Living with the constant stress of his own fears twisting and stabbing in his gut had become second nature to Christmas. This calm was breaking the comfort of routine, even if that routine constantly wreaked havoc on his health. Breathing without worrying about being loud was too easy. Moving without second-guessing his motions was too easy. Looking directly at the world for what it was--too easy.
He noted four pink shots of energy curving through the air as the eyeball fell over, the subsequent explosion of glitter catching his eyes before the same shimmering specks rained down slowly around him and the nearby students. The first sting against his cheek drew a spot of blood and he reflexively covered his head with his arms, though not quickly enough to prevent a few smaller nicks from appearing across his face. Several flecks touched his right eye, the light cuts searing against the sensitive cornea before he squeezed both eyes shut, waiting for the worst of the glitter to pass, wincing as thin papercuts appeared all over the backs of his hands and neck. Several thicker clouds of the glitter cut through parts of his clothing, tearing small wounds into the underlying flesh. Whatever didn't cut into his upper body drifted down to his legs, nicking away at the skin there, too.
Wearing a light jacket and shorts in September was not his brightest decision. Especially now.
The pain from the corneal abrasions in particular made him gasp, but even the temporary loss of vision in one eye and tiny stings and papercuts all over his body wasn't enough to deter that smothering calm. Christmas lowered his arms when the worst of the glitter had passed, though his right hand remained clapped over his ribbon as he turned to look at Lawrence. Just in time to see one of the dolls pirouette, its chain arm dragging behind it.
He barely had time to notice the eye's new form when his heart skipped a beat in time with a sudden pulse through the flatline of calm. Christmas sucked in a breath to compensate, good eye darting rapidly across the ground as the spike of anxiety passed through him. A rattling sound like wood or ceramic clacking together repeatedly made him look up to see the doll's arm whipping towards him and Lawrence.
The following changes will take place starting next week and only for the duration of combat events. Combat posts will be fairly short here for all involved once we get into the thick of things. Which means I will be increasing the pace of combat to prevent this one encounter from taking literal months in real time. Expect this to be reflected soon in the rules.
After the last GM posts, player turn responses will be due within three days. The sooner everyone responds, the sooner the GM turns can come around again. At the moment, this means red and blue team have a time advantage. That will not continue.
The next time GM turns come around, I will synchronize all three GM posts to be up at roughly the same time (within 5-10 minutes of each other). Then the three day cycle continues until combat-heavy events are over. Those who cannot keep up with one short post every three days (until the end of combat) have several options:
1. Have someone else write your character's move(s) into a combined post.
2. Mention any GM (preferably all three to make sure someone catches the message and relays it) in the Discordβs #plotting channel and let them know what move you'd like to make. If you don't have the time for discussion, the respective GM will write that move in as feasibly as possible.
3. PM all three GMs (if you use the forum PM system, PM ALL THREE GMs) on the forums with the move you'd like to make and the respective GM will write that in as feasibly as possible. Due to the asynchronous property of forum messaging, the GMs will likely not sit around and refresh the page for 15 minutes to wait on your response in the case of any arguments.
Thus, through PMs, the following will generally occur: you message us, we tell you we've read it and will/will not incorporate the move. That's it. If we choose not to incorporate a seemingly unfeasible move, we'll just interrupt it/counter it/strike before it happens, etc. You don't get to argue this through PMs as it is an immense waste of time for the GMs to sit around and wait for a PM response that might not come in a timely manner, especially if you're too busy to even hop into Discord and use option 2.
As an additional warning, once combat has fully initiated, excessive talking is not a free action. If your GM feels like your character spent too much time talking in a dangerous scenario, your character will suffer for it. Short comments/orders/call outs are perfectly fine. Even brief conversations are fine.
Use common sense, or the GMs will liberally apply it for you.
Current deadline for this round of player posts is here.
New pacing will not take effect until next week by this schedule. If everyone posts and we move on early repeatedly this week, I will consider implementing the new pacing a bit sooner.
Edit: Added to the rule concerning the "one post per week" minimum:
The "one post per week" minimum requirement is not imposed under certain circumstances such as combat events/NPC-relevant events/anything else the GMs decide to inflict a different schedule on. Refer to event-specific pacing for further details. Generally, pacing during events will be faster than normal.
If Aaron dies this early in the game in this kind of tutorial fight, I'm probably not going to let you make another OC.
It really depends on how he dies.
If it was an unfortunate series of events over and over (which it shouldn't be since the GMs are controlling 50% of the unfortunate events occurrences here), I'll allow a new OC.
If it was a death from a good play or some other highly involved action that was premeditated and the like, I'll allow a new OC.
If it was a death from an issue of "this is what my character would do in this scenario, even if it would get him/her killed," I'll allow a new OC.
Basically, I usually allow new OCs.
Except:
If your character died stupidly for no real reason doing things that cannot be justified as "my character would do this even if he/she would die."
That just tells me you're probably going to get the next character killed really early on, too.
So don't give me that impression.
Tl;dr: don't die this early on.
If the GM warns you they're going to kill your character (as opposed to just grievously wounding), ask your respective GM if there is any way out of it. They'll usually oblige and answer for major things like that. That said, try not to be in that position in the first place. We're not actually trying to kill anyone here, spoiler alert. So if your character dies...
I like how you did that and still didn't mention Vampire, haha. Go remind her in Discord, especially since blue team and green team posts might flood in soon.
Lawrence's shot slammed into the eye-leg's main body, distracting it from the attack it was charging. In retaliation, the creature squinted at the blonde boy, pupil dilating to a pinprick as four concentric circles of glowing red light snapped into existence in front of its iris, the perimeters of the circles bleeding outwards into jagged, uneven edges before each circle started spinning in alternating direction. Whatever it was charging was picking up speed in a matter of seconds when one of the dolls tap-danced away from Hazel's punch, which slammed instead into the crook of the eyeleg's knee, sending the creature toppling over again just as the circles hit what seemed to be optimal speed and fired off four slow bursts of pink-hued energy. The roughly basketball-sized missed shots arced up into the air before detonating in small, colorful explosions of rainbow glitter that rained down upon Lawrence, Christmas, Hazel, and Emma in bulk. The glitter stung to the touch and nicked small wounds on all of them--pricks like ant bites and shallow papercuts.
Where the glimmering particles touched Hazel's transparent arm, it left moderate gashes instead. Before the glitterbomb residue could waft on the breeze towards the eyeleg, the witch cackled and pulled a transparent orb from the folds of her cumbersome robe. Any glitter that strayed close to the eyeleg was sucked into the sphere.
The rest of the glitter wafted slowly towards Sander's and Kusari's general direction, while a small portion glimmered its way across the battlefield, towards the other groups. The vast majority of it, however, remained within the red team's area.
Rolling its one eye, the eyeleg squirmed on the floor and flipped onto its front, giant, manicured fingers sprouting from either side of its leg-body--four fingers on each side. The fingers propped the main body up while it bent the heel of its leg towards its head. Effectively looking more like a deranged scorpion now, the creature shuffled slightly forward, putting itself in front of the dolls. The large eye that was now effectively the freakish scorpion's head glowed again, the same pattern of four circles spinning in front of it. This time, however, the circles were blue and far slower to increase in speed. It didn't seem to be aiming anywhere in particular.
Clumsily, the witch climbed onto the fingerleg scorpion's back.
The three dolls teetered from side to side as chaos ensued, one of them spinning its head rapidly to stare at the source of the gunshot: Lawrence. This was the same doll that had uncannily noticed Hazel's initial attack. It pranced around the large flesh scorpion and eyed Lawrence once it had a clear view, its spinning eyes locking onto him.
One of its arms detached to reveal a chain connecting the limb to the main body before it spun around several times, whipping that arm at Lawrence with a loud chatter of its doll mouth.
The remaining dolls continued teetering and pirouetting slowly in place behind the scorpion, seemingly oblivious to the recent spate of attacks.
Meanwhile, Determination and Devotion had reached the group of five dogs gathered in a pack several meters to the left of the dolls, both shadow puppets following their master's command to simply attack. Determination slammed a fist into the torso of the nearest dog, crushing its upper body and sending it flying a few meters away while Devotion ineffectually slapped a different dog.
In response, the four remaining dogs pounced on the two puppets, their tongues piercing through the dolls easily and tearing them to shreds. Determination went down first, its body crumbling to the ground after repeated tongue shots from the dogs rendered it little more than a patchwork of holes. Devotion, still weakly slapping another dog, was torn to pieces next. Both puppets' shredded bodies remained on the ground for a while before dissipating into shadowy wisps and completely disappearing.
With a hissing flick of its tongue, one of the dogs led the other three in a charge at Emma.
As Red and Piercing have not posted a battle engagement post, I will assume they're still near the trucks. Luckily for them, Lawrence, Emma, and Hazel's attacks provided enough of a distraction to prevent me from taking advantage of their absence.
The bad-touch glitterbomb causes little nicks and cuts in clothes as well as skin.
The nurse--Margaret--who had attended to Brent's bed neighbor earlier found Brent in the hallway speaking with another subnatural. Flustered and overworked, she had held her tongue in the face of her rising panic at the alarm and the subsequent clarification of exactly who the enemy was. A Precursor turning against them? She could scarcely believe it and her panic finally spilled over into words as she passed by Brent and Sophia in the hallway: "All you freaks should just go to hell. All of you and Dreamcatcher."
As she walked away, haggard and weary, a soldier ran up to the two of them, double-checking coordinates on his phone before handing one sheet of paper each to Sophia and Brent. The sheets listed their names and their rooms (Brent Roless - Suite 330, Building A; Sophia Lemane - Suite 226, Building A) with a small, simple map directing them to the appropriate building.
Young and clearly still unmarred by the worst of the prejudices against subnaturals, the new soldier stood awkwardly in front of the two, figuring a few seconds was enough for them to read the gist of the sheets.
"Please head straight to the marked building on the map once you've finished any remaining business in Hospital Building C," he said, the pitch of his voice high and unintimidating. "Any extreme deviance from instructions will result in an electric shock from your ankle cuffs and potential death."
The formalities out of the way, he pursed his lips a bit in thought.
"But I'm sure you guys could head to the dining hall or relax on the grounds without too much issue. Curfew is at 2300 on weekdays, so there's plenty of time to eat. You guys are probably hungry, right?"
With a quick salute, he jogged back the way he had come, something about the general air of the emergency keeping most everyone on a faster pace, even for minor tasks.
In contrast, a figure was strolling slowly and calmly through the frantic movements of the hospital staff, tall body wrapped in a set of oversized, gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, the baggy folds of the pants almost obscuring a pair of gray tennis shoes. The large hood obscured most of the person's face, revealing only a bit of mouth and a pale chin below the sloping fabric. Tucked underneath the person's left arm was a sketchbook with the initials K. B. on the cover.
The person passed by the jogging soldier, who looked back curiously, but didn't stop, afraid to disobey any direct orders from Commander Kardos. Beyond that, everyone else was too busy and distracted preparing for potential new patients as a result of the emergency to look twice at the figure.
Humming a tune to itself, the gray heap of clothing passed by Brent and Sophia, turning its head to look at them. It flashed them a friendly grin, the thin, chapped lips parting to reveal a mouthful of sharp teeth, jagged and protruding in a manner resembling a crocodile.
"Pleasant evening to the both of you," it greeted them, the smooth, oily voice straddling the line between male and female as it raised an emaciated hand and pretended to tip an invisible top hat at the two students.
With that, the person continued past them, the slow, steady stride not changing.
What information they had gathered on each other in the truck was mostly jumbled in Christmasβs mind as the battlefield and the beacon of light that was their field commander came into view. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, Christmas was glad there was sufficient light on the field, but he hadnβt wanted to be on the field in the first place.
Lawrenceβs words about being careful with his blood were still ringing in his mind, just as loudly as the memories of his motherβs commands about being a βgood boy no matter what.β Breathing deeply, Christmas remained pressed against the back of the truck for a moment longer before putting Meditations down on the seat and finally filing outside with everyone else just in time to see someone run over to give them general commands. It wasnβt Ethan, but that made sense considering how much work Ethan was putting in, holding back all those creatures while outnumbered 10-to-1.
Christmas blanched at the mention that other subnaturals had been lost to the extent that sending out completely new students was considered a good thing. He didnβt want to be here. He didnβt want to be anywhere, really.
As the battle raged on a safe distance away, several meatball monsters were making their clumsy way towards the group Director Zhang had designated as the βgreen team,β and this would have been surprisingly frightening enough but for the guy suddenly stripping down and curling up on the ground. Completely naked.
Stuck between crippling fear and complete bewilderment, Christmas turned away with a cry of dismay, making sure to avoid any glances in that general direction as his hands instinctively curled up against his collar bone, fingers rigidly arched into a gesture of cringing that matched the bemused grimace on his face. He had certainly seen provocative content over the years, but there was something significantly wrong about watching someone abandon clothing the way anyone else would abandon hope and curling up on the ground to scream.
βUmβ¦β Christmas looked at Lawrence before pointing a hesitant finger in the general direction of the screams, still not looking. βDo youβ¦think he needs help?β he asked quietly, hoping Lawrence would have an explanation for something so bizarre.
"He'll be fine, he's just readying his magic. Some of us are luckier than others in that department."
Lawrenceβs easy answer was a quiet relief to Christmas, who directed his focus fearfully to the group of monsters until a sudden sense of stillness washed over him accompanied by a gentle white glow. To Christmas, it wasnβt βcalmβ like someone was enjoying or truly relaxing, but a sort of forced acceptance. He blinked in confusion, glad to be able to assess the situation without panicking, but also completely out of his depth now that his reflexive emotional responses were no longer available to him.
"Try to relax, all right? Stick close to me and I'll try to keep us both alive."
He nodded dumbly in response to Lawrenceβs command and carefully grabbed the hem of the taller studentβs jacket between his thumb and index finger, his grip light enough to let go should Lawrence need to move quickly away, but steady enough to keep him following and close in the face of the battlefieldβs distractions.
"I mentioned my power on the ride over? This glow means my magic is being used. Normally I'd ask you guys ahead of time before screwing with your heads, but this is a life or death situation. You can bitch at me afterwards if we live."
Even through the magic, Lawrenceβs qualification on the statement made Christmasβs grip tremble ever so slightly.
He let go when Lawrence prepped to fire the shotgun and covered his ears as commanded. Able to maintain his presence of mind courtesy of Lawrenceβs magic, Christmas didnβt bolt for the hills as he normally would have, though the thunderous clap of the firing gun still made him reflexively flinch.
It was, in more ways than one, the signal to begin.
Deadline for this week's posts. If you don't get a post in, the GMs will choose what to do with your character. Anyone who's mentioned delays/real-life circumstances will not be horribly maimed.
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