Avatar of Lugubrious

Status

Recent Statuses

17 hrs ago
Current Now running: World of Light - Winterland Daybreak, the Sky Unfettered
1 like
2 mos ago
Now running: World of Light: The Tale of the Dark Itself
5 mos ago
Forever and ever, amen
9 mos ago
Calling out from Scatman's world
1 like
11 mos ago
Called into action - by threats that seem harmonized

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

Hey there. I've been watching with some interest, liking what I've been seeing, and may be applying in the near future.

I do have a question. My primary idea involves a character that was very old in the old world but upon reincarnation is somewhat younger, say, 40. I take it that doesn't count as one of the extremes you're prohibiting?


From their hidden position, the scouts of Darkmoon Cathedral peered intently at the decorated carriage as its trek came to a halt. For her part Helena made sure not to watch too intently, for even in this important moment she remembered from experience that some people tended to 'feel' the eyes of dire onlookers upon them, and even the slightest chance of giving away her position could not be tolerated. The vehicle, once stopped, divulged a somewhat pretty woman with inhuman features in what appeared to be semi-ceremonial garb. Curious, Helena observed as she approached the woebegone village with an aura of serenity, drawing people to her like moths to a flame. Before she could take action, her paladin escort confronted her about something, and despite the relatively short distance and the party's generally keen senses they could not discern any hint as to the sudden conversation's contents save the momentary outrage on the woman's face.

A few seconds later the warriors seemed to relent, and with a warming smile once more the woman began her task. One after another villagers went to her, and health radiated from her palms to wash away all their ills. Healing Touch? Helena ventured to guess. As a Cantor, Tatter most likely used it at some point, but such a paltry restorative magic paled in comparison to Recover, which could heal a huge burst to even a Supreme Lord, or Treat, which provided a constant stream of health at range.

The process of healing continued, and Helena pulled herself down from the ravine wall where she'd hoisted herself to get a clear view. Hypotheses swam through her mind but, wondering if her subordinates could provide, she whispered to the other four, “What do you surmise?”

Odile spoke first, perhaps trampling Gretchen, who seemed ready with an answer as well. “Some sort of priestess, with her paladins. They look pretty weak to me. Since she came from the south, there could be an established church of some sort down there, or maybe another village and she's making the rounds with her escort.”

Without a moment's delay the witch Gretchen continued. “None of the envoy are human. The paladins are elves and the priestess a beastkin, most likely kitsune, if the species also exists here. May have something to do with that squabble between them. Humans and demihumans are often at odds. The envoy could be trying to curry favor with the human populace by ministering like this.” She tapped a wizened finger against her mask's chin. “Or perhaps demihumans are the ones in power here, and they're trying to make peace.”

A snort resounded from Tungus. “Hmph. Could just be that they're good people. We shouldn't over-analyze.”

Helena shrugged. “True, but not useful.” She hoisted herself up again to see if the situation changed. If this woman did represent some sort of religious establishment with region-wide influence, she could be a tremendous source of information. Out of her group, only Helena herself looked human -if a bit sickly- so she could head over and inquire. However, that meant thinking up a story and potentially dealing with bothersome questions, and more definitively, it would mean risking disobedience to Volaris' imperative. As tempting as squeezing the priestess would be, she could not risk it.

“If nothing happens, we'll head south,” she declared. “See if the caravan's last destination is near enough to scope out.”

Something happened.

In the distance there came a rumble, rather like a thunderclap. Helena whirled around to look at the forest and saw a trace of orange light over the trees. An instant later a wave hit her, raising the air temperature by a couple degrees. Her allies felt it too. “Commander, I'm sensing a tremendous magical discharge,” Gretchen reported, her whisper low and urgent. “To give off a wave like that from so far away we can't even see it...the power must be immense.”

Helena's muscles tensed, and her mind raced. An explosion at the Cathedral...? Impossible! That could mean only one thing. “One of the fools has gone and attacked something,” she muttered, her voice sharp enough to make her underlings flinch. “No change of plans. We have our mission.” Hopefully, the ambient disturbance wouldn't disrupt things here.



An immediate dilemma—how could one survey the guardians when most of them had left the Cathedral and dispersed who-knows-where? Tatter floated back and forth over the hallway's carpet while Es, still plagued by the shock of her demonic ascension, sat against the wall nearby hugging her newly-purple legs. Even here, halfway up the lofty Thaumaturgium, the drop on the other side of the wooden railing made Es even more sick to her stomach. At first Tatter scorned her for it, but looking back, it made sense in a medieval world where few buildings ever soared above three floors. How grand the Cathedral of the Moon must seem!

After a few minutes of ghostly pacing Tatter decided where to proceed. Hooking a few strands around Es, who gave a small squeak of protest given what happened last time, the ubergeist grabbed her and flew back into the open air, up to the Thaumaturgium's top, and through the door leading farther upward still. One corridor stairway later, the pair reached a room of countless candles and melted wax, where on the floor a teleportation ring drawn in the hardened milky substance took them to the Fallen Kingdom.

Having never seen it before, Es could only stare wide-eyed at what appeared to be an immense expanse of sunny fields. In one direction stood a structure of incredible grandiosity, and in the other lay a small hut. Tatter made a beeline for it, and after pushing open the door revealed another teleportation ring to take her and her demonic captive upward.

The pair appeared in the entrance of an utterly gargantuan arena, the warp spitting them through the darkness of its main gate. “Well, we're here,” Tatter remarked to Es, who looked more overwhelmed than any being the Soul Twister could remember. “Perfectly place for testing magic. I hope you'll continue to write down our results.”

Still dizzy from the trip, Es found it in herself to nod. “Uh...uh huh...”

Tatter released the former elf and surged toward the battleground. As the reached the edge of the seating area, she spotted a familiar figure out on the sand, sitting at a table of roots and vines. “Jack!” she cried as she threw herself over the railing and floated down toward him. The pumpkin gentleman stood up from his table as the lady approached and gave her a bow.

“Hello again, my dear!” he greeted her warmly. “Care to join us?” He motioned his hand at the table, and Tatter noticed that a few of her ally's pumpkin monsters were standing around it, all decked out with stylish hats and bow ties, and bearing cups of tea in their tendrils.

“PFFFFFAHAHAHAHA!” Tatter wailed in laughter. A moment later she composed herself, wiping a pretend tear from her eye. “That's hilarious. And so you. How have you never done anything like this before?”

Jack gave a polite smile. “I'm glad I could entertain, though I'm afraid I personally fail to grasp what's so amusing about my garden party.”

“Right.” After glancing back to watch Es making her way down the stairs into the arena, Tatter asked him, “Why'd you come here?”

Seating himself, Jack replied, “After setting up a perimeter with the esteemed Rule34, I endeavored to seek Lord Volaris out for new instructions, yet neither I nor my entourage can seem to find him anywhere. As such I decided I would patrol the entire Cathedral in the other guardians' absence and make sure my sentries are in place. I invited Rule34 along, though he got left behind somewhere. Still, he may arrive at any time.”

Tatter nodded. She drifted over the table, flipping about, and lay herself upon it. Jack looked annoyed, to which the geist yawned in reply. “...Yeah, Volaris went somewhere. He's having me and that creep Lexicon test people's magic. He might be coming too.” Es appeared in her peripheral vision, inviting a cautious look from Jack. “Oh, that's Es. Prisoner from before the guild moved. Tested the old Beast Within on her. Don't know if she's useful yet, but since I used the guild's resources I guess I gotta make sure they don't go to waste.”

A quiet laugh in disbelief could be heard from Es. “W-what a candid explanation...”

Turning her attention back on Jack, Tatter stared into his eyes from her upside-down position. “So, wanna help? Actually it's not optional, so I don't know why I asked. If Rule comes he should help too. Your spawning abilities'll be super helpful.”

Jack put down his cup of tea and sighed.
The Lady in White

Location: Downtown
@Lazo


Evaporated like mist by the sunlight, perhaps, no eerie specters patrolled outside the building where Pithy, Dew, and the basilisk hunkered down for the night, but nevertheless something in its proximity had changed. In the middle of the street, an old-fashioned vendor’s wooden cart lay abandoned, its display cases and cushions all but empty. Only one bore any trace of what the mobile shop’s owner might have been selling: smack dab in the middle of the main shelf, without any sort of container or protection, stood a golden arrow pinning a piece of parchment to the pine.

That note bore lettering in an ugly, scratchy style, not so much childish as that of someone who had learned the language, then gone through life without ever caring to improve. Getting what you want just got a lot harder, it read. You got strong enemies, and the College may be the least of them. Your next opponent cut a deal with a real powerful bunch and is coming for you from city center. This can even the odds for you. After having to deal with that upstart Barnaby, it’s only fair you enjoy the same boon. Just stab it in, won’t be fatal. Don’t have to if you don’t want, but you’ll probably be wiped out otherwise. Good luck.

- a friend


The Cereal Killer

Location: Oldtown
@Propro


An empty moment passed before the wounded man stirred with a sudden jolt. A violent cough wracked him as he heaved onto his side, sending spittle flying across his chin and cheeks. With panicked breathing, he writhed around, eyes rolling from side to side as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Garbled words issued from him, barely discernable as questions like What happened? Where am I? What time is it? Confusion and agitation held Cyril firm, and more than anything he seemed to lack awareness. Feebly he attempted to pick himself up onto his hands and knees, but his limbs failed to support the weight of his body. After a moment of trying he slumped down onto his chest, head against the ground, and his eyes swept the horizon without focusing.

Inari

Location: What Lies Beneath
@Kapuchu


The entity known as Marotte tittered. “You fl͜a̷t͞t̶er ͝your͝self͡. Únli͟k̀e ͞our̛ ͢m̸a͜st̶er ͞I ̵do ǹot̨ s̷e͞èķ y͏o̢u͝r approv̀a̷l.̸” It made its fingers into a tent and from eyeless, crescent slits stared down at Lily over them and its hooked nose.

Nothing useful could be gleaned from the grotesque living mask of the jester as Lily disappeared, though Egon’s dispassionate gaze spoke for itself, and though I.O.’s round black eyes blinked a few times in succession he did appeared nonplussed. A few questions circulated unspoken among them: did this woman intend to play around with them, perhaps as an act of defiance to her master? Why did she follow her dismissal of what she took to be Marotte showing off with her own spectacle? Only a moment had passed in the new life of this fourfold companionship, but already Lily rubbed them the wrong way. Nevertheless, with their orders to support Lily holding firm, the denizens of Deadbeat Sky put aside the matter to proceed.

Their new acquaintance’s words infiltrated their minds, reaching them all at once, but out of the trio I.O. replied first, his answer sensible and concise. “Sure. Won’t find the enemy here, after all.” One at a time the three guardians began to move. They formed a single-file line with Egon taking the lead, Marotte prancing along behind him, and I.O. lumbering in the rear. Down the staircase they strode with purposeful haste, the titanic insect in particular taking a half-dozen steps with each of his paces, despite his rather diminutive legs.

As they approached, Lily’s unsuppressed conversation with Brucie carried to them over the empty, dead air of the great cavern. Marotte tilted its head in reply to her supposition that shapeshifting cost it any degree of effort, but he only ventured a response to its proclamation. "Ah, a͜ ̀f̀ellow̶ j̕ok̀est͠e̶r̶! ̵P͟erhap̕s͘ w̢e w̶ill gét̀ a͟loǹg."̕

A moment later the group approached Lily’s location, and in organized fashion they spread out to stand abreast, with the smaller guardians on either side of I.O. A moment passed before, after a puff of his cigar, Egon addressed her, “Since ya set the meetin’ time ‘n all, ya must be ready to head out.” The smoldering cinders of his inner eyes lay on the enormous hole in the distance, through which morning sun streamed through. “We’s good to go.”
A few moments’ conversation ended with both Skinner and Anger knowledgeable about one another’s findings. With both halves of the equation put together, all that remained would be to crunch the numbers. While Leonard would be continuing his perusal of the US National, Arthur could take his pick from the selection that now awaited him. “Hmm…” he mused allowed, looking over the two categories of choices and –more importantly- the proximity between pairs of them. “Given how early it is, can’t expect our comedian to be performing just yet, eh, Hogan?”

Twisting the edge of his mustache with one hand, he drew with the index finger of his other on the map splayed over the driving wheel. “Capital Laughs…somewhat near Hillwood Museum and Gardens. And Chinese Menu Comedy is very close to the National Cherry Blossom Festival. But this Theodore Roosevelt Island is right by two of the clubs.” He glanced at his reptile companion, not because he expected the crocodile to have a useful reply, but because an idea occurred to him. “Well, I’d like to get you some time to enjoy yourself. Roosevelt Island is as good a place as any.” Tossing the map into the passenger seat, Arthur began the laborious process of pulling the van out of its spot and departing the library premises.

Midday traffic made the trip a fair bit longer and more uncomfortable than it should have been, but not too much time passed before the not-at-all-suspicious white vehicle came to a stop at a parking lot on the water’s edge. Across a footbridge lay Roosevelt Island, and from here Arthur could look across the river at the stretch of building that housed the two somewhat obscure comedy clubs he read about earlier. He extracted himself from his seat, slammed shut the door, and strode around to the van’s backside. The back doors flew open, bathing the cooped-up creature in sunlight. “Alright, bud, let’s go. Nice area to walk around in while we look for the guy.” He waved a hand at the scenery across the bridge. “If you don’t mind, I’ll tell people you’re trained. If they ask me to prove it, I’d like you to lend a hand. Okay?”
Here's my application! I hope it proves satisfactory.


I'm interested in throwing my hat into the ring, but it looks like you might have enough applications to have a full roster anyway. Is there still a reasonable shot at getting in at this point?
Following his return to the van and a quick 'hello' to Hogan, Arthur seated himself behind the wheel and pored over the list he extracted from the library's database. He did not take long to conclude that out of every option, DC Improv appeared to be the most popular, or at least the most visited. That meant a decent chance of finding his target there—at least, compared to the chance of finding the person of interest at any of the others, for there were many choices for how little there was to go on. Trying to find a single person at any one of these places seemed no better than fumbling in the dark, or throwing a dart blindfolded. He needed to narrow down his search.

Arthur glanced through the window, back at the route he came. Should he go back in and try to find more information? A lightbulb went off in his head. He was, after all, part of a team. A moment of rummaging in his pockets produced Skinner's business card, and the mustached man set about punching the numbers into his phone.

A couple rings came through the line, then a click? “Hello?” Hogan would be able to hear from the van's from. “It's me, Arthur. I've just gotten a list of the city comedy clubs. If you've turned up any info on any gardens or anything, we can help each other out by figuring out places to go that have both clubs and gardens nearby.”
Slayer
Level 5 || Day 3 || King Boo's Castle
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (25/50)
Word count: 428


The team wasted no time in capitalizing on the dark spirit's mistake, Slayer saw. One after another they delivered ferocious attacks, with Joker's calculated strikes paving the way for an unrelenting torrent of deafening gunfire from the Heavy and a roiling wave of darkness from Six as the finisher. To the dandy's satisfaction the fierce deluge seemed to send King Boo reeling, With his focus broken, his progress toward unleashing an ultimate attack fell behind, giving the squad of heroes more time to continue their assault. Slayer did not fail to notice, either, that the shadow cast by his companionship's smallest member left visible damage on the enemy's spectral form. Fascinating. An inkling of a plan began to take root in his keen mind.

Though his hands still stung from his earlier, rather reckless attack, the gentleman could not afford to hesitate. ”A great start!” he called. ”Don't let up the pressure.” Seeking to spare his fists from further injury, he performed a Dandy Step backward before rushing in. Violet flames sprung to life around his foot as it shot upward, carrying him a couple feet off the ground in a blazing flip kick. Midair the vampire twisted his body to alter his momentum, bringing his other leg across in a horizontal strike to complete the slow but devastating Crosswise Heel.

He landed a moment later, and moved back out of the way so that his allies could follow up. Even this early in the fight, his power of observation had made known to him a certain pattern—that of the heroes' attack. In this regard, Slayer played the point man to draw attention and daze the foe with an opener, Joker served to deal a critical blow and leave it vulnerable, Heavy battered it silly, and Six ended it with a decisive strike. All this occurred without any communication beforehand; the four just seemed to instinctively understand one another and fall into place. That, Slayer knew, was the sign of a winning combination.

With the pattern in mind he hurried over to Six. Years of first-hand experience with his world's most poignant happenings had brought him into contact -and occasionally combat- with all sorts of fighters. Voice low and urgent, he said, ”It's plain to see that your power is the most effective. You may very well be able to finish the fight in one fell swoop, given the right chance. Continue building your power, and when the ghost is most vulnerable, we'll go together. I'll get you close enough to unleash point-blank into its mouth. Sound good?”
What Lies Beneath

@Kapuchu


At the apex of Deadbeat Sky’s extendable staircase, before the door flanked on either side by armored angels, a familiar figure reclined in what was unmistakably a fold-out chair.

While made of period materials, chiefly wood and leather, its construction spoke of a hint from the far-flung future, at least as far as the more medieval-themed Armada was concerned. If the furniture’s style suggested any sort of incongruity, however, its occupant seemed unaware. Clad in leather, bandages, a poncho, and his signature wide-brimmed hat, Mr. Solomon Screed embodied everything stylish –or, perhaps, quaint- about the Wild West. This, of course, made for yet another anachronism, not that the mummified gunman seemed to care.

When Lily, Brucie, and their doggy companion approached, he rose from his comfortable portable to give his master’s guests a bow. “G’mornin’,” he greeted, his voice rather less raspy than how the others might remember. A half-full mug of black liquid situated beneath his chair provided the reason why. “Ah hope, even in this here dismal cavern, yew lot slept well through the night.” Straightening up, he moved to the side, dragging the chair out of the way as he did. “I.O. and Egon are en route. As for Marotte…”

The mummy’s cracked lips broke into a smile, then began to change. Screed’s entire body shifted, not with a flash of magic or puff of smoke, but in a rather horrifically organic matter. Bandages unwrapped themselves, becoming tendrils that then receded; his hat shrunk and thickened, sliding down over his face as its top gathered together into an uncanny mockery of human features. Bright colors appeared as seams split apart to reveal eyes, and in another second a gaudy jester of flesh stood before Lily.

After the speedy transformation finished, the creature took yet another bow, though one more reminiscent of a performer than a servant. ” I̸ ̷am̀ here, M̡ada͠m̶e̸, to̶ ͏fight ͘at y̕o͟ur̨ ͘sid́e.”

A moment later, the ground began to shake. From the rightmost of the five paths leading out from the main door, a colossal, bipedal stag beetle approached, his shell a brilliant metallic green that sent motes of light rippling off the walls. A gray beard stretched down from the bottom of his greathorned helmet, overlooked by round, friendly black eyes. Around him a thick eddy of smoke swirled, and as the titan came near the fumes resolved them into the shape of a diminutive, besuited specter.
The brawny bug spoke first. “Hello, Ms. Lily,” he rumbled. “I am Immovable Object, but please call me I.O. I look forward to lending you my strength.”

“Ya know who I am.” Egon took a deep breath through his cigar, then puffed out a plume of smoke that molded itself into accusatory finger at Marotte. “But you oughta know betta than to pull off some kinda stunt like that wit’ some ‘n who don’t trust us yet.” His smoldering, fiery eyes regarded Lily’s trio. “So what’ll it be, chief?” The other two joined the ash specter in gazing expectantly at Lily, ready to proceed at her command.

Oldtown

@ProPro


Beneath a nigh-cloudless sky, tousled by a cool breeze, stroked by the morning sun’s gentle rays, Oldtown was at peace. One could almost forget the lethal, ongoing trial-by-combat and the ominous mystique that permeated it, but like a stormy horizon it lay in the distance, threatening to surge in and wash the City away.

Though brimming with optimistic hope, Runch’s inquiry went unanswered by the limp knight. Still, his heart beat on, pumping blood throughout the body restored by the pirate’s supernatural cereal. Even the impression left in the side of his head behind the temple appeared to be mended, and the ripped flesh on his ear scabbed over. When Runch checked his former opponent’s eyes, he found no glaze in their murky brown depths, yet still something about them troubled him. When had he opened the Knight Sylvestre’s eyes?

A few moments passed before those inexplicably open peepers fell closed, then opened again with conscious slowness.
© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet