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4 mos ago
Current Achmed the Snake
1 like
8 mos ago
It's kind of insane to me that people ever met without dating apps. It is just so inefficient.
10 mos ago
One, polyamory is notoriously difficult to administer
10 mos ago
I'm guessing it immediately failed because everyone's computer broke/work got busy/grand parents died
12 mos ago
In short: no don't use basic acrylics.


Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.

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A few quick thoughts on Dramatis Persona (and Eleanor):

I know some people are very precious about their characters. I am not those people, I not only allow but encourage you to use any of the Dramatis Persona and Eleanor in anyway you like to keep the story moving. This means you can write dialogue and make my character take actions that will facilitate moving the story along. This means if you are in conversation with me or any NPC and the conversation isn't earth shattering feel free just to write it and move on. If something is completely beyond the pale, or steps on something I am setting up, I will merely ask you to edit it to reflect that.
Character Name: Eleanor ‘Ellie’ Tregellan

Concept: Managerial Magician


Ellie started out her career as an academic studying the anthropology of ritual magic, eventually writing her thesis on Mono-myth and Magical Practice in Pacific Prehistory. How exactly she moved from this to working for the Sunday Group is unclear. What is clear is that she has been active in the Group for nearly a decade, which considering the rate of fatality and madness, is something of an achievement.

Eleanor currently serves as the team leader of the Sunday group, liaising with clients and running the day to day operations of the team.

Ellie is married to Emma Stern, a former Sunday Group member who has retired from field to teach theoretical mathematics.

Physical Description:

Ellie is a handsome, fit looking woman of middling height with the dark auburn hair and green eyes of the Celt. Her skin is pale and lightly dusted with freckles. Ellie comes across as both intense and distant, the two states flipping with disconcerting speed.


Ritual Magician – Ellie specializes in ritual magic, the kind that takes circles and chants and laying naked beneath the summer moon. With enough time and the right conditions she can accomplish remarkable things.

Mathamagical – Although Ellie began her career as an intuitive magician, Emma’s influence has had a profound impact on her practice. It used to be that you had to get twelve women in a circle to chant for hours to raise energy – nowadays you can just write a recursive loop and iterate the Mandlebrot sequence to summon the Many Angled Ones. While she is not nearly as proficient in this school of magic as Emma, it is a potent addition to her arsenal.
Dramatis Personae
Sunday Group

Dr Emma Stern – Mathimagi -Former member of the Sunday Group and current lecturer in Theoretical Mathematics at the University of Chicago. Emma is a statuesque blonde woman with a soft Austrian accent. She is frequently around the office distributing baked goods and is bubbly and friendly to all she meets.

Jocasta Glyn – Forensic Necromancer - Jocasta is a small woman who serves as the Sunday Groups forensic expert. Her hair is dyed bright green and she is chirpy and energetic the point of near mania. Her lair is in the sub-basement of the building where she can do her grisly work in private.



I'm going to leave this open for another 24 hours before I choose characters.
@Mistress Dizzy I'm sorry for the rough news. Don't worry about this at all you can always jump in later if there are vacancies. Take care!
It's @Naril !!!!
Jocasta pelted up the stairs ahead of Beren and Buri. She realized that she didn't even have a weapon, her knife having being lost sometime in the confrontation with the dragon. It was a mind boggling thought to realize that confronting a dragon wasn't even the most dangerous thing she had done today. She reached the door at the top of the stairs, a massive thing with carved lintels and began furiously scribbling sigils and wards on the floors and step with a stick of charcoal from one of her pouches. Battle magic wasn't her specialty but she knew a few spells that might be helpful.

"Time to go," Beren called as he and Buri carried the heavy stone slab up the stairs. It wasn't going to be enough to block the door vertically but laid sideways it would make a serviceable barricade. Jocasta finished the rune she was working on and was forced back into the room beyond the door as Beren and Buri laid the stone in place. She stepped forward and put both hands on it and spoke several words in a grating tongue that almost dislocated her jaw. The stone fused to the lintel and the floor, beyond the power of any number of gundarogs to pull free.

"Where did you learn that?!" Buri demanded, glaring at her from under his heavy brows. The language had been the arcane tongue of dwarves, recognizable even if not spoken commonly by those hardy folk.

"Don't worry about it," Jocasta replied evasively, continuing to inscribe runes on every surface she could fine. Buri might have continued to worry about it if the chorus of hunting calls and scrabbling claws hadn't drowned out further discussion.

The room beyond the door was large and square filled with a ruin of what once had been grave goods. It had long since been looted and a jumble of smashed ceramics and shattered funerary urns covered the floor. Jocasta crossed to a glint of metal and pulled an ancient shortsword from the wreckage. It was heavy and probably never meant to be used in combat but it was better than nothing. She ran her thumb along the edge with a shower of metal shavings as she magically sharpened the ornamental weapon.

"Here they come," Beren warned as the screaming hunting calls grew deafening.

100% queer safe. Such a character would be welcome.
Eleanor would never have admitted that she didn't particularly care for dancing. Emmaline might have been able to articulate that she preferred the more ribald dances of the streets and taverns to the stilted formal dances of court but was unable to escape them. The evening wore on with successive rounds of dancing, drinking, and feasting. This last was accomplished by means of plates of food which were stacked on tables stretched between the outer pillars of the hall. These tables were colored in colorful linens whose arcane significance might have been related to the nobles who paid for the food, the tradesmen who provided it, or some other schema of which Eleanor was entirely ignorant. They were constantly piled with foods of all descriptions, steaming plates of roast meat, candied fruit, pies and pasties, cakes, poached fish, nuts, cheeses and wine and ale by the barrel. The Northerners ate and drank with sterotypical gusto, swilling down ale and scarfing down food in prodigious quantities. Fortunately the mood was good and despite the slight tone of drunkenness beginning to settle over the gathering, it had not yet produced any fights or duels.

Emmaline ate, and especially drank, conservatively, though she appeared to consume more than she actually did. Her natural impulse was to indulge but she couldn't afford the kind of mistakes that were likely to come from too much wine or an overfull belly. She was considering whether she should plead exhaustion and retire when she realized she had not seen Oderick in some time.

"He received a messenger a quarter hour ago my lady," one of the liveried servants admitted when she managed to corner one.

"Ahand he lift vithout moi?" Emmaline demanded, putting her hands on her hips and unconsciously emphasizing her impressive bust.

"Uhhh... he seemed quite agitated My Lady, I'm sure it was important," the servant stammered, clearly unwilling to get caught in the machinations of his betters. Emmaline made a sniff of dismissal and headed for Oderick's chambers. There was no reason that she should believe that Oderick's agitation had anything to do with her, but she couldn't help but assume the worst. Had he written to some friend in Brettonia and learned that the real Eleanor D'Abberville had died of a fever while visiting Marienburg last year? Had her 'father' been ransomed in some way and received word of her attempts to raise money in his name? It was never wise to panic, but knowing as much as she could might be the difference between taking a coach out of the city and winding up in a cell beneath it.


Oderick's chambers were on the far side of the palace, nearly a ten minute walk in uncomfortable shoes. When she reached the door she was surprised to find it open and slipped in quietly. The rooms consisted of a main chamber with a pair of bed rooms and a study set off to the sides. The stone walls were covered with tapestries, largely Ulricanan in nature, which softened the austere stone of the palace. Eleanor moved quietly but not furtively, looking first into the study and then into the bedroom. Oderick lay on the bear fur coverlet, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He was still dressed in his finery, somewhat stained now by the prodigious amount of blood that had leaked from a wound in his chest. It looked to Emmaline like a sword had been thrust through his back as he stepped into the bedroom. Judging by the pallor of his flesh, he hadn't been dead more than an few minutes. Noticing something, she stepped to the bed and lifted a small tightly rolled scroll that had been partially concealed beneath the body of her former lover. The scroll was covered with indecipherable markings, perhaps some kind of code she thought. A sound behind her made her jump almost out of her skin and she realized that someone was in the main room.

"I cant believe you left the damn message," a male voice grated to another, "your lucky everyone is at the damn ball."

Emmaline felt her blood run to ice as she realized that this man, and his companion, must have been the assassins. She dropped the note back to the bed and looked around for a hiding place. There was none. Oderick was a soldier and he lived and austere life. He had no chests, little furniture and nothing to hide behind. Emmaline whispered the words of a spell and did the only thing she could. She stepped directly into the polished silver mirror which hung, full length on the wall.

"I heard something," one of the voices said, oddly distorted in Emmaline's ears. She was inside the silver of the mirror, held fast by Charmon. She couldn't see out into the room, not beyond wavy distortions on the interior surface and even sound caried strangely. She thanked Ranald that she had remembered the spell and held as still as she could to avoid overtaxing her mediocre spell craft.

"There is no one here," a second voice replied.

"I smell something too... perfume," the first voice persisted. The second man laughed coarsely.

"Just means he has been entertaining that big titted Brettonian piece, at least his last few days must have been fun," the second voice snickered. "She'd be a good convert if you know what I mean. Maybe we should find her as part of the clean up?"

"Stop joking around and get the damn scroll," the first man replied. After a moment the men retreated. Emmaline waited a good ten minutes before she tried to step free. To her horror she found that she was trapped behind the mirror, unable to escape. Cursing soundly she forced herself to be calm and cast her mind back over her spotty magical education. Eventually she remembered the words and spoke them stepping free of the mirror. The scene was more or less as she had left it, the scroll was gone and a bloody sword lay on the bed. Commending Oderick's soul to Ulric, Emmaline stepped quickly from the room and headed for her own chambers. She thought she might do a little packing this evening.
@Mistress Dizzy

I am always open to questions!

1. Expected post rate is once per week

2. No I don't expect the use of BBcode.

3. There will be no discord.
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