Current
Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3
likes
24 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4
likes
1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5
likes
2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1
like
3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
1
like
Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Sythemis passed down through the tunnel of hand smoothed stone until it opened into a chamber that centered around a large pool of dark water that shone like glass under the light of bowls of burning oil. A great statue of Ishtar stood above the pool wrought of gold and naked. This was not the tame Ishtar that the priests of Mitrha bleated about. This was the primal Goddess her hips and bust swollen, her face contorted in ecstasy or agony, her eyes terrible. The chamber had obviously been a natural cavern one, but the walls and roof had been polished and shaped by patient labor. Niches had been caved out of the walls, each glittering with small statues of Ishtar each bedecked in gold and jeweled highlights. The Stygian paid no mind to them, walking with slow gravitas into the pool sinking to her waste in the dark cool water. She raised her arms over her head and met the eyes of the statue.
"Bikania Ishtar, emadazu nire senargaia Set," she began to chant, her body began a graceful dance, fingers cutting the top of the water in showers of droplets which set up rippling waves of glittering light.
"Bikania Ishtar, emadazu ikuspegia," she chanted, her dance growing more estatic. The lamps began to flicker and writhe weirdly, the light dimming as she moved. Something slid past her in the water, brushing against her leg, but she ignored it continuing the chant and the dance as she beseeched the Goddess
The Temple of Ishtar in Xarame was a magnificent place. It dominated the temple square, rising from the eastern side of the wide expanse of sandstone like the moon on a clear night. Its sides were sheathed in white marble that had been imported at great expense from Aquillonian quarries across the mountains and then laid so precisely that the a knife blade could not have been inserted between them. Two great obelisks stood to either side of the main gate, through which the flickering oil lamps light the way into the sanctum. Sythemis walked easily to the gate, apparently heedless of the ever present threat of cutpurses and robbers in the torchlit streets. The Temple guards did not know her, but they clearly knew better than to interfere with a well dressed and mysterious woman approaching the Temple at night. They raised their pikes and let her pass without comment, eyes following her from behind their intricately wrought helmets.
Beyond the first gate was a courtyard in which lemon trees had been planted in profusion. Beautiful women stood or longued on marble benches infront of the bowers that that were artfully woven from the citris trees branches. The Temple Prostitutes were famed for their beauty, each selected for their voluptuousness and improved upon by regimes of diet and prayer until the resembled the bronze depictions of their mistress, with swollen busts and wide hips that gave them the aspect of beautiful but very slightly overripe fruit. Two of the girls approached Sythemis but she lifted her palm in a gesture which made the girls instantly abase themselves.
"Mistress," the whispered as one, grinding their faces into the dirt in obeisance. Such whores had their place of course, but it was not their place to question the initiates of the deeper mysteries.
"I have come to seek counsel, you will prepare the bath for me," Sythemis decreed. Both women sprang to their feet and rushed off into the temple. Sythemis turned abruptly, conscious of a gaze upon her and scanned the roofline, but there was nothing but moonlight. Shrugging it of as a passing foolishness she returned her mind to the task at hand. She needed to find a thief afterall. After perhaps ten minutes of waiting the two prostitutes returned. Sythemis nodded and led them into the temple itself. All three of them prostrated themselves before the bronze statue of the Goddess and then stood. The pair of initiates took up their positions to either side of Sythemis. The Stygian began to disrobe methodically, dropping her silken robe to the floor before adding her jewelry and undergarments until she stood naked before the statue. Her body was leaner than her escorts, darker also, dusky with the olive burn of the Stygian sun. In truth she was unusually voluptuous for her race, her bosoms and hips pleasing to Ishtar in the same way as her crooked mind was pleasing to her other patron. She raised both hands above her head.
"Eia, Eai Shub-Niggurath," she intoned, using one of the forbidden names of the Goddess, "Calliya, Calliyae, eian sun nyto!" For a moment nothing seemed to happen. Ten heartbeats passed and then a slow grinding sound shook dust from the temple walls. A section of the floor before the statues feet slid inwards to reveal a passageway down into the earth.
"Leave me," she told the wide eyed Temple prostitutes. The girls needed no encouragement to scurry back into the courtyard as Sythemis began her passaged down into the earth.
"You don't look so bad yourself," Emmaline approved, her blue eyes roving up and down the now official engineer. It didn't occur to her to wonder how much the finery had cost, in Emmaline's world you spent what you had and a little bit more if they would give you credit. Holding on to cash just made you a target or else your mentor would use it betting on the races at the Imperial Hippodrome. Even so it must have been a pretty penny even if Rogello was as good a friend as he seemed.
"A carriage?" Emmaline all but gasped as they went out onto the street to see a large coach paneled in black with gold and crimson moldings. A pair of black horses were harnessed to it, though Emmaline's alchemical nose detected a slight whiff of something that was probably die concealing white fetlocks. The driver was a genial looking man with a massive broad brimmed hat and a cloak of black velvet which had been brushed until it shone and a jaunty white sash. With some fanfare he dismounted and swept the hat off in a bow before pulling open the door and pulling down the stairs. Emmaline allowed Neil to hand her up into the red upholstered back seat before he climbed up and the door was closed. The looked every bit what people thought of as nobles, though Emmaline had seen enough of the actual nobility to know that few were as handsome as Neil was and more than a few suffered from a little too much enthusiasm for maintaining their 'noble blood'. Even so she doubted any of that class were likely to point out that they didn't have enough of the tell tales of inbreeding to be of the really high aristocracy.
There was a theatrical 'Yah!' from outside and the horses began to clop down the street. Like most horses in Nuln they had grown up around the sound of gunpowder and cannons and so didn't flinch or shiver the way more provincial beasts would have done. They promenaded down the street and out into one of the main boulevards where other coaches were already plying their trade. Some of the nobility maintained their own carriages, as did the richest of the merchants, but most of those out tonight would be rented. Emmaline smiles and snuggled herself against Neil, taking care not to disrupt her hair too much as she did so.
"So where are we going?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
Also do people feel like a discord would be helpful for this RP? Im not super familiar with creating channels and such but I could give it a go if there is interest.
It was regrettable, Eleanor Tregellan thought, how many days began like this. The ribs gave way with a wet sucking sound as the incision opened the peritoneal cavity, yielding access to the dark mass of organs within. The familiar reek of body fluids and the corruption of death filled the air, making her skin feel greasy even though it was completely covered. Ellie resisted the urge to draw her arm across her head, knowing that the gesture would cover her with gore and maybe worse besides. The basement morgue was a familiar location to her, both from her work for the Sunday Group and her long ago medical training. The floor was angled down slightly to a central drain and bright fluorescents hung on hinged arms overhead. A pair of examination tables, one of which held the body, dominated the room, flanked on all sides by smaller benches which held a variety of tools, both medical and arcane, as well as specimen trays, bottles, and the other various chemical agents used in a post mortem examination. Eleanor was dressed from head to toe in blue surgical scrubs and an examination gown of lurid green. Most of her face was concealed by her face mask, save for the goggles which covered her eyes and magnified the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A surgical cap compressed her dark auburn hair bulging up over the severe bun that kept it from her eyes.
“Zhou know ve could try to summon up hiss spirit,” a cultured Austrian accent observed. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the I-pad which was propped on one of the two surgical tables which occupied the improvised morgue. Emmaline von Morganstern’s heart shaped face bobbed up and down as she ran on her treadmill in their home twenty miles away from the Sunday Group offices. The face was much more pleasant than the inset of an open chest cavity that the camera was pointed at.
“Well that didn’t work so well the last time we tried it,” Ellie responded as she slid her gloved hand into the open chest and began to explore. The body was that of a young male, physically fit, shaved head but beyond that it was difficult to say too much about him. A black substance coated every inch of the body like tar. Not only did it coat the body, it seemed to impregnate it somehow. The teeth were completely black, save for a few fillings, not only on the surface, but in cross section. The eyes were black, as though the aqueous humors were somehow transformed, the blood, running down into collection channels as Ellie cut, was also dark as midnight.
“Vat do you fink it is? Vat does it smell like?” Emmaline asked. Ellie resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“It smells like I just cut open a cadaver that has been dead for six to twelve hours, so not great,” Ellie deadpaned as she took a pair of forceps and clamped the top of the esophagus and the duodenum. Repeating the process above and below the first clamps with a second set of the stainless steel instruments.
“Yes you are very funny woman Eleanor,” Emmaline replied without humor, continuing to run. Ellie’s good genes meant that she didn’t have to do a tremendous amount of exercise to maintain her relatively slim figure, but Emmaline, whose appeties in all areas were considerable, had to fight the tendency towards fat as she got older. Ellie severed the esophagus with a practiced cut before doing the same to the intestine and then lifted the stomach out onto an examination tray. Releasing the forceps she began to squeeze the contents of the stomach out onto the tray.
“Zat is goot for my diet,” video Emmaline remarked with a cocked eyebrow. The stomach contents was blackened also, but that appeared to be the acid only and even that was partial as though the high acidity of the stomach was destroying the black liquid that was so ubiquitous else where. Or the stuff was a protenagenous and was being broken down by stomach enzymes, or a hundred other things. Whatever the reason the half digested food was only partially colored in the black tar like substance. The last meal appeared to be cereal of some kind, perhaps a muesli bar.
“Hello,” Eleanor said as a glint caught her eye. She reached into the mass and withdrew a small metal object.
“A key?” Emmaline asked in surprise as Ellie held it up to the camera. It was an old fashioned brass key with three teeth of different lengths and an ornate loop at the base.
“He must have swallowed it before.... whatever happened to him,” Ellie agreed. That meant he had swallowed the thing, at most, six hours before his death, otherwise it would have moved down into his intestines.
“Vat do you fink killed him?” Emmaline asked, sweating now as the program increased the speed and incline. The Austrian witch spoke good English, but her accent always thickened when she was focusing on something else. The key clattered as Ellie set it down in the examination tray and rinsed it with some alcohol.
“Well I’m going to take a wild guess and say it was suddenly being made of about fifty percent black stuff,” Ellie opined with a straight face.
“As I said, you are very funny.”
Eleanor did smile now, though the expression wasn’t obvious on her face Emmaline recognized it.
“Vhy are you so happy?” she asked as Eleanor stepped away from the open corpse and began to strip of her protective gear, dumping it into one of the warded bins with imposing black biohazard symbols.
“I’m going to need an opinion on this black stuff, and you know how much I enjoy waking Anna up…”
Ellie Tregellan - Almost but not quite Fearless leader of the Sunday Group, conducts an autopsy on body that seems to be impregnated with a mysterious black liquid.
A key is found in the dead mans stomach.
Eleanor takes perverse joy in calling Anna to wake her up.
Everyone is on their way into work, feel free to provide us with some insight into your homelife and make up some details about the Sunday Group offices.
@Rapid Reader Anna is woken up extra early by Eleanor calling to get you to figure out what the black stuff might be.
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