Rockette

The Spirits Within

I've been watching chakram demonstration videos to get the right idea of how I see Mags using them. They used sugar cane in some videos because they thought it was the same consistency as human bone, some of the rings are so simple in design yet it just cuts right on through. It's very interesting in looking up the history for some of these weapons.

The Spirits Within

Prisk said
Yes, provoking an enemy requires more effort than just attacking them. You can roleplay this in various ways: the character can scream and make noise, use verbal taunting, push the ally out of the way to attract attention, throw some object at the enemy, or something else—use your imagination. However, as long as you somehow state that you provoked that enemy, it will be enough. If simply attacking an enemy would be enough, we'd rip the control/attention of that enemy from each other left and right; I want those who have made tank-like characters to be able to... well, tank.That is correct, there are no 'health points,' since this 'system' is not a game. Stagger is just an ambiguous number that takes into account the entirety of character/enemy actions, rather than just the result of some action. So, if you attack an enemy or an enemy attacks you, regardless of whether you are hit or not, the stagger is counted. I hope this makes sense.Stagger gain = attack attempt + any attack result (hit or miss). This is basically just an anti-godmodding system. Even if you roleplay as if you are never hit by the enemy when they attack, their attempts at attacking you will eventually wear you down.

Hmm, makes sense. Thanks for clearing that up for me. c:

The Spirits Within

So let's say, for scenario purposes, that Mags launched her chakram at Gamma and Epsilon to ward their attack on Aaron; would that suffice as provoking them, or is this like FFXIII where you have to literally draw their attention as a Sentinel would? I don't see an HP meter so I'm assume we'll go off the staggers instead?

I just want to clarify this. c:

The Spirits Within

Look's like Aaron needs his ass to be saved!

But I'm inclined to post now, so I'll write something up on my leisure since I have the day off. I love writing action/battle scenes.

&
Tenish, I'd be willing to collaborate a post, but I don't know exactly what we could do with Mags and Remi. But the offer is there.

I appreciate your blog post Prisk, gives us a better idea of what you're trying to do. I look forward to more of them!

* Cᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ

I've had two candidates, so I'm willing to accept one more.
Plots are still up for grabs though Hell's Kitchen and the secondary apocalypse tidbit have been selected already.

Don't be afraid to approach me with your own plot or idea, I'm more inclined to do a Fandom sort at this point, but still proceed with caution on those.

Edit: I'm currently closed off to any more partners, exceptions apply only to if I like you enough.

* Cᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊　　
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┊ ┊open/closed
┊ “be sensible”
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Having been away for a long time, two-three months I'd wager, I need a pleasant distraction and challenge to work out the kinks on my flair. Give me a challenge, something to make me dig into the recesses of my old, forgotten, poetic stanza; that I'll want to respond to immediately without hesitation. I'm attempting to shake off the threads of depression and while art is whimsical and wonderful, I miss the creative itch of the well-written word. That being admitted, I might be persuaded to take on a couple of partners, no more, no less.

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ʀᴜʟᴇs & ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ ʟɪɴᴇs »

* don't bother me for responses, I'm rusted, chipped, I need to apply myself back into the method of respective prose.
* be willing to give and take from any and all ideas and suggestions.
* be creative; I encourage you to think outside the box.
* if you are unable to post within a certain time: inform me, courtesy is a given. I'll be cross, otherwise.
* if the role play doesn't interest you any longer, don't be afraid to want to scrap the story, I'm willing to do something else with you.
* your character isn't a badass who knows everything. They are flawed
* OOC talk helps me to get to know you.
* PM me first, don't post here; if I don't reply within twenty-four hours, then send me another one. Chances are I missed it.
* if you are having trouble coming up with something, I'm willing to work with you, it's only fair.

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ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs & ʏᴏᴜ »

* I don't care what gender you are, play whichever you want.
* double up if you wish, sometimes I will too.
* I really don't care about your age, I won't ask, but minds think alike within a certain, numerical, timeline.
* same sex pairings or heterosexual: I'm okay with playing either.
* I'm capable of adapting to your preferences, so be courteous to my own.
* I won't role play straight on smut, I'm not interested in explicit exploits without a plot to found it.
* no, I won't play your princess or prince.
* I don't have any particular limits, unless it's just completely ridiculous.
* I tend to lean towards psychological damages and violence, because I relate to them and thus, can write these tropes with finesse and ease.
* on that note; gore and language doesn't bother me, as I said, I don't have limitations to what I'll write.
* you can request away when it comes to stories and pairings, I won't mind.
* please come to me with an idea, don't just message me with, "I don't know, what are you craving?". If my supplied smidgens of ideas don't appeal to you, then think of something else for us.
* romance will not be the foundation, please. I know it'll probably happen, that's one&one role plays for you. But if we are going to do so, then let's do other things too. I'll get bored after they finally "bang."
* I prefer threads over PMs, why, because it just appears cleaner and more refined in comparison to the messaging system here.

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ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs, ɪᴅᴇᴀs & ᴍᴏʀᴇ »

Please note: these are old, old, dust riddled and cob-webbed plots that may, or may not need a fine polish to make them really shine. I'm not completed wedded to them, but lingering attachments remain because they have yielded wonderful results before, but things change and partners leave. So, adjustments and some fine tuning might be in order, so the listed premises are not concrete or sealed into finality, and may be scrapped entirely for the sake of "freshness".

Update: Those labeled with a specific icon are newly conceived premises, older ones will be bedecked in a similar icon. Clubs are old, Spades are new.

I've gone ahead and marked the premises that I'm currently the most invested in with an, !, to signify importance.

♣ | taken | ａｐｏｃａｌｙｐｓｅ — four horsemen; modern, few fantasy elements, situations of abuse and sensitive subjects such as suicide, self-image, bulimia/anorexia, and death.

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Obviously we'll be doubling up in this one, or make it into a particular group of players, honestly I don't mind either one. But for now it's a theme for us, and an idea. I don't care which of these character types you choose, though your choice is limited as I only ask that I role play Death myself. The plot in mind is the gathering of these certain individuals because the world needs Order. Death has been charged with finding the right sort of people designated for these stations, these symbols of office. The catch is to surrender your mortal life and become one of the Horsemen, a small price really considering that their current existences are hellacious and demanding, pushing some to extreme measures to survive. Death himself was recently appointed to his station, a fresh face to carve the world and he needs help to do so, but who will be worthy and willing to take up the scales, the sword and the crown?

♣ | taken | ａｐｏｃａｌｙｐｓｅ — the world is dead; post-war depression, quest-like and a battle of survival, sensitive subjects of cannibalism and religious fanaticism.

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What is left to do when there are no plants or clean water? Eat each other. Certain groups or clans of cannibals have turned ravenous and are attacking shambled settlements, thus they are calling on mercenary factions to deal with the onslaught. Clearly this is where we come in, you can play a wanderer or whichever you wish. I'll be playing a mercenary/smith from the Shadow Jackals; an infamous group heard and known to finish any contract by any means. But cannibals aren't the only concern, a religious fanatic is preaching about the Second Coming, a supposed war that will be more than just brother pitted against brother. She speaks of the Red and the White and the Black, three beings that she has seen and spoken with personally. She knows an awful lot about the cannibal groups and their begone measures of humanity; is she the cause?

♣ | ｍｏｄｅｒｎ — hell's kitchen; emotional turmoil, family abuse, sensitive subjects of murder and incarceration. conspiracy and power abuse such as wealth and money.

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No, not that television show. It's an expression. Now, this is one has a little romance in it, but it is very light when compared to the dark undertones it carries. Essentially the protagonists consist of the Heiress, or Heir, if you prefer and the lesser being who is a grounds keeper or someone relevant who works for the family, whichever, and whom was blamed and imprisoned for the murder of the elder McKinely. The grandfather of the Heir to this story. Now their father was the real culprit, wanting to clear his way into becoming the head of the family finally, waiting for the old codger to pass was not within his schemes. The grandfather, George McKinely II, was willing to marry their grandchild to who ever they wished and allowed the family to be free and without oppression, for love or whichever they desired. He was carefree in life, and did not herald their wealth and power like a bludgeon to the world. The father was not, obviously, evident in his conspiracies. We can work out the details through some discussion, but you get the idea.

♣ | ｍｏｄｅｒｎ — life is a bitch; emotional turmoil, sensitive subjects of drug use and abuse, prostitution and self-harm.

&

Two souls lost within the world without anyone to listen or care. One is an artist struggling to find his muse and inspiration, to paint something alive rather than dead. They struggle often from day to day to meet dead lines and keep themselves going simply because they know they have to. The other is a drug dealing prostitute struggling to find someone who cares, to live everyday despite being used nearly everyday. It's only in a chance meeting that they may be able to find themselves within the other and save each other, or will the sins be too great to bear? This one will most likely be taken to PMs if certain aspects are heavily applied. But we'll work it out and see.

♠ | taken | ｆａｎｔａｓｙ — the obsession; religious fanaticism, heavy in lore, sensitive subjects towards taboos and human experimentation subjects; demonic cameos, cults, ritualistic discovery.

&

Because I have a severe knack and fascination with the unorthodox and religious subjects of old testament that are cults, rituals, the fanaticism of knowledge to know anything and everything within life. This is a fantasy realm with modern finesse to back-bone that world in which it is crafted under. In the struggle to obtain power, and the secrets of human modification, a specific individual dives deep into the occult to bring back the deceased beloved of their past. In the desperation of begone morality, the individual finds more than they bargained for in the tumultuous effects of their obsession.

This requires a lot of polish, as the premise is flimsy at best in my mind and warrants some assistance on your part to refine the rough edges.

♠ | ｆａｎｔａｓｙ — hawk song [!]; heavy in lore, based from a previously existing series, touches subjects of court intrigue, insanity, feral magic and war.

&

If you are familiar with the Kiesha'ra Series, then you'll have an original grasp of the premise. Pre-existing knowledge of the realm is preferred, but it is not difficult to grasp once the specifics are detailed in a summary. While this could be labeled under my fandom category, I find that it is original enough for us to dabble onto it, with, or without, a back-boning of the novels mentioned previously. With that permitted, this involves a quantum of shape shifters, any species is applicable but do not over whelm the fantasy prose unless you can tack it down to something relatively tame. There is not an affirmed plot here, so your own creative lee-way can be implemented should you come up with something for us, keep in mind my aforementioned tags for us to craft around.

♠ | taken | ｍｏｄｅｒｎ．ｆａｎｔａｓｙ — breeds [!]; government conspiracies, mature themes and subjects of human experimentation, genetic tampering, feral insanity and sickness, domination over the mind and body.

&

The Breeds, as they are called, were human without rights, were treated as the animals they were crafted from under with what society called the Alpha Project. It was a headline into scientific prowess when government officials dictated its freedom into refining the human genome. Various tests proven faulty and insane were drafted from their formerly labeled "classified" tables and brought into the fold of playing God. Subjects were induced into feral madness to harness their bestial temperaments, effectively creating weapons of genetically powered humans to back-bone and slate their terrible obsession with pushing past boundaries of science and medicine. But during the raids into every lab they could find within the mountains sides, underground forts, and pillaging the offices of Breed Affairs, these previously damaged beings were given rights to life, but still fight for it to this day between the Council, Haven and Sanctuary where Breeds live and struggle to obtain life through the bars of their new cages.

Once again, not an affirmed plot, but just a premise for us to build upon, consider this a loose foundation. These are not shape shifters, do not get that confused.

ｆａｎｄｏｍｓ — I'm a little leery about this, because I don't do them often. So read and ask with caution and come to me with an idea and we'll work on it.

Elder Scrolls • Dragon Age • Dragon's Dogma • Final Fantasy • Lord of the Rings • Attack on Titan • Sword Art Online • Tokyo Ghoul

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Will be updated accordingly.

　　

The Spirits Within

Awesome, our first battle! c:
I'm already eager to write something for it, but I'll temper myself for the moment. Let everyone catch up to where we are.

Prisk, I went back and read over my post whilst listening to it, I can't help but agree it fits Mags to a certain tee!
I have so many songs and themes I've managed to associate with her and everyone in the role play, I like to create playlists designated for certain things I write. It's nice that when I came back after four months of not having role played, I could easily get back into it with this particular story.

Of course, it being inspired a lot from FF helps tremendously.

The Spirits Within

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It was nice to be touched; physical nuances often crafted connections of self, of soul and meaning — spirit. Dexterous gestures bidden under sympathy and comfort, confidence, reassuring clasps of warmth spindling from finger tips and palms. It was pleasant, bringing a thrill of heat under her skin when arms wove around and hugged her, though quick and fleeting in a smidgen of acknowledgement, it was enough to banish her fear for just a moment. Just like with the Appleberrys' who had embraced fully despite the flare of fire through her pores, it made Magdalena want to hold on to something. Her fingers expanded from her sides, each digit hardened, calloused by years of childish antics and sparring difficulties that blossomed finally into deadly elegance. It was so easy for other people to touch and embrace, to feel and cajole and comfort those beside them, she briefly wonders how they do it, and if maybe one day she could do the same. She recalled once trying to comfort Freddy in a typical figure of rage, to instead pamper the emotions hidden within him using a soft touch, a gesture to soothe, but she only succeeded in curling her fist and rocketing it towards his jaw — it had silenced him for maybe a minute. But for Magdalena it was sometimes difficult now to touch people, a harsh complexity further sharpened in her mind when she attempted to approach individuals such as her friends, unable to meet their gazes still or when their spirits flared alive and reacted so strangely, their behavior entirely a mystery.

She's entirely grateful for when they try, but is it enough?

Magdalena can't find the answer in herself, but she cuts her eyes over her shoulder through a fringe of pale blonde, watching as everyone slowly begins to gather and takes each and everyone one of them, cataloging their features, habits, tucking each precious individuality in her mind. She'll find the answer, not now maybe, but she'll bring herself to propose the inquiry another time when she's kneeling in the dirt, lost and spent and brought to the end of her measures as they fight on, it'll be in the last catches of breath when she finally finds the answer.

She smiles softly to herself, only to have it ripped horribly from her visage by the harsh baritone sounding from her shoulder.

"First Lieutenant Abendroth."

And inside her blood freezes, it sucks her breath from her lungs in horrid fear and she stills, fingers curling into palms and she feels as if the very marrow of her bones is forged entirely of glacier pieces. It's like they all think, ponder on, she's like ice and so very cold like the blue of her endless gaze. Her response is only torn from her like this by the head of BATW, his beam is soft on the edges but his eyes are like turbulent thunder heads swollen and threatening to unleash a torrent, it makes her nervous. Magdalena though doesn't tremble before him, presenting herself forward in a salute and her spine rigid, be it in fear or something else, she doesn't contemplate it. His posture is lax, easy, uncoiled like the serpentine spirited ravager he is within and his smile splits at the seams to laugh; it's a soft chortle that makes her eyes pinch at the borders.

"At ease soldier," he allows and her stance changes to hands loosely clasped at the base of her spine and her feet separated a predetermined width, she doesn't speak; she can't. "Though we can address familiarly, none of that formal annoyance." He waves his hand delicately, as if to banish the entire ceremony of respect per their ranks.

"Yes, sir —" she whispers, though interrupted.
"Julian."

It was ominous in addressing him personally and his casualness spurred her paranoia into a hypersensitive overdrive, her shadow flickers and he notices.

"It's interesting how intuitive it is, isn't it? Constantly fluctuates to your emotions, every little facial twitch — though few and far between — illustrated by the very thing which we all have. But yours is much more than that, it's a reflection of what you want to be, how you want to feel and act. Despite your fragile size, you hold something so much bigger and withstanding in your very, beating, heart." He murmured, voice low. Every word was articulate in its expression, every pronunciation meaningful and to the sharpened point, refined to assault her. Julian, as he preferred, approached casually in his sentencing, poised his hand against her shoulder and she could feel the pressure increasing into an iron enforced grasp. Magdalena felt her skin flare up in contact, this sort of touch outlandish and threatening, nothing like the warm embraces she had received earlier.

"I wanted to test that heart, I wanted to look inside and see what really lurks beneath all of this." His other hand ascended to her neck and delicately, as if caressing her skin and jaw, he tips her face back and the panic settles in her eyes when blue is forced to meet grey. Submerged within the storm; and she flinches. "And take that which you suppress and use it, make it a weapon, I've seen what Chaos can do, it would be a truly powerful thing to harness. You and your friends." And then his smile folded, deformed into a scowl and the ashen glare of his eyes was troubling.

"But Cid, hehe, he had other plans. He promised you to our unit and then pinned you into WARG. Laughable really, he's clever, they all are." His grip tightened and Magdalena winced at the bruising of her thin shoulder. "I don't like to lose, Magdalena, and I don't give up easily." One more cinch and she grit her teeth against the pain, bore it, relished in it and tucked it away inside to be used later. Her spirits howled in aggression and they beat at her soul, wanting to be released, she felt heat pool in her mouth and panted at the extremities desiring to protect her.

Stop. . .

"Just remember that."

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┊»ｄｅｐａｒｔｕｒｅ●

She was troubled, bruised, and still absolutely terrified. Julian had left before Magdalena could protest or respond, her voice lost somewhere in her breast and throat where it hitched and made a bloody mess of her insides, wanting to be heard. But she had thinned her lips and shoved it down, away, locked it with a secure knot and avoided any eyes or glances and merely looked ahead.

She couldn't allow him to distract her, she had to be strong.

Sawyer was a decent enough aberration. His bluster is something she's used to, the artful language and vocabulary a typical front of acrimony in a military official. He doesn't necessarily phase her, she's endured much worse, especially compared to Julian's frigid malice, but his words sink in deep and the cerulean of her stare hardens into sapphire. Magdalena knows what she has to do, she has an objective now, a goal and mindset that is unwavering in its conviction and her anticipation only swells when they finally embark — each settling in their own pace, merging into a team that has been constant and always there. She took it upon herself to stand at the left flank, sort of ahead and set afar, but close enough to receive orders should they be acquired during their trek. She admires the country side and lolling of thunder overhead, each sound a comforting rumble that mimics the tempo of her erratic heart and the spirits surrounding her. It's as if the air of the fields beckons them, their unknown natures summoned by this natural ecosystem not tampered by science but only cultivated candidly by dynamics they can't begin to comprehend. Her shadows frolic, unbidden or restrained by her and her own spans out, connecting to everyone's for a brief moment before coiling back at her feet. Magdalena flexed her fingers, watching the dark obscurity mirror her actions by constricting and fanning out repeatedly. It was almost jovial, to interact with these mysteries, some of the wispy apparitions composed of a ruby core that shimmered and glowed, as if possessing a heart — though she knew those to be the ones consisting of her fire.

They sunk beneath her skin when Olivia announced a much a needed breather, reclining to her backside as her want and proclaiming five minutes was very desperately needed. She didn't like it, being out in the open, vulnerable by their excursion and physical limits. She's barely even winded by the strain, but she can imagine that a hangover would limit someone's truly capabilities. Magdalena gives her a once over before casting her gaze off into the distance, her teeth are a sliver of white against the pout of her lip; she hates being idle.

Her fingers clenched. She wanted something to do, no, she wanted a fight. A battle, a way to expend her stress and worries and the excess of emotions boiling inside her. Magdalena seeks out the one person she would retreat to in these times, his heavily armoured figure bending in concern to address Olivia as Aaron and Freddy both seemed to do the same, though the latter was instructed away. She doubted that demanding he spar with her in the here and now would be well advised, but it was all she knew. In her academic years Magdalena had often sought out Kimberly during her moments of pure distress, undone by herself or some one else, she would approach silently with her head bowed and he would simply nod, never speaking as no words needed to be spared. His silence wasn't something she minded and to him she sometimes raged and screamed, letting the reins drop from her revere and striking out with her loneliness, her agony, and her self directed torment. Every hit would spear her pleasantly in pain and in the end, she'd be left shaking and her knuckles aflame in red and sometimes bloody.

Every time was usually different and sometimes it seemed as if two completely individuals were participating in the match, but Magdalena was thankful for those moments. She didn't have to pretend.

"I don't like just sitting here, waiting." Her blue eyes followed Remi curiously, observing him just as he did the same towards their destination. Her shadow expanded, the edges seeking out potential dangers. It was a good idea. "It's too open," Magdalena said and gestured out towards the fields, the farms dotting the landscape and the hills peaking at low points though she could imagine forces hidden in their small shadows.

"I think," Magdalena paused, her voice almost blotted out by the roll of thunder, the low clap vibrating to her bones. "We should keep moving. Anything can happen out here."

Call her paranoid, acutely assuaged by her encounter with Julian, but she couldn't shake the feeling of something horrid awaiting their arrival on the battle front.

The Spirits Within

Something came up that prevented me from posting when I wanted to, and I ended up starting it later than intended; in which I'm writing in a word document as I multi-task here and giving a "Hi, I'm alive." notice! d;

The Spirits Within

We'll get there! Eventually.
I'm positive things will pick up when more actions is presented? Maybe.

Anyways, I'll be posting tonight or tomorrow. c: