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4 yrs ago
Current kik: catsuka


Homeless, so... Probably not going to be on point when it comes to responding.

BUT - if you're a patient 1v1er, HMU and we can see if we can work something out.

Arena Stats

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1000 points

Most Recent Posts

@Hjalti If the Dreamlands were terrestrially based - how does that explain the gugs and other monstrous creatures that reside in the Dreamspace? I know they probably don't dream (and thus cannot enter nor exit the Dreamlands), but they are not of this earth.

That is an interesting interpretation, but I'm afraid it holds no water in terms of Lovecraftian canon - as the scope of the Dreamlands is very wide. With that said, this is your show and you're free to take it wherever you want.
"Right. I can't say no to you.", the Duchess sighed, "Though... In all honesty - the answer to your question is yes. If I had my way, I'd only wear the practical."

She finished toweling herself off, and allowed Tenna to dress her as she used to.

"Right," Mutan states, as she tests the limits of the fabric through a series of stretches and flexing, "I guess this will have to do."

She tightened the laces of the boots, and grabbed the Hexmaster laying on the sink counter, "Once you're through with laundry, please have my crew meet me at the Range. The dress code is high casual. Have Jarret provide refreshments, and have one of the other House staff bring out some furniture."

She gently places her hand on the small of Tenna's back and states plainly, "I've missed you, you know? It's good to be back. Hopefully we won't be stuck on this rock too long."

She winks at Tenna, then turns and makes her way to the firing range.
I posted on your OOC, and while I'm interested I'm not at a point in my life where I can post regularly. With that said, however, this shows promise. Curiously, I feel like a few details are being left out. What is the time period? Does this take place IN the Dreamlands? Or in Carcosa? You've referenced both and that's a little confusing. I'm not up to snuff on Lovecraft's "protégés" so I don't know for sure how the metaphysics work out - but aren't Carcosa and the Dreamlands two separate entities? I'm pretty confident you lose everything upon entering the dreamlands (sleeping) - considering it's not a physical manifestation of YOU but of the idea of you, as it is a 'dream'. Contextually, it seems like you've placed Carcosa in the Dreamlands?
I'a, i'a, Cthulhu ftaghn.

That is not dead, which can eternal lie -
And with strange aeons, even death may die.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
When everything was ready, she stepped back with her hand held together, relaxed. She took a deep breath: "Your outfit is ready, Duchess." She announced, calmly, despite the constant apprehension that she would disapprove of her selection.

"This is... Less than practical.", Mutan states plainly, as she eyes the garments, "I haven't worn these in years, besides."

Mutan walked a ways down the hall - it's walls spacious and pristine - and found herself at her bathroom, looking at it always had.

She felt a tinge of nostalgia, and for just a brief moment considered giving up her adventuring career. To be able to stay in the safety and comfort of home. No, that's not the life for her. She's better than that. Too much to see, too much to do.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and entered, securing the door behind her.

The large bathroom could very well be mistaken for a locker room, were someone unaware and not paying attention to the number and placement of the fixtures in the white ceramic tile lining the walls, floor and ceiling. On one side, was a shower - three walls lined vertically with nozzles and one directly above. On the other, a broad toilet and an artsy safety glass sink - and a wide mirror that covered the wall above both. And in the last corner, the one opposite the door, was a large circular aboveground bathtub.

She quickly derobed and began showering - the hot water creating clouds of steam and reddening flesh, pooling under the grate beneath her feet, and down the drain.
As someone who has never played, had interest in playing, visited, nor had interest in visiting... Where'd you get the statistics for this...?
Mutan rolls her eyes, and sighs exasperatedly, "You're sending me mixed signals here. The hunt is either on, or it isn't."

She shakes her head and stands up, sliding her chair out with one foot behind her, "Right, well. I'm going to excuse myself, I've some things to attend to. In the mean time, now's a good chance for you to get to know the crew."

Mutan turns to face her crew and gives a really serious expression, almost as if to reinforce the idea that they were her crew - and regardless of how her father blustered, or how many commands her sister tries to force upon them, that they should not betray her confidence.

But this is very brief, and is followed with, "You guys can pretty much do whatever. You can hang out here with Mom and Pop if you want. If not, there are several facilities on the compound to tide you over until we head back out. Your rooms will be the two empty ones opposite mine. Morty, your room is across the hall as it has always been, but I'm sure you already knew that." she pauses momentarily to gesture to an older bald gentleman standing behind them, "That's Jerret, he'll be assigned to you to take care of you. If you need anything, he's the cat to call. And if you have any questions while I'm gone, he's the one to talk to."

She turns, pushes the chair in, and begins to head off in a direction further in the house - towards the doorway where Tenna and Jerret stand stoic and patiently.

As she passes Jarret and Tenna - she gives Jarret a knowing nod, followed by a quiet "Look after them for me." - and pulls Tenna with her down the hallway, out of earshot of the guests and such. Instructing her to grab an outfit and have it ready for her when she's through with her shower.
While her father spoke, Mutan sat idly and sipped her tea - only half-listening in that eternally stubborn teenager way. Her mind filtering the important from the less important, sifting through the metaphorical haystack for the proverbial needle.

That is until her father pretty much gave signal for havoc.

The usually calm and hash-sedated duchess's face twisted into a menacing grin. Her eyes shone with the glint of a predator. If auras existed, hers would be a flaring black mess of writhing tendrils encompassing the whole of the room.

She sets down her glass, almost methodically, and makes direct eye contact with her imposing giant of a father. Something that most (including the court and her siblings) wouldn't be able to do.

"It is not easy to reign in the hounds of war once they're let loose.", she warns, giving her father one chance to take it back. But only one.
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