart he has a special connection to the worlds and their peoples. The Hearts/Souls of those from worlds lost to Darkness could find a safe haven with him, and come to his aid in combat.
Morgan. Master Mage. Access to tiers of magic higher than the 3rd level "ga" spells. Can become capable of casting multiple spells AT THE SAME TIME! And mixing/blending elements?
S A R A H M A R I E K I N G
S A R A H M A R I E K I N G
S A R A H M A R I E K I N G
While her legs carried the rest of her forward across the Park, Sarah’s mind lagged behind her. She hung on Taiwu’s words: The Old Man won’t have your back forever, the Dragon’s words echoed in her head. Was it actually a threat on Shimazu’s life? Or was an ‘enemy’ dispensing genuine wisdom for her to consider? What was to stop Taiwu and Xiao Feng from dropping in on the Lucky Noodle while it was still in shambles from the monster’s attack? Would the Detective still be there when they arrived? He seemed capable of deescalating tensions, and he’d carry the weight of the police, which, trouble as they were in their own right, counted for something when they were on a person’s side. Maybe there’d at least be a watch on the restaurant, given everything that had happened there. Still, Sarah’s pace stuttered as she considered abandoning her search for Maddie to see to it that her Sensei and the Lucky Noodle were kept safe.
Just as she started to break step to turn back, Kenzo spoke up.
For a fleeting second something akin to a genuine smile found itself occupying Sarah’s face. She pushed out a single, hearty “HA!” from her chest. “Now that would be something,” she said. “The Mighty Xiao Feng, owns three quarters of Little Asia but still can’t get a good meal.” Still smiling, she shook her head. “Nah.” She stopped for a second, sneaking a look at the amulet, which still pointed across the Park. “Shimazu’s block is the last piece of Little Asia that hasn’t fully fallen in with The Blue Dragons,” she explained. “He explained it to me a while back, Shimazu, that is. Xiao Feng wants complete control over his corner of the city; something about making the Asian district a ‘monolithic whole,’’ whatever that means.”
She shook her head a second time. “But it’s all bad news.” She lowered her voice before continuing: “having to pay protection money to The Blue Dragons isn’t the kind of unity anyone needs. Same goes with 70th Street.”
Before long, the pair had reached the edge of the park, and begun crossing through Riverside. With more cover off alleyways, obstacles, and uncaring bodies keeping prying eyes away, Sarah stole periodic glances to the amulet, which even still, pointed her and Kenzo further East. As they passed by the area of the Millenia Dome, she noticed the growing mass of people around the stadium; she wondered if there was a game on that evening, vaguely recalling attending High School with one of the Knights’ running backs.
Arriving at the last bus station before the bridge to the Financial District, Sarah checked the amulet again. “Still going East,” she said, tucking the amulet back into her pocket. “Looks like we’re in for more of a trip than we thought.” A bus pulled up to the stop, the LED sign in its front window displaying a location across the bridge as its next destination. The doors pulled open, with a few people getting off, and leaving the driver looking down at Sarah and Kenzo. “Yeah,” Sarah said, pulling out and swiping a seldom-used bus pass as she boarded. At the top of the steps, she wheeled around and faced her companion. “One way or the other, this is the point of no return.” She turned back and found herself a seat close to the front, and sat stretched to save the seat next to her should Kenzo decide to continue on with her.
Just as she started to break step to turn back, Kenzo spoke up.
For a fleeting second something akin to a genuine smile found itself occupying Sarah’s face. She pushed out a single, hearty “HA!” from her chest. “Now that would be something,” she said. “The Mighty Xiao Feng, owns three quarters of Little Asia but still can’t get a good meal.” Still smiling, she shook her head. “Nah.” She stopped for a second, sneaking a look at the amulet, which still pointed across the Park. “Shimazu’s block is the last piece of Little Asia that hasn’t fully fallen in with The Blue Dragons,” she explained. “He explained it to me a while back, Shimazu, that is. Xiao Feng wants complete control over his corner of the city; something about making the Asian district a ‘monolithic whole,’’ whatever that means.”
She shook her head a second time. “But it’s all bad news.” She lowered her voice before continuing: “having to pay protection money to The Blue Dragons isn’t the kind of unity anyone needs. Same goes with 70th Street.”
Before long, the pair had reached the edge of the park, and begun crossing through Riverside. With more cover off alleyways, obstacles, and uncaring bodies keeping prying eyes away, Sarah stole periodic glances to the amulet, which even still, pointed her and Kenzo further East. As they passed by the area of the Millenia Dome, she noticed the growing mass of people around the stadium; she wondered if there was a game on that evening, vaguely recalling attending High School with one of the Knights’ running backs.
Arriving at the last bus station before the bridge to the Financial District, Sarah checked the amulet again. “Still going East,” she said, tucking the amulet back into her pocket. “Looks like we’re in for more of a trip than we thought.” A bus pulled up to the stop, the LED sign in its front window displaying a location across the bridge as its next destination. The doors pulled open, with a few people getting off, and leaving the driver looking down at Sarah and Kenzo. “Yeah,” Sarah said, pulling out and swiping a seldom-used bus pass as she boarded. At the top of the steps, she wheeled around and faced her companion. “One way or the other, this is the point of no return.” She turned back and found herself a seat close to the front, and sat stretched to save the seat next to her should Kenzo decide to continue on with her.
Z H A N G, T A I W U
Z H A N G, T A I W U
Z H A N G, T A I W U
Little Asia, with Young Thugs, The Driver & Xiao Feng
Abilities Use: N/A
@Nallore
As Sarah continued her way across the Park, ruminating over what Taiwu had said, Taiwu’s train of thought ran along similar tracks.
As the girl and her companion fell out of view of the car’s mirrors, he wondered whether or not his intuition had been correct. Was Shimazu in good company? Enough so that he and Xiao Feng would be best off staying away from the Old Man for the time being? The owner of the Lucky Noodle did have his history with the city’s Police Department, and a few contacts with the Department of Superhuman Affairs that likely remained in place. While Taiwu wouldn’t have flinched over scorching a few officers, he knew so much that Xiao Feng preferred to keep his business as far off from police involvement as possible. But if Shimazu was actually alone, then he [Taiwu] and Xiao Feng could simply walk into the restaurant and strong-arm him into paying the protection; as surely as he wouldn’t always be there for the girl, she wouldn’t always be there to back him up either; who would cover him and his establishment should she decide to take her powers elsewhere?
Taiwu was only pulled from his own mind at the intrusion of Xiao Feng. “Too many witnesses,” he replied coldly on his refusal to fight her then and there. “The 70th Street lot wasn't far off; plus DSHA and Town Hall.” He peered back in the rearview mirror, where now the park itself had been obscured by the clutter of buildings in Mapleview. “I want our fight to be one without interference. No help from her friends. No random do-gooders trying to step into things that don’t involve them. And most of all, no police or DSHA agents to break it up. A proper one-on-one battle. Nothing short of that will suffice.”
The car rolled to a stop near a huddle of scrappy-looking young adults. As Taiwu followed Xiao Feng to the trunk of the car, he sized the kids up; they looked like the sort to do just about anything for the right price. “If you’re looking for a pay day,” he said to the group, “we’ve got a proposition.” He stepped aside to allow them to see the bag of money being offered. “If you want this, rough up the Lucky Noodle; give its owner a good scare.” He stepped in closer, presenting them with an ornate knife from off of his belt. “And for a bonus,” he said quietly, “the owner, Shimazu, has a lapdog. Her name is Sarah. Bring me back this knife with her blood on it and I’ll personally pay extra; we can negotiate the price should you complete the task.”
As the girl and her companion fell out of view of the car’s mirrors, he wondered whether or not his intuition had been correct. Was Shimazu in good company? Enough so that he and Xiao Feng would be best off staying away from the Old Man for the time being? The owner of the Lucky Noodle did have his history with the city’s Police Department, and a few contacts with the Department of Superhuman Affairs that likely remained in place. While Taiwu wouldn’t have flinched over scorching a few officers, he knew so much that Xiao Feng preferred to keep his business as far off from police involvement as possible. But if Shimazu was actually alone, then he [Taiwu] and Xiao Feng could simply walk into the restaurant and strong-arm him into paying the protection; as surely as he wouldn’t always be there for the girl, she wouldn’t always be there to back him up either; who would cover him and his establishment should she decide to take her powers elsewhere?
Taiwu was only pulled from his own mind at the intrusion of Xiao Feng. “Too many witnesses,” he replied coldly on his refusal to fight her then and there. “The 70th Street lot wasn't far off; plus DSHA and Town Hall.” He peered back in the rearview mirror, where now the park itself had been obscured by the clutter of buildings in Mapleview. “I want our fight to be one without interference. No help from her friends. No random do-gooders trying to step into things that don’t involve them. And most of all, no police or DSHA agents to break it up. A proper one-on-one battle. Nothing short of that will suffice.”
The car rolled to a stop near a huddle of scrappy-looking young adults. As Taiwu followed Xiao Feng to the trunk of the car, he sized the kids up; they looked like the sort to do just about anything for the right price. “If you’re looking for a pay day,” he said to the group, “we’ve got a proposition.” He stepped aside to allow them to see the bag of money being offered. “If you want this, rough up the Lucky Noodle; give its owner a good scare.” He stepped in closer, presenting them with an ornate knife from off of his belt. “And for a bonus,” he said quietly, “the owner, Shimazu, has a lapdog. Her name is Sarah. Bring me back this knife with her blood on it and I’ll personally pay extra; we can negotiate the price should you complete the task.”
Katherine Tran & Horace Wolfe
With Artemis. Veridian Technologies Conference Room - Nighthaven
“Fancy suit?” KT’s eyebrow raised.
“If you decide to work out in the field you’ll want something that will conceal your identity,” Wolfe said. “That and protect you if you have to fight.”
“I’m not sure I’m much of a fighter.”
“We can teach you a few tricks. For now, you can support Artemis from behind the scenes.” Wolfe looked at Diana. “I know you’ve been set on tonight,” he said, hinting an apologetic tone. “But given today’s events, you may want to reconsider. Security may be tighter than our intel has shown. It’s likely they’ll be expecting something. But if you’re set on following through, we should at least do another round of recon.”
“So the Delgato guy is running for mayor?” KT asked in surprise. “Isn’t like, a bigtime mob boss?”
“He keeps his enterprise well enough under the table to save his public image. Buying out the police helps too.”
“But,” KT thought out loud, “if we can find a trail linking that lady to him--”
“I know what you’re about to say, and I agree.” Wolfe interjected. “But it’s not likely that he’ll have left a trail. Anthony cleans up his loose ends better than anyone else in his business. Not to say it wouldn’t be worth checking.”
“What if I testified?” KT mused hopefully.
Wolfe shook his head. “Unfortunately, there are legal blocks on that. Convincing a whole jury of the authenticity of your powers aside, the DSHA has clear laws in place to limit the extent to which psychic abilities can be leveraged in court. Our best course of action is to allow a proper investigation to unfold. For now, Ms. Tran, focus on the Artemis mission.”
“If you decide to work out in the field you’ll want something that will conceal your identity,” Wolfe said. “That and protect you if you have to fight.”
“I’m not sure I’m much of a fighter.”
“We can teach you a few tricks. For now, you can support Artemis from behind the scenes.” Wolfe looked at Diana. “I know you’ve been set on tonight,” he said, hinting an apologetic tone. “But given today’s events, you may want to reconsider. Security may be tighter than our intel has shown. It’s likely they’ll be expecting something. But if you’re set on following through, we should at least do another round of recon.”
“So the Delgato guy is running for mayor?” KT asked in surprise. “Isn’t like, a bigtime mob boss?”
“He keeps his enterprise well enough under the table to save his public image. Buying out the police helps too.”
“But,” KT thought out loud, “if we can find a trail linking that lady to him--”
“I know what you’re about to say, and I agree.” Wolfe interjected. “But it’s not likely that he’ll have left a trail. Anthony cleans up his loose ends better than anyone else in his business. Not to say it wouldn’t be worth checking.”
“What if I testified?” KT mused hopefully.
Wolfe shook his head. “Unfortunately, there are legal blocks on that. Convincing a whole jury of the authenticity of your powers aside, the DSHA has clear laws in place to limit the extent to which psychic abilities can be leveraged in court. Our best course of action is to allow a proper investigation to unfold. For now, Ms. Tran, focus on the Artemis mission.”
Down along the creek,
I remembered Something…
I remembered Something…
Abe Kaitori
Dark, yet warm eyes came open slowly upon the freshly dawned day. The young woman who owned them was awoken and alert without the preambles of sluggishness. To the contrary, she sprung to life quickly, and with much vigor. Her katana, which had been set across her lap as she had rested against the back of the second wagon, made its way swiftly back to its proper place upon the left side of her hip.
As her legs pushed her body upright, the musings of thought began their flow through her mind. There were a great many things to think about too. First, but not least of all, was the prospect of the day’s task: escort the wagons to their destination in the capital of Ryke. Though not as long as other roads, it would have its due span, and the expectant dangers of beasts and bandits; her hand skittered anxiously along the hilts of her sword at the idea of combat, its edge not tasting blood since she began her journey south. In due time, it would have to see battle once more. Breathing, she settled her nerves and eased the twitching of her muscles.
Rumination led to reminiscence. A long road might lay ahead. But a long one lay behind as well.
The ebbs and flows of politics had rendered the young warrior listless, and without a master to serve; such had been the matters in her distant fringe of the Republic. It had been a grace enough for her to have fought her way from the estate, let alone survive the road to Ryke while still adorning the purple and gold, and imagery associated with her late Lord. Perhaps she had been that good at evading detection? More likely, a young bodyguard fleeing to another nation was of little enough importance to be pursued; there was no need to risk war over a retreating foe.
Either way it was, she had managed to procure enough provisions and find adequate shelter to cross the border. With the threat of sentient enemies well behind her, she had turned her focus to the basic needs: Food, water, supplies, and suitable lodging, or at least the currency with which to acquire them. A week’s wandering had crossed her path with the Adventurer's Guild, and their offer to let her test her mettle and join their ranks. It wasn’t quite the same as serving a Lord. But it would cover all of her basic needs, as well as the seldom spoken of necessities of purpose and direction.
She had made haste to the Bom Bom Farm upon signing on for the job. Finding little need to await the companionship of strangers, she had set off from the Guild alone, and arrived at the farm in the predawn hours, just as the matriarch, Marla, had begun loading the last of the cargo onto the wagons. It had, of course, taken some convincing to assure her, the younger girl, and the man tending to the second wagon, that she was no thief or bandit, but it had been achieved.
She stood then, pensively, allowing the warmth of the morning sun to sooth her mind, body, and spirit. When she heard the first breaths of conversation from the front of the wagons, she tightened the tail of her black hair, tidied her garments, and stepped around to meet the new arrivals. Pacing cautiously past the man, and, not acknowledging the daughter [whom she presumed she had frightened upon her arrival], she approached the first wagon, where Marla and the other escorts were convened. “Kaitori,” she announced herself, bowing low to who she took to be her allies on this new journey. “My blade joins you in service.”
As her legs pushed her body upright, the musings of thought began their flow through her mind. There were a great many things to think about too. First, but not least of all, was the prospect of the day’s task: escort the wagons to their destination in the capital of Ryke. Though not as long as other roads, it would have its due span, and the expectant dangers of beasts and bandits; her hand skittered anxiously along the hilts of her sword at the idea of combat, its edge not tasting blood since she began her journey south. In due time, it would have to see battle once more. Breathing, she settled her nerves and eased the twitching of her muscles.
Rumination led to reminiscence. A long road might lay ahead. But a long one lay behind as well.
The ebbs and flows of politics had rendered the young warrior listless, and without a master to serve; such had been the matters in her distant fringe of the Republic. It had been a grace enough for her to have fought her way from the estate, let alone survive the road to Ryke while still adorning the purple and gold, and imagery associated with her late Lord. Perhaps she had been that good at evading detection? More likely, a young bodyguard fleeing to another nation was of little enough importance to be pursued; there was no need to risk war over a retreating foe.
Either way it was, she had managed to procure enough provisions and find adequate shelter to cross the border. With the threat of sentient enemies well behind her, she had turned her focus to the basic needs: Food, water, supplies, and suitable lodging, or at least the currency with which to acquire them. A week’s wandering had crossed her path with the Adventurer's Guild, and their offer to let her test her mettle and join their ranks. It wasn’t quite the same as serving a Lord. But it would cover all of her basic needs, as well as the seldom spoken of necessities of purpose and direction.
She had made haste to the Bom Bom Farm upon signing on for the job. Finding little need to await the companionship of strangers, she had set off from the Guild alone, and arrived at the farm in the predawn hours, just as the matriarch, Marla, had begun loading the last of the cargo onto the wagons. It had, of course, taken some convincing to assure her, the younger girl, and the man tending to the second wagon, that she was no thief or bandit, but it had been achieved.
She stood then, pensively, allowing the warmth of the morning sun to sooth her mind, body, and spirit. When she heard the first breaths of conversation from the front of the wagons, she tightened the tail of her black hair, tidied her garments, and stepped around to meet the new arrivals. Pacing cautiously past the man, and, not acknowledging the daughter [whom she presumed she had frightened upon her arrival], she approached the first wagon, where Marla and the other escorts were convened. “Kaitori,” she announced herself, bowing low to who she took to be her allies on this new journey. “My blade joins you in service.”
Abe Kaitori
Prime Human
"Behind me matters not.
Ahead only Gods may know.
Now is where I stand."
Statlines
Points At Start: 105
Points Spent: 105
Points Earned: 0
- Strength: ---[7]--- E
- Precision: ---[14]--- D
- Intelligence: ---[0]--- F
- Vitality: ---[7]--- E
- Speed: ---[14]--- D
Skills
- Fighting Style - Sword (“Hachidori Style”) ---[7]--- F
- Generalist (Natural Weapons) ---[0 Discounted]--- F
- Accurate ---[7]--- F
- Penetrating ---[7]--- F
- Fast ---[7]--- F
- Athletics ---[7]--- F
- Acrobatics ---[7]--- F
Abilities
- Iaido [F]. Fight Style [Sword] [F]+Fast [F]. Quickly unsheaths sword for attack or defense, and follows up with a secondary slash. Cooldown [F].
- Hand As a Blade [F]. Fighting Style Sword [F]+Generalist Natural Weapons [F]. Delivers a chopping strike with the side of the hand. Cooldown [F].
- Deflect Attack [F]. Generalist Natural Weapons [F]+Fast [F]. Blocks and redirects an oncoming (Melee) attack. Cooldown [F].
- Sprint [F]. Fast [F]+Athletic [F]. Quickly moves forward, closing short distances. Cooldown [F].
- Smooth Landing [F]. Acrobatics [F]+Athletic [F]. Adjustment against being flipped or thrown. Cooldown [F].
Abilities
- Katana ---[7]--- F
Standard sword forged of steel in the Japanese style. Blade reach of 30 inches. - Natural Weapons ---[14]--- F
Assets
Change Log
I got struck with inspiration at 1:30 AM.
I miss those days.
⚞ WREN ⚟
⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱
⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱
___________________________
๑ Chapter 1 - Welcome to Corinthia ๑
Friday 6th February
4:00AM, At The Lee Household, Newham
___________________________
๑ Chapter 1 - Welcome to Corinthia ๑
Friday 6th February
4:00AM, At The Lee Household, Newham
___________________________
The Dawn hadn’t quite broken over the city at the hour in which Robin Grace Lee had woken. The dark shroud of a cold winter’s night lingered outside of the windows of her Grandmother’s townhouse in Newham. The old, storied structure creaked and cracked like aged limbs as it settled and weathered a mild breeze against its front side; somewhere in the house, a window rattled. The outside of the glass surfaces bore a layer of frost built up over the course of the night prior, obscuring the image of the outside, where the light of streetlamps served as the sole source of illumination. Through the walls, the residual noises of sleeping neighbors in the connected homes on either side could be heard: a knocking of a headboard as one might roll over in bed, or an overly loud snorer, or perhaps the sound of an early riser preparing their breakfast.
For all accounts, it constituted a peaceful morning.
Such was one upon which Robin, or “Wren” as she preferred to be, would have otherwise been content to remain adrift in dreams. Indeed, the comfort of her mattress, the warmth of her covers, and the firm hold of her pillows called to her, wondering why she would abandon their protection on such a morning. Instead, she had set herself deep into ritual. She sat alone in mediation in a small, windowless room; an inner-sanctum of the townhouse. With her, the warmth of the furnace and hearth were joined by the subtler radiance of candles. The scents of Sandalwood and Pine from burning incense had consumed the room, and elevated her mind closer to the spirit plane. A hungering rumble of the stomach, and a thirsting dryness upon the tongue were both willfully ignored by their owner, who had, for the moment, transcended; she’d feel both in full once her consciousness returned to the mortal world.
All of this: the early rise, the burning wicks, the smudged incense, and the fasted state, were not without their purpose. They were all necessary for achieving the purest, and deepest connection with one’s ancestors.
And why the need to reach out so?
Wren, as a ‘Hedge Witch,’ drew the greatest sum of her Magika through a spiritual connection to those that preceded her in her family’s bloodline. Their power flowed into their descendants like a long river letting out into increasingly greater pools of water. While many of her powers could be exercised without the formalities, the greatest feats required ritual; the greater the feat, the more time, preparation, and energy needed to accomplish it.
For this morning, her need for her ancestor’s gifts of strength and fortitude were almost as great as they had ever been. In fact, only once in her life thus far had she needed more from this bond to her past; she hoped that she’d never need it that much again. For today, the occasion was simple, yet momentous. A time of departure. She would be leaving the home of her Late mother, and her Grandmother, still alive, before her. Her adventure would be brief at the outset, merely bringing her to another part of London. But in the longterm, even her predecessors could only offer speculation on. She’d be joining the Corinthia Coven, where she hoped to find a solution to a matter that had been a feature of her bloodline for generations, and which had been the curse that had taken her mother from her before either were ready to be apart.
Wren cared little for the admonishments that some of her ancestors offered. From beyond they could all see that Corinthia was in track to try the Elders’ patience… perhaps an understatement. The spiritual conversations were less discussions and more like shouting matches, which might have woken the neighborhood if they had been engaged in spoken words. Wren’s ancestors would finally relent and offer their protections once she had declared that the line was hers to carry, and that their contract was to support her in her goals, not push their own agendas upon her.
When Wren finally emerged from her meditation, it was though she had woken from a fierce battle. Her soul felt sore, and riddled with the lashes and bruises that being assailed by dozens of foes would have brought about. But these feelings didn’t last long, fading quickly behind her awareness of her body’s state of thirst and hunger.
“You’re ready, dear.”
“Thank you, Mom.” Hazel eyes opened to the warm, soft glow of the candles. Slowly, Wren arose upon her feet. With respect to the ceremony, she extinguished the candles one-by-one, and tamped out the incense until the aromatic smoke ceased to loft up from them. Only when the room was dark and scentless, did she offer her final respects, and exit the small room into the living room.
“Did it go well?” Her Grandmother had awoken before her that morning, and stood vigil in case the ritual had taken a bad turn.
Wren yawned tiredly, rubbed her eyes, and answered her Grandmother’s inquiry with a sincere smile and a courtly nod. The meeting of the pair’s eyes, and the noticeable trickle from Wren’s. told all: ‘They are with me; SHE is with me.”
“Very well then,” her grandmother said, standing up with the aid of a gnarled walking staff. “Then let’s get you fed, hydrated, and off to Corinthia.”
For all accounts, it constituted a peaceful morning.
Such was one upon which Robin, or “Wren” as she preferred to be, would have otherwise been content to remain adrift in dreams. Indeed, the comfort of her mattress, the warmth of her covers, and the firm hold of her pillows called to her, wondering why she would abandon their protection on such a morning. Instead, she had set herself deep into ritual. She sat alone in mediation in a small, windowless room; an inner-sanctum of the townhouse. With her, the warmth of the furnace and hearth were joined by the subtler radiance of candles. The scents of Sandalwood and Pine from burning incense had consumed the room, and elevated her mind closer to the spirit plane. A hungering rumble of the stomach, and a thirsting dryness upon the tongue were both willfully ignored by their owner, who had, for the moment, transcended; she’d feel both in full once her consciousness returned to the mortal world.
All of this: the early rise, the burning wicks, the smudged incense, and the fasted state, were not without their purpose. They were all necessary for achieving the purest, and deepest connection with one’s ancestors.
And why the need to reach out so?
Wren, as a ‘Hedge Witch,’ drew the greatest sum of her Magika through a spiritual connection to those that preceded her in her family’s bloodline. Their power flowed into their descendants like a long river letting out into increasingly greater pools of water. While many of her powers could be exercised without the formalities, the greatest feats required ritual; the greater the feat, the more time, preparation, and energy needed to accomplish it.
For this morning, her need for her ancestor’s gifts of strength and fortitude were almost as great as they had ever been. In fact, only once in her life thus far had she needed more from this bond to her past; she hoped that she’d never need it that much again. For today, the occasion was simple, yet momentous. A time of departure. She would be leaving the home of her Late mother, and her Grandmother, still alive, before her. Her adventure would be brief at the outset, merely bringing her to another part of London. But in the longterm, even her predecessors could only offer speculation on. She’d be joining the Corinthia Coven, where she hoped to find a solution to a matter that had been a feature of her bloodline for generations, and which had been the curse that had taken her mother from her before either were ready to be apart.
Wren cared little for the admonishments that some of her ancestors offered. From beyond they could all see that Corinthia was in track to try the Elders’ patience… perhaps an understatement. The spiritual conversations were less discussions and more like shouting matches, which might have woken the neighborhood if they had been engaged in spoken words. Wren’s ancestors would finally relent and offer their protections once she had declared that the line was hers to carry, and that their contract was to support her in her goals, not push their own agendas upon her.
When Wren finally emerged from her meditation, it was though she had woken from a fierce battle. Her soul felt sore, and riddled with the lashes and bruises that being assailed by dozens of foes would have brought about. But these feelings didn’t last long, fading quickly behind her awareness of her body’s state of thirst and hunger.
“You’re ready, dear.”
“Thank you, Mom.” Hazel eyes opened to the warm, soft glow of the candles. Slowly, Wren arose upon her feet. With respect to the ceremony, she extinguished the candles one-by-one, and tamped out the incense until the aromatic smoke ceased to loft up from them. Only when the room was dark and scentless, did she offer her final respects, and exit the small room into the living room.
“Did it go well?” Her Grandmother had awoken before her that morning, and stood vigil in case the ritual had taken a bad turn.
Wren yawned tiredly, rubbed her eyes, and answered her Grandmother’s inquiry with a sincere smile and a courtly nod. The meeting of the pair’s eyes, and the noticeable trickle from Wren’s. told all: ‘They are with me; SHE is with me.”
“Very well then,” her grandmother said, standing up with the aid of a gnarled walking staff. “Then let’s get you fed, hydrated, and off to Corinthia.”
6:15AM, At the Corinthia Coven
The four o’clock hour went by. By five-thirty that morning, Wren was in transit across town to the south side of London, where the Corinthia Coven had set up its house. The journey there held little of pertinence. Wren remained inwardly focused, thinking of her plans, goals, and intentions. Any attention given to her fellow commuters was for the simple sake of her being aware of her surroundings, rather than dedicated people-watching.
Shortly after six, she stepped out from a bus. Carrying her packed belongings a short distance down the sidewalk, she arrived at the address she had been given. It was just about as expected: a dark-hued building, built of brick facade, that cast an imposing shadow over the lot before it. Collecting herself behind what guards her ancestors had offered her, she approached the old Victorian. The feeling of passing through the threshold was as heavy as the doors themselves, though it lightened significantly once she set foot in the open entry space where she found herself arriving shortly behind another arrival.
“I take it I’ve come to the right address? I’m Robin Lee, though I prefer to go by ‘Wren.’”
Shortly after six, she stepped out from a bus. Carrying her packed belongings a short distance down the sidewalk, she arrived at the address she had been given. It was just about as expected: a dark-hued building, built of brick facade, that cast an imposing shadow over the lot before it. Collecting herself behind what guards her ancestors had offered her, she approached the old Victorian. The feeling of passing through the threshold was as heavy as the doors themselves, though it lightened significantly once she set foot in the open entry space where she found herself arriving shortly behind another arrival.
“I take it I’ve come to the right address? I’m Robin Lee, though I prefer to go by ‘Wren.’”
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