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Recent Statuses

26 days ago
Current Now running: World of Light: The Tale of the Dark Itself
5 mos ago
Forever and ever, amen
8 mos ago
Calling out from Scatman's world
1 like
11 mos ago
Called into action - by threats that seem harmonized
1 yr ago
Tomorrow comes

Bio

Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.

Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.

Most Recent Posts

Name: Alistair Down
Age: 10
Gender: Male
Race: Child of humanity
Mark of the demon: Eyes that glow yellow in darkness; giant occult mark on chest
Profession: Wandering knight
Appearance: Alastair is something of an enigma. Despite the obvious hazards of living in such a fashion, he is never seen garbed in anything less than a full suit of armor. Though of rare and wondrous quality, it is nevertheless unnerving for many who view it, for it makes Alistair seem less than human. The wing-shapes on the helm, the plume of white fur, and the metal pauldron in the shape of a beast’s skull help characterize the armor as magnificent yet ominous. Neither bulky nor arranged so to be inflexible, it permits Alistair an appreciable freedom of movement. Only his eyes are visible through the helmet, and even they, with a yellow glow suggest some kind of monstrosity within the armor suit—if anything at all.
Personality: Despite his fearsome look, Alistair has a rather childlike personality. His thoughts are typically simple and one-note; he is impressed and confused more easily than most; he is prone to displays of emotion. However, he’s decently intelligent and sports a certain dry wit and enjoys joking. As one might expect given his condition, he is very awkward socially, though at heart he’s friendly and sympathetic. This does not prevent him from hurting other should he sit fit. In terms of motivation, Alistair wants to break free from the darkness surrounding his family and play the hero, living up to the heroes of the stories, if he cannot be normal. Seeing himself as a monster, he has very little self-esteem, but at least he enjoys other people being happy, and is close to selfless.
Bio: Alistair’s story begins with his noble mother, who was not only unfortunate enough to be in Veiron at the time of the catastrophe, but also unfortunate enough to be eight months pregnant with twins. When demonic powers blasted the city, the soon-to-be mother, who in a lucky turn of circumstance was already on her way out, escaped with her life but with her own mark of the demon upon her. Afterward, its effect soon became apparent. While her initial intention had been to reunite with her husband, currently serving at a distant court, she became convinced that he had abandoned her at her darkest hour and festered with resentment. After she took refuge at the keep of a lonely duke many leagues away from Veiron, she found the old man in love with her, and did not hesitate to marry him. A few months later she bore her twins, though after that day, neither the duchess nor her children were seen by any but the castle servants. Whispers told of two children that grew unnaturally fast, for whom training in the art of combat seemed second-nature, and fearful rumors began to spread. Even the duke retired from the public eye as his health declined, further inciting the murmured suspicions. To the smallfolk it appeared as though the refugee of demon-cursed Veiron had brought the darkness with her.

Nine years after the catastrophe, the twins emerged for the first time. Looking at them, one could not imagine them to be siblings of nine, for in stature they were men of twenty, though oddly thin. No further details could be discerned, for both wore the armor of the duke’s ancestors and covered themselves completely. Seeing them off was the duchess, regal in clothes of scarlet red and black, watching from the highest parapet. Without exchanging words they left on some elusive mission, headed back to the accursed city from which their mother came, for the duchess had heard tell of an artifact of subtle but enticing power hidden within the wreckage of Veiron. Though the pair of knights seemed every inch imposing and united in purpose, one steadily lagged behind the other, for all his life Alistair had been curiously spared of the strange hatred which united his sibling and mother.

This dread pilgrimage ended with the siblings standing in the middle of the great ruin, long deprived of living demons and host now to a company of looters. They scoured the burned-out corpse of a city for their treasure, but found nothing. Fueled by angry disdain and ignited by impatience, the twin of Alistair went on a murderous rampage through the crude base of the thieves. Alistair, appalled at the demonic display, chose to betray his sibling by trapping her in a black pit. There, haunted by her shrieks of rage, he left her. Trying to convince himself that what he had done was right, Alistair abandoned the task to which his mother had assigned him and left Veiron to try and live normally. He soon found, however, that the armor with which he adorned himself would not come off. Nobody he met would allow the sinister-yellow-eyed warrior to remain with them, and in sorrow Alistair resigned himself to the role of a wandering knight, unable to return to the family he had betrayed. Fearing the wrath of his mother, prohibited by a grim affection to kill his mad sister, and ignorant of his father, Alistair searched for cause to call his own.
Equipment: Rather than a magic weapon, as some might assume, Alistair carries with him a metal wand with which to channel his internal magic. This wand he gained from a court mage at the castle who died during his youth. His soul-magic takes the form of concentrated arcane energy, practically solid, which can be teased into the shapes of different weapons using the wand as part of a handle. Favorite among these ‘soul weapons’ is a warhammer. In his right hand, Alistair wields a stylized metal shield, heavy but capable of taking a lot of punishment. In addition, Alistair carries two flasks, the second being his sibling’s. Both are alchemically enchanted, transforming whatever liquid is poured into them into a sort of blue potion that sustains the drinker’s body. Typically, he pours the potion onto his helmet, and some gets through for him to drink.
Notes: Alistair is not a demon, and neither is his sister. His mother was tainted by demonic power that eventually corrupted her, some of which was transferred to both children, but far more was concentrated in the daughter, the first-born and the very picture of her mother. Both siblings suffer from gigantism, giving them the appearance of scrawny adults, and while definitely more mature than most ten-year-olds are still mostly children at heart. His sister, Meredith, shares his demonic marks, and cannot remove her armor, either. This is because they have both grown since putting it on, and the demonic magic has helped bind it to their flesh. Because of the magic interfering with their natural processes, neither require normal human nourishment.
In the end, Highball could not make herself despise Kenji for taking the head. A dream did not necessitate scruples from the background characters. Here, beneath the black maelstrom of sky, between the squalid hovels of wood and upon the yellow grass that permeated the roughly-cobbled road, she alone truly mattered. Very little did this sentiment augment her confidence, however. Though any person within eyeshot by now likely thought of her as aloof and condescending, and not unreasonably so, Highball worried inwardly that when the time came, she could not muster the skill to back her façade of cool haughtiness up. Nothing, from the viscera in the well to the appalling smell of the ruined chapel basement, led her to believe she would receive any special favors from this world. One wrong move and some slavering aberration would rend her consciousness from her body and send her spiraling, disappointed, back into the real world. This quasi-existential quandary let Kenji be forgotten as soon as he abandoned her.

Highball leaned on her cane, trying to keep her expression neutral as she thought, as if diverting energy from her limbs might empower her brain. In addition to her hesitations concerning her own ability to hunt, particularly with a rake, she knew absolutely nothing about the dreaded Paraanon Ravine itself, save of course its eastward inclination. To her chagrin, even the omnipresence entity of east eluded her without a sun to use as a point of reference. Maria’s appearance, manifesting by her side during her distraction, startled her observably, though Highball managed to contain any exclamations. Without mincing her words the mannequin proceeded to elucidate the precariousness of Highball’s position, which the behatted woman found aggravating less than helpful. Miraculously, however, Maria then proceeded to be of some use, offering directional instruments to Highball if only she come to her home. Though instantly dubious of accompanying such a strange-looking, obviously violent person to her habitat, Highball grudgingly admitted that without any aid whatsoever she would be up a creek without a paddle. It’s not pity-giving if I can’t get it myself. I’ll humor the creep and then leave her in my dust. So thinking, Highball grudgingly followed Maria through the dusky town, sticking instinctively to the shadows when the option existed but not so close to the dingy shacks that some unseen hand could slither from between two boards and inflict unimaginable hurt upon her.

In the dwelling of Maria, Highball imitated a spirit, saying and doing nothing of note. Nevertheless, she listened, almost breaking her beloved silence to chuckle when Maria accused Donny of perversion. Not two minutes later, however, Maria –after doling out a map and compass to both the rope-meister and the cane-wielder- indifferently revealed her sexual orientation. What? If you like women, aren’t you just as perverted as a man if you strip a girl naked? Suddenly, the fact of Highball’s location seemed even more unnerving. Surely this can’t be some elaborate trap? And to think I had determined to never make myself vulnerable. With haste, Highball departed the chilling premises, and after a quick look at the instrumentation provided to her charted a course for Paraanon. The inhospitable moon would witness her make something of herself, even if every other so-called hunter reached for the low-hanging fruits.

Some hours later, Highball drew close to the location, her pace growing slower and more cautious with every passing moment. Though her memory of the waking world did not serve her willingly just yet, she felt fairly sure that her muscles knew no normal weapons training. Against any sort of foe, she would have to focus all her energy on dodging, and waiting for an obvious opportunity to strike.
I'll see if I can't throw up a post tomorrow.
I'll see if I can't throw up a post tomorrow.
I really like the look of this. Consider my application a (slow) work in progress.
Where did everyone go?

*Looks around*

It suddenly went like, super quiet around here.


Waiting for something to happen. I could make my own things happen, but I'd rather than the event begins first.
Echo Marine, Tawne Adagio

@crimmy@krayzikk


The under-her-breath murmur of the purple-haired girl did not, no doubt to her chagrin, penetrate the steady hum of the festival-going crowd to reach Echo’s ears. Fully prepared to lean over and request, with as much non-irate courtesy as she could muster, the response again, Echo paused and changed focus when Umeko replied instead. The headband-clad girl’s infectious smile prompted one from Echo, who reciprocated her silent appraisal. Umeko clearly held a knowledgeable affinity for fashion, combining stylishness and functionality with an affable manner that totally contrasted her dull-eyed companion as far as Echo could tell. An affirmative nod confirmed Umeko’s guess, sending her sensational bun bouncing to boot. ”Mhm! Strongest chick around, most like.” She glanced at the quiet one, wondering why one might be recalcitrant having inserted herself into the middle of a fairground.

Her attention soon returned to Umeko, and in short order she could color herself impressed by her new acquaintance’s powers of observation. Again she nodded, still contaminated by Umeko’ amicable grin. ”Yep! Atlas born an’ raised.” The other girl’s comment on Tearlag’s nature clarified Echo’s pondering somewhat. ”Oh. No worries. There’s a sayin’ I heard: those who speak don’t know, and those who know don’t speak. In other words: fear the quiet ones. I’m sure y’all are gonna make a big splash in the tournament.” Her focus wavered a touch while Umeko delivered her next remark, but Echo thought she got the essence of it. ”You do kinda look like the modelin’ type. Guess if ya wanna start up some merch, you’re gonna have to win big at the fights. Hey, maybe I’ll get an action figure or somethin’. Wonder who’ll get somethin’ first: you or me? Hm.”

At that moment, the metal shack burst open. Out of it stalked Tawne, his glasses in his hands and a mightily pissed look on his face. Multicolored powders blanketed him head to toe, giving him the impression of an abstract art piece. Mr. Phlox, who’d been standing by the door with an almost eager demeanor, furrowed his eyebrows in what might have been mock confusion when Tawne threw him a sourly indignant look. ”You little bastard. Forget ‘challenge chamber’! That was some sort of twisted humiliation box. If I had been wearing my good clothes, I’d-a slugged you right now.” Looking closely, however, a skilled observer might detect traces of concealed mirth in his eyes. After a moment, Tawne snorted. ”You better trick lots more people, and a lot worse than you tricked me. What’s your deal, even? You hate hunters or something?” Phlox clasped his hands together and inhaled, but Tawne cut in again before he could speak. ”Wait, no, sorry. Couldn’t give a crap about your backstory. Carry on…prick.” Grumbling, the living rainbow looked around, and upon spotting Echo he made his way over.

”I wish I thought of something like that. Most academy hunters are so full of themselves, they could use being knocked down a peg by some goof like him.” He put his glasses back on, and through the powdery coating examined Umeko and Tearlag thoroughly. An incredulous look sailed Echo’s way. ”Making friends? Echo, how could you? You broke your eighteen-year-streak. ‘Scuse me, ladies.” With no further warning, Tawne whipped around. Like a top he span rapidly in place, and the powder carpeting him showered off onto the ground and, if they did not move, the girls. Echo, at least, managed to step away far enough so that only a shoe changed color. Even after, however, his hair was a ridiculous blend of blue, green, yellow, and orange—not that he could tell. ”Ah! I feel almost…normal. Anyhoo, who’s youse?”
Had she been human, Clotho would have furrowed her eyebrows in perplexed frustration. Perhaps this Faeles failed to grasp her meaning. ”Obviously.” Any reasons of his to ignore or even debate such a proposition escaped her. Torrens had his uses, of course, but she saw no reason to extend any sympathy for a being as despicable as a demon, whose primary function in battle could be accomplished by a sufficiently volatile firebomb. Pyromancers filled the world, and one as dull, cruel, and unlikeable as Torrens did not warrant any sort of special favor in her mind, particularly risking her life for him. Faeles’ next statement only furthered her ire with him. ”These brutes would slay me as soon as I stepped out, not that I’d even consider trying to reason with them. To salvage this situation, we must indeed move quickly: away from here, to let the bonfire sort things out for himself. Either he dies or the orcs do; either way, the Horde remains undetected.”

In a high place a squadron of archers amassed, presumably to rain biting steel upon Torrens, and Clotho witnessed their formation. A moment too late she realized that by not escaping when she had the chance, she doomed herself to easy detection should she so much as flutter. Ultimately, however, she knew that remaining still would end up being just as foolish as making a scene. She waited, silent and stooped, while Torrens fanned the flames. Not seriously challenged so far, he had seemingly swelled in power, emanating a searing aura and brilliant, sunlike radiance. Now, Clotho reasoned, was the time; all eyes lay on the red-hot spectacle in the settlement’s center, and none but perhaps the arch-thief’s on the dirt-colored insect. Beating her wings, she took off and flew hazardously low to the ground, zooming in between tents and panicked orcs in a risky bid for speedy departure.
IT feels a bit weird to judge a contest before a previous one is judged, but this one isn't really much of a judging-type affair, and if anyone's doing the judging, it's not me. All I have to say is who earned credits. Remember, the credits earned by a team can be distributed in whatever way among its players. If an agreement can't be made, either all of them go to whoever did the most work if not everyone contributed, or everyone gets one if everyone contributed.

Team VIVE has earned team BAST four credits.
Team DETY has earned team KESS four credits.
Team HERO has earned team STSL four credits.
Team MJSC has earned team SASG four credits.

Should we eventually get to the Vytal Festival, team JPCL will fight team CODE, team VGNB will fight team PHGM, and I will finish team JAHA for RGTS to fight.

Now, onto the bonus round. Every one of the sixteen people who are part of the four submitting teams will get to vote on which team they like the most. As stated before, the team with the most votes will get an extra four credits. Only if you're the one person on your team who put in work may you vote for yourself. The voting will be concluded on Friday night. Here you are: who will come out on top?
Yeah, my apologies. I can get a post done tonight, however, and I will do so.
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