Status

Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current I want to see things - that no one else can see
2 yrs ago
I'll judge you with my Stand! 「Greased Lightning」!
2 yrs ago
At maximum overbork
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2 yrs ago
Are you tired of peel, peel, peeling potatoes? Stop!
1 like
2 yrs ago
You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek life beyond the shore just out of reach. Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time. The path is yours to climb.
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Bio

I am currently managing the Crucible, an extradimensional tournament with a unique combat system, and have managed several Dungeon Keepers roleplays in the past along with a RWBY RP I left in more capable hands. Forgive me for melodrama as I say: I can't promise I'm a good man, but I'll do the best I can.

Most Recent Posts

Rionach




A winning smile took over Rionach's features as Kazador addressed her. Of course, she couldn't take it as a sign that she'd achieved respect or recognition just yet, since he seemed to be answering nearly everyone, but it was a start. “That's right! Valentia's...okay. Old wounds never truly heal, as they say. As for why I'm here: is it not obvious? To do whatever need be done! There is suffering and misfortune everywhere, and it's a poor heroine who refuses to broaden her scope beyond just one nation.” Though already possessing more to say, Rionach fell silent, her time in the spotlight over with. It wouldn't do to hype herself up in the opening moments of the first act; if her journey of self-aggrandizement taught her anything, it was to carefully balance people's expectations.

Around her, life went on, including the opening of a nearby shop by a merchant of apparent renown. In her travels Rionach had naturally heard of and bought from the Anna sisters. The quality of her goods could never be drawn into question, but a few encounters had fostered a sort of cautious understanding between the two greedy women. Their mutual attempts and getting the most possible out of their arrangements while giving up as little as possible had led to a couple of lengthy stalemates in times past, though to Rionach's shame she had to admit her rival's charisma and business sense far better. Before the gathering crowd could fully block off the view of Anna's stand, Rionach happened to catch her eye, and the pair exchanged a cheery if knowing wave. Though at the moment her inventory could use some restocking, Rionach decided to forego bargaining with Anna for the time being, and not just because she disliked the idea of getting jostled by all her other customers.

Content to sit and watch, Rionach observed each unique individual pointed out by Kazador in turn. The idea of royals traipsing about while some sort of important meeting was going on puzzled her, but questioning them was not the duty of some random traveler. Eager though she might be to spread and make great her name, Rionach knew better than to gain the reputation of some impertinent upstart by trying to cozy up to every notable person she saw. On the subject of who she saw: Rionach's eyes wandered to a little girl and then to a woman she guessed to be the girl's mother, and there her eyes remained. An ever-so-slight grimace passed over her features as she took not of the visitor's appearance. “Hngh.” Damn sorceresses. Bet she's never lacked for people fawning over her a day in her life. Do all stacked women have the dark gift, or does it just make its practitioners more beautiful? Ugh. And she's a mother too, with that figure. Some women have all the luck. Averting her gaze, Rionach stared into the fire. With people like that around, who'd ever look twice at some spear-slinging bumpkin from the mountains? In her contemplation, she missed the stranger's question, though answering it would have strained her manners regardless.

After a few moments her attention turned to another new arrival, this one astride a horse and protected by brown armor. He introduced himself as nothing less than a prince of Renais, but his manner bespoke a disregard for formality and his location of a distaste for diplomacy. This could be an opportunity. A nobleman with connections happy to mingle with common folk. She stood up, using the butt of her spear to help, and gave Marwood a polite bow. Whether or not he cared for such niceties, it could get them talking about customs and things. A good first impression was a must. “Welcome to our little party then, Prince Marwood. The name's Rionach, and I'm glad to have you aboard! Djeld here's prepared tea, if you'd like some.” She produced the cup of tea she'd been given but hadn't actually drunk from, holding it up without holding it out in an effort to offer it without invading personal space.

The next second, the sound of an explosion rocked the camp. Startled, Rionach jumped and fumbled the cup. She grabbed at it as it fell, getting herself splashed with hot tea, but couldn't snatch it out of the air before it hit the ground. “Bollocks!” The shouting reached her as she stooped, leaving her wide-eyed. “They're fightin'!?” she blurted out, more to herself than anyone, as she straightened up. Sure enough, the camp had roared to life, thanks in large part to the inferno that had replaced the generals' meeting tent. “What in Mila's name?!” The sudden realization hit her that any number of extremely important people might have been killed—history was being made before her eyes. Yet, this was one high-profile event she wanted no part of. The noise of battle filled the air, and more out of reflex than desire to fight, Rionach yanked her spear from the ground. Quite keenly she understood that she had no allies here, no side to take. Nobody stood at her back to prevent some random soldier from loosing an arrow or plunging three feet of steel through her vitals. It had always been this way, but never before had she been in a situation in which her singularity might mean her death.

A look of terror on her face, she whirled to face Kazador when he spoke, wary of attack. “I don't know anythin'!” she exclaimed. “The big tent just blew up, and everyone's fightin'!” Based on what she heard, the erupted conflict had two sides split by race, each accusing the other of treachery. She glanced at an incoming human unit whose attention already lay upon the dwarves. Things were about to get bloody, and nothing she could say would stop it. Technically speaking, as a Valentian she should be on the Alliance's side, but turning her spear on the dwarves she's been with moments ago felt wrong. Plus, since she wasn't a soldier, she had no duty to attack anyone. Getting involved with either side would be a huge -and probably fatal- mistake. Yet, turning and fleeing would ruin her reputation and image, barely-established as it was among these people. Her eyes flitted between Marwood, Alphonse, and Sharena. There was only one option: refuge in audacity.

“Your Royalties! Considerin' the confusion and chaos, you should get clear of here immediately! If you're willin', I'll help cover your retreat!” With any luck, they'd realize that they couldn't afford to leap into a conflict with no clear wrong party. They might wonder who the hell this redheaded woman was to be offering them advice and protection, but at the very least it was clear Rionach wasn't a mercenary, and she had a plan if called into question.
Slayer
Level 5 || Day 3 || King Boo's Castle
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (16/50)
Word count: 552


A sudden change in atmosphere brought Slayer's guard up, and with crossed arms the gentleman peered at the specter whose ghoulish face wafted among the vapors around him. He considered experimenting with a fiery punch to the royal apparition's laughter-filled mouth, but the lack of refinement that such an endeavor would suggest bade him push the notion aside. In front of his team, the gates flew open, and with a noise like a monster inhaling an irresistible force yanked the heroes forward, causing Slayer's face to turn from curiosity to annoyance. Not content to pull the would-be intruders onto the grounds, the vacuum persisted in dragging them across the lawn and then inside, giving each one without high defense a severe roughing-up. After tumbling a few feet when the wind subsided, Slayer wound up in a casual position laying on his side, propped up on his elbow. Around him, candles sparked to life in eerie manner, illuminating an interior gloomy and ominous as it was deceptively big. ”I've had a sudden feeling that today won't be so enjoyable, after all.”

He picked himself up and dusted himself off, noting with a sour look the new scuff marks all over his fine clothing. For a few seconds he conducted a physical examination on himself, both to make sure that he'd suffered no injury and to stretch out for the exercise to come.

On the basest level, this castle did not live up to the dimensions its exterior implied, which suggested some form of active distortion. If it were consistent, and the place was merely larger, then the task would be marginally more difficult, but Slayer worried that this place's interior might be mutable according to its deathly denizens' whims. He'd have to assume the former, or no plans he made would be of any use at all. So long as the main doorway stood nearby for reference, even this plethora of doors and hallways didn't seem too unmanageable, but Slayer ruminated that once any interloper took a few turns and things started all looking the same, becoming lost in this physics-defying space would become a serious issue. And who knew what could happen to someone who spent too much time in this place? Traps, monsters, and boredom could very well be the least of a hero's concerns. ”Blasted spirits. There's an etiquette for how to treat guests, very simple. We'll have to treat you in kind.” Turning to address his group, he held up a hand as he spoke his mind. ”So, we've got a potential labyrinth on our hands. In this sort of situation I've seen a fair few people split up, and seldom has it ever ended well for them. At the very least, if we do decide to try and cover more ground ought to have teams of two. It'd be wise to making markings or leave a trail to show where we've been and find our way back; if we get lost, I expect these ghosts'll have a field day with us. For now though, we might as well stay together to see about that big room up ahead. If you have any ideas or strategies, tell me as we walk.” Placing his hands in his pockets, he set off down the main hall toward the sizable, boo-infested room.
Hey I'm sorry, I'm going to have to drop out of this. I've just been incredibly tired lately because of college and stuff, meanwhile this just isn't as fun for me as it used to be. Sorry for wasting so much time, I wish everyone the best of luck though.


To be honest, I had concluded that was the case some time ago. Hope you find greener pastures elsewhere.
The Lady in White

Location: Kno One
@Lazo


An abrupt clatter resounded throughout the kitchen as Pithy's levitated pots shoved against the pulled-up tile floor, causing the anomalous surface to bend downward like the curled-up edge of a scroll. With only the barest resistance it was smoothed back toward its original shape, not even threatening to spring back into place should the pots be removed as curled paper would. With the entire section of floor cleared out of the way, the sorceress's route to the door leading out of the kitchen lay free for traversal. A noise of ponderment permeated the restaurant as the pots were laid down on the corners of the restored tile. “Hmm! So since I changed it, it lost its status as part of the structural integrity. There are limits to what it can manipulate, after all.”

Anticipating his test subject to head to the door to Nero without delay, the speaker continued. “That's one of my last questions answered. I suppose all that's left is a proper send-off: a brute-force test for both you and me. Let's see now...”

A deafening series of cracks sounded out as frozen bits of kitchenware broke free from the clutches of ice to float into the air. Alongside them, the various implements that formed the boundary walls on either side of the spot where the floor had become a barrier broke formation. Every available object began to orbit Pithy as part of a tumultuous cyclone of metal, pasta, and ice. One second passed amid the constant clamor of objects smacking into one another, then two, then three. After the third moment the entire assortment of cookery rerouted to make a beeline for the center—Pithy herself. A crushing omnidirectional wall assailed her, its force not quite overwhelming, but certainly significant. More worrisome, perhaps, was the makeshift cocoon's resistance to being pushed away. Though individual objects would react to outward force accordingly, they slammed back toward the center like bolts pulled off from a magnet and then released, seemingly singleminded in their collective instinct to squeeze Pithy's life from her body.

Inari

Location: What Lies Beneath – Toward the Underground City
@Kapuchu


Questions swirled in Emile's mind, though none that Lily could answer. First and foremost was the ultimate: would this arrangement hold sway in this interrim world as it did in hers? Given that everything about his own guild worked the same as it did before despite no longer existing in a game world-made-real, he couldn't afford to assume it didn't. Could he swear this oath, and risk losing his power--the power he'd spent so long achieving in Yggdrasil, then truly earning in the new world? He Made as if to speak, stretching out a hand in assurance, but his voice caught in his throat and his fingers curled up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn't trust this Lily. He'd never planned on trusting her, feeling sure that if at any time his goal was in any jeopardy he could simply power his way through. The decision to strike a deal had been borne out of his latent goodwill, and the lack of enjoyment he got from malicious acts, but his goals were the same as ever. They were the ideals of an overlord, the role he'd chosen for himself and grown to fit into: to maintain hold of the power he'd miraculously possessed to protect the fantasy he cared more deeply about than the reality he left behind, to protect the beings who gave him the respect and adoration few ever had in the real world. Without that power, he feared he could not have that life. Maybe the guild NPCs he'd become the master of would maintain their loyalty if he lost his power, including the Sigil of Sovereignty...but maybe they would not. They might turn on him. Even if they did not, he wouldn't be anything like what he once was. Emile knew he could never go back to being a mere man, especially in a fantasy world of magic and monsters.

After a painfully long time, Emile turned up his head, his eyes bright and narrow. "My path is clear. Everything I do is for the sake of my guild—my friends, my family. I won't risk sacrificing a single thing. Your suggestion of this oath implies you don't trust me. Yet, you'll have to trust me if you want my help. As a gesture of good faith, however, I'll tell you my wish. I desire one ability, which I call Dev Mode. It'd be a limited form of reality manipulation, albeit strong enough to protect all I care about and do certain things like reunite me with my old friends. I'm sure it sounds a bit villainous to want the power comparable to a minor god's, but I'm good for it, really.”

The Cereal Killer and the Book Keeper

Location: Flooded Historical District
@Propro@BCTheEntity


Thick as pea soup, the tension between the three contenders standing at the water's edge did not go unnoticed. A few dozen dark eyes bore witness to the death -no, obliteration- of Aralynn Thule, and though the one who watched through them could not bring himself to utter a word, he could find it in himself to make a promise. Erina, to whom he was hardly introduced, need not hear of it. Despite his status as both an honorable foe and the temporary host for Boys of Summer, Runch would not catch wind of his resolution, either. Not even his sister's callous murderer deserved to know. A job was one thing, and a conviction something else, but family something altogether different. He hadn't been oblivious to the risk in this endeavor; he and his sister both knew it. Yet, that did not mean that Motley Crue would escape paying the price for his brutality. Davian would not forget his vow.

Equally responsive was Runch's phylactery, as well as Crue's own, neither of which exhibited any semblance of intelligent response to what either said, including suggesting that Oren was listening in. In Crue's case the dead stiffness of his own heart device implied instead that it was out of order for good.

A few moments passed before it became apparent that to Runch's misfortune, his sincere words fell on no ears but his own, Erina's, and the vampire's. The only indication of any kind given to him came in the form of the drone assigned to him, however nearby with an eye devoid of light. As he moved, it reoriented itself around him to always be facing a certain direction: that which would take him to his next opponent. No other road lay before him on the journey to the pirate's perfect ship, and the sorrow nipping at his heels urged him on his way. However, Crue's final words to the pair did linger after his departure, much like something else that could very well remain close nearby, albeit out of sight to everyday eyes.

The Murder

Location: Near the Village
@Propro


After spending a few moments studying the map in front of him, Samuel's target moved on, rounding the corner to cross the bridge and enter the Village. At the same time, however, something happened with the graffiti beast. For a few seconds the strange shifting appearance around it could be attributed to a change of the light or a momentary blur of the eye, but after that it could scarcely be denied that the street art was moving. Moving as if being repainted frame by frame, it inched along the firehouse wall, its stance growing lower as it did. The next time Samuel blinked, it disappeared, only to be spotted again on a wall a little further down the street. It continued to relocate, bit by bit, until it slipped around a corner and out of sight.

Pursuit of the graffiti beast back into the run-down district would take Samuel on a winding path. Though his supernatural senses made tracking a non-issue, even tracking a nonliving target, the eerie two-dimensional entity never seemed to be making an effort to escape him. It led him through sidestreets and alleyways, some of them bristling with dark shapes in the shadows, but as if warded off by some protective incense they curled away from him at every turn. Not even two minutes into the 'chase' the beast ceased its movement on the side of a run-down shop in a street mall—a roadway converted into sidewalk for pedestrian use alone, its sides lined with storefronts of all kinds. Running down the street mall's center, an assortment of public works like statues and fountains could be seen, but no people...save one.

An old-fashioned merchant's cart stood just in front of a flowerbed, and behind it stood a fat, ugly man. With bristling whiskers, surprisingly well-kept hair, upturned nose, and a larger-than-average mouth, he might have easily been some hooligan from a Saturday-morning cartoon if not for his expensive, gaudy manner of dress. Being a magician, Samuel could recognize the garb of a showman, even one dressed this classily. This fellow seemed absorbed in his wares until Samuel approached, at which he clasped his hands together and gave a nod of welcome. “Good evening, sir!” the man greeted in an amicable though guttural voice. “See anything you like, let me know. I'll get you what you need!”

He waved a hand over his inventory. Beneath the glass in his cart was a variety of items. There appeared to be a notebook, well worn, alongside a crystal ball, a few varieties of lamp, an ornate box, the severed hand of some ape resting upon a cushion, a green mask made of a wood, a statuette of a bird of prey, a hand mirror, and a collection of coins.
Rionach




No matter whose face Rionach looked at in the glow of the campfire, all she saw was bored, uncaring, annoyed, bored, bored. Some hadn't even turned their faces up when she'd split off from the path threading the center of the pass and made her way over into their midst, which perturbed her given the care she gave every day to her appearance. Some nights, she reasoned, even the brightest stars in the sky went unnoticed by people who thought they had better things to do, though even that reasoning's implication bothered her since it suggested that nothing was literally better than paying her attention. After planting her spear's shaft in the ground and beginning a casual lean upon it -for the one who stood tallest would invariably catch the eye, sooner or later- she learned pretty quickly that the group of misfits was uncommunicative as well as unwelcoming. That said, one of their number, a sorcerer judging by his clothing, did begin to fiddle with some herbs and a teapot. She split her gaze between his eccentric expression and the brilliant flames, until a couple of stocky, hairy men strode into the silent gathering to break the ice with a powerful belly-laugh.

Though a bit startled for a split second, Rionach didn't wait long to crack a smile. The dwarf cut right to the bone: this was one awkward encounter. Still, she felt confident and at east, and the others were sure to notice. The notion of making an introduction appealed to her as a marvelous idea, but she caught herself before launching into one—better to wait until a few others had gone, so as to set up a contrast and avoid looking too eager. First to speak was the wizard, his words short and to the point. He made an offering of tea to everyone, and Rionach's wheels began to turn. Strange sort of guy, but good manners. Par for the course for a court mage of some kind. If he's got ties with nobility or some kind of academy, he's definitely worth getting to know! Since everyone's been super stark so far, accepting his tea will show I'm accepting of him, even if I don't drink it, which is probably for the best. Tilting her head slightly in acknowledgment, Rionach gave Djeld a little wave. With a nod of gratitude she received from him a cup, and she knelt beside her upright spear with it held in both hands.

Next to speak up was a mercenary. The words he picked made his profession plain, though that sincerity struck Rionach as just a bit unusual. Though in most cases the truth was easy to see, few mercenaries so barefacedly admitted that they fought for money instead of any principle. Upon closer look, Rionach noticed that his clothes appeared to be of remarkable quality for some footsoldier. Expensive garb. Upright bearing. Either he's an incredible talent, he's from a rich background, or both. Is he trying to convince us otherwise? More than meets the eye. Her attention turned to a third talker, who let slip scarcely more than his name. Try as she might, Rionach couldn't discern much of anything about him, and her focus gradually slipped to the warmth between her fingers. It was a female voice that roused her from her distraction, one belonging to a young woman who made no effort to disguise her high-class attire. In fact, casual dialogue thrown out in the course of her greeting suggested that she held some kind of military authority. For a moment the realization took Rionach aback. Had she wandered into some private meeting? What was a commander doing here, trading pleasantries with seemingly random strangers, instead of in some tent or at some meeting table? Rank and order, I guess?

Following her was the somewhat snappy introduction of a female archer, who revealed with a little attitude that she held the same profession as the Jerod fellow. From Rionach's perspective the two were as different as night and day, but she could not apply any more scrutiny right now. She felt it was time to make her debut. Rising up off her knees, she let go of the tea cup with one hand and put it on her waist, looking around from face to face for the second time. “Hello, everyone! I can see we're a pretty laid-back bunch, so I'll make it short. My name is Rionach, and I hail from the city of Gadanka in Valentia. I'll forgive you if you haven't heard of me, but I'm kind of a big deal. Local heroine, jack-of-all-trades, and super modest, too!” She gave a short, bright laugh at her own joke. “Seriously, though: it's great to meet so many interesting people. I hope I can compare!” With that, she leaned back against her spear -which curved slightly beneath her weight- and pretended to take a drink of the tea.
With no small amount of pride the Margrave watched his rubber bullets bounce off a number of the criminal scumbags, diverting their focus and thwarting their machinations with painful stings. In mere moments the Community dogs' formation broke apart, perhaps in some small part because of the rampaging dinosaur, and they appeared to be in full retreat. Pulling his free arm around behind his head with his elbow pointing straight up, he leaned back as he blew nonexistent smoke from the barrel of his MAC-10. “Hmmhmm!” he sneered, ”You scatter like leaves. Looks like my darkness was darker than yours!” After his count reached five, he unposed himself and took another look around. Considering the significant threat posed by metas with unknown powers, this situation could scarcely have gone better. ”This situation could scarcely have gone better,” he remarked aloud, poignant and thoughtful. The very next instant, a new voice resounded through the warehouse—female, and oozing with malice. After her initial greeting, he pressed himself against cover while he scratched his head. He could have sworn that he'd heard that voice before, but he could not for the life of him place the source. No matter; if he couldn't remember, it couldn't have mattered.

What did matter was what Troll said next. Maniacal, she spoke of an unknown Father, the prospect of soul-destroying suffering, and -most vilely- families of rats somewhere in the warehouse. Yech. Hate those things. Despite his unflappably cool demeanor, he did in fact jump a little as the doors to the building closed themselves in an abrupt and startling manner, which annoyed him. Hmph. Naturally, the Margrave's body is so trained for survival that it moves of its own accord when confronted with any thread. Steeling himself for some kind of emerging threat, the Margrave awaited what this unknown enemy had in store. In short order she revealed that it wasn't she who would be going on the offensive, but someone else.

The slam of another door drew the Margrave's attention, and he zeroed in on the source. Out onto an elevated catwalk strode an indescribable figure in black, who began to speak without delay. He addressed the Wards in particular, his manner akin to a storied rival's, which struck the Margrave as hilarious as it was inappropriate since now was the first time he could ever remember encountering this villain. Most peculiarly, he picked out Elliot by name, which might have been perturbing had someone by the name of Elliot been present and alive. Unfortunately for this masked menace, there was only the Margrave, and following the word 'edgy' the Margrave's own manner turned critical.

Clones appeared to the tune of wild laughter, and the stranger began his assault. Emerging from his hiding spot into the open, the Margrave extended his whole arm to drive his index finger like a lance toward the vagabond's heart. A contemptuous smile on his face, he opened his mouth wide to heap disdain upon his unworthy foe.

Unfortunately, his words were utterly quashed by those of Chatterbox.

Tapping his foot, the Margrave waited patiently for the irritating man to cease his thundering. A couple clones charge his position, but an almost-indifferent spray of rubber bullets from the Margrave's firearm told them that this land belonged to him. All the while, he kept his arm out, the finger temporarily held in the upright 'wait' position. When at last Chatterbox fell silent, the floor became the Margrave's once more.

With renewed passion he thrust his pointer at 'Overrun'. ”Whoever the hell you are, you reek of a desperate and pathetic need for attention! You think you look threatening, but I'm more worried about what Hot Topic is gonna do now that some tryhard's bought up all their stock!” At about the same time as that sentence concluded, Tulpa's monstrous projection gave a bloodcurdling roar. Shaking his head, the Margrave raised his voice a couple more notches and bellowed on. ”Normally a great hero such as I wouldn't bother giving such a lowlife the time of day, but seeing as you came all this way, I'll dole you out a fresh serving of justice before you scurry back to your mommy's basement!” The clones were getting closer, and way more numerous, so he wasted no time reaching into his coat to pull out a small metal object. Flicking it up and catching it like a coin, he reeled back like a pitcher preparing to throw a fastball. Decoy's approval of lethal means came about then, which coaxed from the Margrave a wry smile. ”I'm three steps ahead of you, Decoy,” he muttered before raising his voice again. ”Choke on this, wannabe! Rush Hour!”

Every ounce of the Margrave's strength hurled the tiny object at the swarm of approaching clones. For a split second it was no more than a blur. Then it returned to full size, becoming a scrapyard junk car flying into the clone brigade at sixty miles per hour.
Azura
Level 1
Day 3
Location: The Land of Skyrim
Experience: |||||||||| (0/10)
Word Count: 698


Ounce by ounce, the jabbing pain in Azura's innermost parts dissolved, and with guarded optimism she surveyed the results of her endeavor. One of her allies, the strange young man who identified himself as Vent, followed up her serenade with a second plea for nonviolence. Piper, too, did her best to assure the warriors that they meant no harm. Clearly they, too, felt the soothing touch of her song. Opposite her party the locals' advance had slowed to a crawl, their hostility numbed. When Azura glanced at the last two member of her team, however, their posture gave her cause to worry. The soldier, strange weapon in hand, appeared more than militant—he seemed apt to attack at any moment, already rid of whatever peace the princess' enchanted aria brought him. Were he malevolent, he'd be sweating bullets right now at the very least, she reasoned, eyes narrowed. The only possibility is that war is baked into him, that mindlessly following commands is so second-nature that he can't deviate from his course. Would the biggest threat to a working relationship between these two supposedly allied groups come from one of her own?

Azura's voice, low and urgent, flew to him through the frigid air. ”What are you, an attack dog? These are allies, so lower your weapon.” Coolly she considered that her words -her orders- challenged the authority of the Boss as well as the ego of this hardened soldier. Did Ruben chew on what he was fed, or could he decide for himself what was best, including matters of leadership? Surely he recognized the Boss's blatant incompetence. Either way, Azura needed to find out. She watched out of the corners of her yellow eyes as more Nords approached, including an important-looking fellow. Despite the potential powder kegs in her midst, things looked as though they would sort out alright.

Boom.

Her eyes flew open as the Boss commented on her performance, realizing what he meant just as he gave his command. She whirled around, sending her hair flying. ”No!”

A beam of light appeared in her vision, and without thinking she leaped to the left. With a dancer's grace she landed on her feet, whirling once again to watch the energy ray burn a hole straight through a snowdrift. [color]“Thoron!?”[/color] The attack didn't seem to be Thunder magic, but there was no time to quibble over what sorcery it was. More beams surged forward, flying forth from a group of barbarians wielding catalysts that contrasted their fur pelts something fierce. With no cover near enough to escape the onslaught, Azura threw herself down into the snow next to her lance. There, her white coat allowed her to practically disappear. She lay there, adrenaline making her breath rapid, thinking. She could wait here, hidden by the snow, until enemies got close enough for an ambush, but considering her limited field of view and lack of any sort of expertise as an assassin she doubted it would be her best bet. Instead, she settled on a better plan. Almost everyone around her, after all, had been lulled into a nonhostile mood by her previous song. To avoid a slow start and being overwhelmed by the Forsworn marauders, they needed a pick me up. Azura rolled onto her back, clutching her lance to hold to her chest as she did. Though not at all ideal for a rousing performance, this situation could be improved by a quick verse. Once again, her melodic voice broke the morning air.

”Heroes bringing us hope's light!
Journey from distant worlds
To still the coming night!”


The stanza, sung more quickly and with more energy than before, wiped away the soothing haze that her previous song had wrought. It would, she expected, galvanize her allies into action, perhaps even give them enough of a burst of energy to dodge incoming shots, and allow them to make a dent in the Forsworn attack. Once their magic was suppressed, she could get up and join the fight, but while those beams continued to flash across the landscape she couldn't risk revealing herself. Holding back a groan, she tried to bury the painful stings that prickled her in silence.
You said it! There's no guarantee it'll stay up and working, but things are looking up. I'll start working on bits of a new post.
Alright now that we have the site back for a period of time should I end this rp due to lack of players, or keep it going? I'm asking because people were posting rather slowly.


Because we don't have very much free reign deciding the result of our actions, our environments, or what's in them, we don't have a lot to work with for posting and can basically only react to what you do. Mana did get attacked by another blast of petals, but nothing happened that concerned Ludmilla, so my options for instance are limited. I could have her put up another field to try and stop the petal attack, but you've already shown that it doesn't work, so why would she reasonably do that? I'm essentially waiting for a cue, and I imagine it's the same for the others to a great or lesser extent. Because this is what we're faced with, motivation to post is also down. That's my guess why posting has been slow.
For your consideration:

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