Shard

Pariah (superhero RP reboot)

@Artifex

Think there are enough people for an OOC and Discord?

Pariah (superhero RP reboot)

@Artifex

Will you be putting together a chat engine, (Discord), for this RP?

Pariah (superhero RP reboot)

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Pariah (superhero RP reboot)

I think my desire to get back into RPing has returned, and this might very well be the reason.

You’ve made something really cool here, and I enjoyed the attention to detail which you’ve put into it.

If you allow another person to join, I’d like to. I might throw up a character when I get home.

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

@Darcs

Very colorful, I have to say. It will be interesting to see how you write out her ability, when it's used. You can put Jo in the character tab and throw up an IC post when you're ready.

Also, welcome to join the Discord.

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

Location
⚫ Silvermist Peak.

---

“This silence cannot linger,” Shale spoke, her bright eyes fixed on an ever-stretching mountainside. Though the beauty of snow blanketed every facet of a castle peak’s breathtaking view, worries simmered far closer, than the distant image of nature.

“Questions are abundant,” Spin offered, long slender fingers gently placed on a grape attached to its many siblings within a marble bowl. Plucking it from the stem, she proceeded to place the sweet fruit on her tongue.

“The younger students are getting curious. Panic is sure to blanket our academy,” Wisp sighed, her head slowly shaking in response to the statement. “Cornelia has risen in power, and we have allowed it.”

“What we allow,” Spin added, motioning towards her sister, Wisp. “Is peace,” she explained. “Cornelia squandered that peace, and we ought to meet her desire for war.”

“Most of our students are but children, Wisp,” Spin frowned, crossing her arms as she witnessed the relaxed nature of her sister. It was difficult to blame the woman, however, considering the luxury and comfort of their forum. An open fireplace was sure to grant heat, and sofas surpassing even the King’s furniture carried their frames with ease. “They will not sit idly by if we send their elders into combat.”

“There are several attendants surpassing expectations, Spin. You are aware of this,” Wisp protested, raising a brow. “I believe them prepared.”

“Cornelia wants a war,” Shale spoke, earning her younger sisters’ attention. “It is difficult to ignore that,” she explained, and slowly approached the fireplace where a pleasant warmth laid itself across her frame. “We failed her. This is our fault.”

“We did not tell her to start a cult, Shale,” Wisp rolled her eyes, “we cannot blame ourselves for her decisions.”

“She was our sister,” Spin spoke, her voice shifting to a more somber tone. “When we left Greece, our parting was bittersweet, but never in our wildest dreams did we think her capable of this.”

Silence blanketed the conversation, lingering upon them much like the abundance of snowflakes just a stone wall away. “The students will learn of this, eventually. Either we warn them, or Cornelia does,” Shale finished, her eyes closing along with a soft sigh. “They need to know that strife is at their doorstep.”

“Cornelia’s war will break the fragile peace between mutants and humans. We’ll be back at square one,” Spin noted. She was correct. The peace between humans and those of a powered state was fragile, at best. It was a peace put in place due to the Academy, and many other venues like it. Mutants were cared for and regulated in tandem. However, with a rogue creature like Cornelia free to cause havoc, one did not need to look far for incoming disaster.

“She will not attack Cloud’s Reach, not yet,” Wisp spoke, “but her actions have already reached our ears. How long until the King realizes that our sister is gathering a mutant army?”

Again, silence lingered. However, Shale eventually broke the serenity. “Cornelia is a fearsome creature, but her promises are stronger still,” the woman clenched her teeth. “We cannot act in desperation.”

“But act..,” Spin stated, “we must.”

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

Location
💀 Silvermist Academy.
💀 Art Room.

Interactions
💀 @Indra

---

With his eyes wide, Connor’s attention shifted towards a sculpture of.., him? Had his fellow student crafted a statuette of him? He appeared to have been lacking clothes, and someone was apparently embracing the boy. There was generally a word for situations like this. It was quite awkward. ”That’s.., me..,” the boy tried, tilting his head before his abnormally large, black eyes narrowed into a squint. He was not mistaken. She had actually conjured forth a sculpture of Connor. This was most certainly what one would call ‘a first’. ”Uhm..,” the young mutant tried, his clawed hand rising to gently scratch his pale, pointy ear. ”It looks great.., for sure..,” he tried, hesitant to utter the words. However, finding himself on the receiving end of his peculiar situation, Connor turned to his teacher who appeared to admire Rin’s work in another fashion, entirely.

Raising a brow, Connor considered his teacher’s late behavior. She seemed careful, more so than usual, and far less willing to engage in conversation. Not only her, for that matter. This held true for most of the faculty. Equally so, The Fates had not been seen for quite some time. They did not usually lock themselves into the castle peak, meaning that whatever they were debating must have been serious.

Adding to this curious development, Connor was unable to accept any further contracts. His last journey into the countryside had been far more confrontational than he would have hoped, but anything else was foolish. A crew of raiders could only be dealt with in a singular manner. Other beliefs of the scenario were naive. However, contracts catering to his specific abilities were slowly fading out, and this could not possibly have been considered normal. Winter could have affected this inconvenience, but such an outcome was not reflected by any previous year.

”Lady McOwan,” Connor spoke, earning the woman’s attention. ”Have you seen the principals, lately?” It was a question founded in curiosity, but also an attempt at digging deeper into this mystery.

The question quite blatantly caused the woman to stiffen, before she cleared her throat, and shook her head. “I am sure The Fates have been quite occupied with bureaucracy, Connor.” She did not ask the boy why he presented the issue, clearly attempting to brush the conversation aside. It was the same reaction some of the older students had given him when the boy echoed his statements. Was something bothering the teachers? Why where The Fates unavailable? Why was there an odd atmosphere at the academy? Not a single question answered, but rather, each one highlighted by a lack of response.

”Right..,” Connor offered, ”I’m heading out, thanks for the lesson, Lady McOwan.” He finished, lowering his brush before starting towards the exit, where he turned into a stone corridor, acknowledging Rin with a soft wave. Someone had to know something, or rather, someone had to be willing to share.

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

Location
💀 Recollection.
💀 Silvermist Academy.
💀 Art Room.

Interactions
💀 Open.

---

He could still recall it, Connor’s obsidian gaze landing on a display of his very own making. Flakes of white slowly drifted towards the ground, a chilling cold piercing his skin, and clawing its way towards his core, and yet, it had remained ignored. Every moment was fresh within his mind, mist-like energy as if ghosts moving at his behest. Six fallen farmers rose to their feet, death only a matter of inconvenience as abyssal black overtook their faded eyes. Limbs cracked, and twisted into life as a snowy blanked beneath their frames shifted in tune with every sickly motion.

Hearts had been pierced, throats cut, and blood drained from open wounds. Villagers sought to reach their loved ones, women struggling against their husbands in an attempt to hold their fallen children one last time. Brothers and sisters called out for their elder siblings, tears streaming down their cheeks, an icy cold chill enveloping them beneath snowy winds. “You do not blame a wolf for eating sheep,” came the voice of a man who stood amongst his group of raiding bandits.

Fittingly known across the countryside as ‘The Wolves’, they were notorious for attacking small, barely defended villages where pillaging soon followed. It had become an issue stretching further than domestic murder, when traveling merchants fell victim to highway blades. It had become a contract when enough wealth was hampered, for those of a high-standing position to finally act.

Overtaken by hubris, and basking in the presence of fear, the group of ten bandits had fixed their attention on tears and screams which acted as nourishment all on its own. ”I grant you vengeance..,” a quiet, ghostly voice trickled through a gathering crowd. A calmly extended hand revealed black claws where fingers ought to have been, and accompanying every spoken word, as if a passing breeze, a mutant’s power came into view.

It was not often that Connor, the boy known as Corpse Walker, or in some venues considered something as bombastic as The Reaper, was treated to a warm bowl of soup. It was not often that he found joy, and shared smiles within the comfort of a warm home, where stories were offered, revealing the grand beauty of Cloud’s Reach. No, it was not often that mutants of a less appealing presence were afforded such compassion by those they were sent to protect.

Little can be compared to the shock conjured from a corpse sinking its teeth into the neck of an unexpecting victim. Less so, when the murder now was a thing of the past. Slowly exposed from the crowd, a boy dressed in notably finer garb than a humble villager emerged. The cloak he wore clearly attempted to protect the scrawny, fragile frame beneath from winter’s unforgiving touch, and an insignia upon the fabric revealed his position as a Silvermist Mercenary.

Each step was a calm progression, and a keen eye would have been able to spot the melancholy expression beneath the boy’s dark, grey hood. He raised his eyes to witness a panicked skirmish between the living, and the dead, where uncoordinated attacks left wounds on unfeeling carcasses. Fear quickly turned from sheep to wolves, and the hunters would soon know themselves as the very prey they had attempted to subjugate. Behind the mutant, silence reigned, and with every fallen bandit, another rose to attack his once-beloved brethren.

Amidst blood-soaked snow, a once confident leader was forced to his knees, held in place by teeth and nails forcing themselves into exposed areas of his flesh. Deadweight was a difficult thing to move, and more so when sentience occupied it. Indeed, where panic had previously taken center stage, deathly silence now replaced its loud screech. “You’re the Devil..,” a trembling attempt left bloodied lips.

”The Devil..,” Connor repeated, his voice enough to pierce a grown man’s state of comfort, as if a poltergeist had made itself known. ”I aim to afford you an exchange with him.., and you will know who to prefer.” Black claws gently found their way to the man’s chin, where they raised his gaze towards Connor’s own, their eyes meeting as pain proceeded to overtake the bandit. Once more, screams echoed through the village, empty black eyes witnessing the sight of a man’s flesh withering, and melting, until the visage Connor had once known decayed into memories.

---

Clenching his teeth, Connor’s grip of the brush tightened for a brief spell, the small creature’s stature stiffening, before he released a shaky breath. Gently retracting his trembling appendage, the mutant lowered his hand, and shut his eyes tightly. “Connor?” A woman’s voice trickled past the many rows of canvases stretching their way across the room, paint, and supplies scattered in an organized mess. “Are you well, sweetheart?” She continued, her hand finding home on the boy’s shoulder.

”Y-yes, lady McOwan.., apologies..,” the petite mutant offered, forcing a faint smile as he once more opened his eyes to meet the nearly glowing, purple orbs staring back at him. He had always adored the art teacher, Lady Jenna McOwan. A motherly figure who more often than not reminded the boy of his peers.

“That is beautiful, Connor,” she continued, shifting her attention towards the painting before her. “Is it the rabbit you saw this morning?”

”It is,” the boy offered, his previously forced smile mellowing into a somber, if genuine expression once focus of his painting blanketed every sense. Little else offered comfort quite like the art of breathing life into a canvas. It was where he could pretend like nothing else mattered, nothing but the world he had created. "I hope he’ll be alright, out in the cold..,” the boy finished, feeling Jenna’s hand tenderly squeezing his shoulder.

“You are a sweet boy, Connor,” she finished.

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

@Duoya

You always manage to stitch together such creative characters. I like Joseph, into the character bin he goes.

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

Location
⚫ Cloud's Spire, Castle of Cloud's Reach.

---

A mere gaze at the diving, snow-covered valley beyond Cloud’s Spire would have been enough to conjure awe among any observer of such beauty. However, one would be forgiven for considering the three women presented before their King unamused, and untouched. Indeed, mysteries and tall tales spun like silk within tavern walls did not begin to scratch the surface of what had been said about The Fates. Some believed them to be actual creatures of myth from a far distant land, and others simply brushed the notion aside as a mere fairy tale. Yes, they themselves were observed stating, on more than one occasion, that a bard’s song held power. A cryptic message, to be sure, but one which hinted towards rumors, more so than truth. One could, of course, argue that a desire, or an agenda, dictated such motions. As most stories involving these exceptionally otherworldly beings ended, ‘the world may never know’.

“Well..,” came an old, gruff voice. It was embodied by a large, well-dressed man who had clearly grown accustomed to luxury, which proceeded to be reflected by not only his regalia, but also an extravagant scene. A ceiling painted by masterful hands, furniture carved with grace, and gold lining every surface of note, this was the venue of a King. Not a throne room, no, but rather an enclosure dedicated to business, and conversation. A room that offered view of what an uneducated man would have considered the entire world. “Another year, and your school seems to have lived up to expectations,” the man continued. “How do you plan to move forward?”

Lacquered wood and cushions of rare fabric, chairs accommodating the King’s guests would surely have halted most, where consideration for one’s own worth took center stage. However, with one leg over the other, each sister maintained a comfortable position upon their soft, golden-red surface.

It was an easy mistake to make, thinking The Fates a single individual with the ability to mirror herself, but no, such was not the case. Truthfully, no one knew of the sisters’ abilities, as they had never been displayed. However, considering their alleged age of ancient existence, not even a King dared ask. “We plan to proceed as we have,” Shale spoke, the middlemost madame with Wisp and Spin at her side. It was no secret that Shale was the eldest, and less so that she maintained the highest form of authority among the three.

“Silvermist has documented an increase in contracts from each successive, previous year,” Wisp added, her voice an exact echo of her older sister’s. Melodic, and pure.

“Students are maintaining a constant level of improvement, and civil safety is undisturbed,” Spin continued, a voice yet again heard twice before. Each word was reflected in several documents gathered into a large, if organized pile. Naturally, only a fool would entertain the thought that King James would dedicate time to reading through every line, as it was far from his immediate responsibility. However, he had insisted on having annual meetings with the sisters, if for nothing else, the relationship between humans and mutant kind. It was a proposition that was met with little reluctance.

“We’ll make sure to look through the numbers,” King James commented, patting a large hand onto the pile before a single motion towards his servants brought them to his table, where they proceeded to relieve him of the paperwork. This meeting had been in progress for far longer than a bystander would have cared to linger, but such was the way of bureaucracy. Stability was not always a fun, nor cheerful endeavour, but rather, a necessary one. “I take it we can summarize it, then, on a positive note?”

A small smile stretched its way across Shale’s features, her bright, blue eyes meeting the king’s chocolate-colored gaze, “Silvermist Academy strives for happy endings, your grace.”

“From within, and without,” Wisp added.

“A colorful display,” Spin grinned, “and our students never cease.., to surprise us,” she finished, each word a playful tease, but filled with truth. Silvermist Academy was presented with new conflicts every single year, and each obstacle was always met by its unique, and mystical attendants. This year would be no different, and the expressions meeting King James spoke of anticipation. One could only look forward to an ever-unfolding future.