Sigil

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

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Updates

Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night, middle of
Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
General Ambiance: Sticky
Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave

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Specific Resolutions:

Calanon: The Elk moves in an unerring path to Sana, as a well-trained mount does. The well-trained Dire Wolf, however, does not move from Sana's side. Given the option of plowing into its natural predator or avoiding it altogether, Mr. Elk rears and cuts to the side, unceremoniously depositing Calanon on the hard earth below. When he gets his wind back, he might find his bow skidding near the entrance of the cave.

Satilla: Is confident that the situation has been observed to the best of her ability, and is able to heal when positioned.

Ntaj: The flail bashes into the tendril extending to Sana quite effectively. It recoils reflexively, as if it had touched a hot iron.

Keystone: Gets a handful of the slippery creature and yanks. The other hand can't seem to catch the wispy nature of the Mist, but his one-handed grip is strong enough to arrest the creature's movement.

Thomas: Keystone hears Thomas's query about an airtight vessel, and looks over at him like he has bats flying out of his ears. He motions his head at the creature as if to indicate that he was a little busy.

Lerraina: The arrow strikes solidly (or at least as solidly as it can, considering). It slows down considerably as it disrupts the red swirly currents inside the Mist. At this moment it begins to move sluggishly, as a person might were they suddenly becoming physically exhausted. The birdie cannot find its mark on the first pass, but neither does the creature get a piece of the bird.

Cyneburg: Has got her footing and locates her axe between her current position and the rest of the group. Free action to snatch it up on the way.

Kyra: Gets off both shots. One passes through without causing any distress, the other sticks in and flows through like it struck thick gel. Mist isn't very happy.

Sana: The spell goes off. Any injuries afflicting party begin to knit and restore. (Moderate wounds and lesser, in any case, but no one in the party has suffered a more damaging wound than that. Even Keystone.) The bad news: Between the drain of casting this one and the hypothermia, Sana is out. Not dead, but quite unconscious.

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New Round

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The Crimson Mist appears to be slowing, its form a series of tiny, static disruptions. It struggles to free itself from the grip of the unarmed Keystone, but does not appear strong enough to budge the man, let alone escape his grasp. Oddly, it looks confused about the whole situation. As the various weapons tear into it, the jolting realization spreads across its face that it is, in fact, not impervious to the attacks of these people. Maybe the Orcs, but the party of smaller creatures are giving it more difficulty than for which it had bargained.

The brighter spots of its eyes search for an exit, and it attempts wildly to move upward, away from the group. Even if it has to take its captor along for the ride. It is unsuccessful in the first couple of seconds, but it is a slippery, semi-corporeal creature. It's only a matter of time before it gets free.

Outside of the ice wall, the fallen Orcs begin to twitch and shuffle ever so slightly. Slowly, the first ones to die begin to stand, slack-jawed and bloodless. Obviously fatal wounds decorate a few of them, including exploded pieces of bone from the first waves of the attack jutting from eye sockets and lungs. They do not look about with their blank, fixed eyes, but merely heave themselves to an upright position and begin walking absently away from the site of the battle.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Huzzah!

As I am exhausted beyond the capacity for rational typing, I will be handling the results and get the next round going tomorrow as early as I am able. Thank you for your patience, and best of luck, all of you. The next round or two should be interesting.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her.”}

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Location: Marketplace near St. Paul's Cathedral

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Instigators in the crowd, riling them into a state of hatred and near-violence. The eloquent expression of a rational comparison between the death and ascension of Jesus Christ and the death and reanimation of one of the Soulless... it was not something that a mob would do. Mobs do not wax philosophically. They express fear and anger, then try to impose "justice" upon whatever they dislike at the moment, moving onward without such constraints as individual thought or civilized demeanor.

Mary had strong suspicion that this near-riot was planned. Staged to begin turning the people against the Clergy (either Catholic or Anglican, denomination had no bearing in this instance) and against the Church. Not that every decision made by the Holy Father, any of them for that matter, was embraced completely by the common man, but open aggression against the Church (either of them) during a time when the Church was a massive boon to humanity against the Soulless... Well, it raised very serious questions.

Sadly, these questions could not be answered at this time. Priorities forced Mary into more immediate action; namely getting this child over her shoulder to safety. She faced sideways, reversing her grip on her halberd and took off at a run. Or, as best a run as she could accomplish carrying an unconscious boy. The steel endcap of her Swiss polearm led the way as she threaded through the onlookers and bystanders.

To stay and fight, to argue even, when the life of an innocent was at immediate risk was a blatant act of Pride. Putting her skills to the average market-goer under such circumstances might not be sinful, if she was attacked, but it would be wholly counterproductive. She had enough problems in London without killing a few citizens under the watchful eye of their Presbyter. Even if the good Reverend was in the same situation as herself. And speaking of the good Reverend...

"We need to get behind the walls of Ely, Reverend." stated Mary with muted urgency as she slung the child across her horse, Cassius. She leapt upon the saddle. "I am offering our protection. But we must be quick about it." The Apostolic reined around and began at a speed appropriate to the crowd behind her back to the Church of St. Etheldreda.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Nallore

I'm still not over that, either. The only solace I can give on her passing is the possibility that she may suddenly wake up in the West End of foggy, gaslit London with one hell of a headache.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Queensguard Private Airfield, Alicia's Secret Hideout

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It was true, Caesar did have a lot of questions. The video left him with more. Much of what his daughter said in her recording could have been easily sussed out by the older man; it seemed obvious that there was a conspiracy going on, obvious that the conspirators were acting upon their own authority and that the corrupt allowed them to do so. The very same people would press their advantage against any who tried to set things right. Make an example out of said person, publicly if possible, and call it justice. A sick irony, considering the name of the city. Thinking about it, that was rather the point, wasn't it? Justice and Irony.

Alicia got in too deep with these people, way too deep to get herself back out. She could have told her Papi what was going on. It wouldn't have been the first time Caesar would have to face overwhelming odds and have to kill just a whole fucking lot of people. Maybe this time he would have to be a touch more selective, at least until he knew exactly where he needed to lay the blade. But the prospect galled him. He didn't do that "subtlety" crap very well. He kills. It's what he did, when backed into a corner. Or paid well. Or if someone was suicidal enough to mess with his family. You know, when he wasn't running a legitimate business.

The last part of Alicia's message was, in more ways than one, cryptic. "Go home and pay your respect to the dead." Home could have meant many things. San Antonio was home for a long while after Caesar moved to the United States. It was where his M'hija was born and where she did a lot of her growing up. Chattanooga, TN could be considered home, too; it was where they built his company, and remains the main office of MSS. But none of his family died there.

But there was the family crypt in Monterray, Nuevo León. It housed the bones of the Gonzalez family going back for generations. One day, it would be his resting place. Very soon, it would be his daughter's. Alicia wanted him to check out the crypt? Fine. As it turns out, his plans had him going that way, anyway.

Caesar looked over to Cecily, who was obviously keen on getting out ASAP and getting her shoulder tended to by a medical professional. Couldn't blame her. If this is all that Alicia had to say, it was high time that he got to moving as well. He began a cursory search of the area, checking to see if he had missed anything. When satisfied, he began to walk back to the end of the hideout, the area with lowered lighting in the back. Maybe there was a switch on the wall or something similar. While making his way back, he spoke aloud to Cecily.

"Oye, Niña... We're getting out of here soon, ok? Hey, have you ever been to Mexico?"

Getting her out of town for a few days might not be a bad idea, either.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Lobby

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"Pleasure's on Yours Truly, Miss..ah, Admiral McCormick, ma'am." He noted the lack of familiar courtesy, owing it to the difference in station of the two of them. At least, that's what he would say if asked. Keystone turned his head slightly, just enough to infer that his next words were directed at Ms. Queensguard and not the Admiral in front of him. "Got our standards set up, ma'am. Eyes 'n' ears on ya til you find a quiet spot."

He moved his line of sight back to their guest. His accent, generally with a massive amount of East London charm, was somewhat more subdued at that moment. Subdued, but still noticable. "Host security's at your disposal, Admiral. Just go runnin' your needs through me direct, if'n something comes up." He took a step back and moved to his people at the wings. "Keep the detail on Ms. Queensguard." he ordered in quiet tones. "And keep your ears on at all times, yeah?"

🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed)

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William Harper

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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In what might be one of the more pant-moistening observations of his life, Harper took some distress in the fact that the Reavers' ship had decided that the Vengeance and the Retribution were more profitable pickings than whatever backwater settlement they were aiming toward in the first place. Logically, he supposed that it made sense; a fully stocked Alliance vessel would have provisions upon provisions in redundancy. And they had stocked for a full crew, until Jahosafat's orders reduced their number to the most basic of shipwide coverage.

And here they sat, manning their appropriate stations, calmly holding position (per Captain's orders) while that dot on their visuals kept getting larger and ever closer, trailing exhaust into the atmosphere and leaking radioactive contaminants, filled to the brim with cannibalistic rape-machines comprised of things which used to be men. It was no surprise that he had just a bit of terseness in his voice as he responded to Quinn's order to "be ready". "Aye, Captain. Standing by."

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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The chipper mood of Foy Coiffeur was ever-so-slightly lessened by the general perception that they were in fact not landing, not engaging the Reaver vessel (nor the Firefly, come to think of it), and Foy's secondary role as Hired Combatant was yet to be utilized aboard the Retribution. He almost felt bad taking their money otherwise; it made him the most ludicrously overpaid Barber ever. But if the Alliance wanted to split hairs on the topic, Foy was indeed the best hair and face man in the known 'Verse, except for maybe his father. And the old man had retired from the craft years ago.

Foy let out a barely audible sigh. When his good friend and fellow Gentryman plastered a devious grin upon his face and asked him for some assistance, his mood brightened somewhat. It might not be trading gunfire, or playing "Pin The Tail on the Reaver" with a short blade, but he was certain it would be something at least moderately amusing up Jahosafat's sleeve.

"Ho hooo..." he laughed with some gusto, "The brown suit. Capital, sir. Ripping good one, I do say." He began to follow the good Doctor off of the Bridge, expressing his opinion on the situation openly. "I suspect, old boy, that a few of this gaggle ought to have packed their brown suits, as well. So! Whatever bit of mischief do you have us getting ourselves into today?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1

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"Copy on Smokey Road, undead hostiles in force." Ash indeed did answer the satellite phone. "Hole up someplace if you can. We're coming hot and fast." He hung up the phone and began walking across the street to his baby, the gigantic piece of utility machinery that one of his wayward women referred to quite unaffectionately as a "Big Diesel Dumptrain. Well, the joke's on her. That sweet, lifesaving truck was about to pull her bacon out of the fire in short order. Ash greatly wished that the Internet was still functional, mostly so that he could watch video of his Hordebuster flinging away an endless succession of shambling corpses, to and fro in the dying light of the evening.

He was stopped by Meghna, offering to run as a scout. It was a first for her. Ash flashed a look of concern for a half second, but quickly dismissed it. "Grab a light vehicle that you're extremely comfortable maneuvering. Wait for us at the gate."

At that moment, the explosion rocked downtown Newnan, originating at the Armory. This was no small cause for alarm. In the event that this was an attack (again), Ash pulled his .45 and scanned the area. Through his radio, he rather loudly inquired, "Someone tell me what's going on. Is anyone hurt?"

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1 -> Headed North on LaGrange Street

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The Great Bazhooli had deftly stowed his knives and was in process of checking his rifle when the BOOM occurred. He instinctively dropped low, looking for someplace to tuck and roll into and/or behind. For a moment, his mind's eye saw the destruction of his Circus's touring train. He wasn't particularly eager for the same thing to happen to his new home (or what he hoped was going to be his new home).

His very recent friend posed the blaringly obvious question, "Any idea what's going on?". Were he a second or two later with the inquiry, Bazhooli surely would have asked first. He shook his head for a bit before actual words came from his mouth. "Not knowing, Mr. Jack. Is giant boom, I know same as you." At least they weren't getting shot at. "Ve go help, da?" It was less of a question than it was a statement that they should. But of course, he didn't figure that Jack had to be convinced. He didn't seem to be that type of person.

The Great Bazhooli pulled on his grey, bear fur coat and began to run toward the source of the offending noise. As it turned out, that was exactly where they were headed in the first place. Maybe he could help, maybe he couldn't. But, much as before, there was no way in hell he was going to stick around and juggle bowling pins while something urgent was going down.

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Black James(!)

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Location: Building C (His House) -> Building 6, Armory

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So, James's day was eventful. Started out that way, continued with smokey meats, kept going with a running tally of drama over the radio. Now here he was, admiring his monster of a Sniper System/Anti-Materiel Rifle when an explosion from the floor just below knocked him off of his feet.

"Boy oh boy, this shit rains, it muthafuckin' pours, don't it?" he mumbled to himself. James looked around, surprised that there was anything of him left. An explosion inside the armory had the potential for far more carnage than an errant grenade lobbed almost anyplace else in town. Well, except maybe Ash's distillery storage. That would be a loss on multiple levels, in James's estimation. All the same, the ringing in his ears chased out any other bits of rational thought. He struggled to pick himself back up off of the floor.

By the time he was upright, James saw Tom getting carted off. No armorer, explosion in the building. He had half a mind to grab as many munitions as possible and sprint for the door, the other half to merely get as far from this building as possible. Absently, he spoke into his walkie. The first few words weren't his strongest, but they steadied as he went on. "Hey, ...hey, anybody, umm... Big 'splosion in the Armory basement. Tom is down but not out. Ash, Zoie, what y'all need me to do? I'm inside at ground zero."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@rivaan

So, umm... Amelia is acting really, really calmly considering that there's a firefight that kicked up the minute she stepped inside the building, resulting in the death of the father of the guy she's talking to. Just throwing that out there. Were I in her shoes, I'd want to see what's up.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks (Officer's Club)

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Reginald drained his glass of fine, brut champagne, and gingerly set his glass upon the bar. "Yes, Peter, quite. The Lady Munn shall be taking full control over this enterprise. As much as I prefer to assume the mantle of leadership in overland endeavors of this sort, I must concede the fact that this is indeed not a military exercise. I'd haven't the foggiest notion how to continue past the first leg of our journey, nor what to do as we arrived."

With a sigh, the Lord Major slid from his barstool and ambled the few steps necessary to reach the platters of culinary delights he requested earlier. It had been a long day and he had really intended to grab some supper out and about in Cairo, but certain events put those plans on hold. A bit of date bread, some assorted fruits, and smoked, savory meats. If there was but a single complaint he could utter, and he would only very quietly, it would sound something to the effect of, "...i do hope this isn't goat again... ...even camel would suffice..."

"<ahem> But yes, dear boy. The Lady Munn is quite capable in many regards. I can only hope to speak to the right people, get the right equipment, and have my clerk fill out requisitions in triplicate for what we can spare here. If you truly wish to jump into work at a time like this, I could certainly use the assistance of a younger man who knows proper protocol. We can discuss in greater detail on the morrow. But I should be honored to have you on the team, such as it is, were you to decide to join us."

"But for the meantime, I am suddenly curious as to the plight of our new friend, Miss Ridgeway. (Oh, and by the by, do feel welcome to more than a mere fig. I cannot possibly consume all of this myself.) I believe you had mentioned that your family used to be in the Noble Profession of Purveyors of Fine Distillations and Fermentations. Had you given consideration to continuing your family's practice in more legally forgiving locales, possibly with investors?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{Blessed are the imbecilic, for they feel no pain.}

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Location: Marketplace near St. Paul's Cathedral

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This wasn't the first time that Mary had been in the center of an angry mob. Nor the second. Where the Soulless were concerned, the emotions of men ran high, focused completely on self preservation. Sometimes at the cost of their humanity. This particular case, though, Mary had to extend the barest tendril of understanding. While it was semi-common knowledge that some few trained by the Vatican can attempt to prevent Soulless infection (for lack of a better term), it was also semi-common knowledge that it was not a fully reliable ability. Hence, these people that either didn't believe that it was possible to prevent Infection, or knew that it wasn't foolproof. Either way, they were scared.

Reverend Clerc reappeared on the scene, none the worse for wear. Mary hadn't heard the distinctive report of her magnum bore howdah gun. Unless something surprising was revealed, she surmised that the Ryne had escaped. For the meantime, the boy was saved. The Anglican had chased off the Ryne. Not ideal, but not a negative resolution to the event. Live to fight another day.

Well, unless the crowd had their say. Scared men and women doing what scared men and women do. Luckily, the Reverend gave them an earful. Maybe it was enough to sway their hearts. Just in case it wasn't, Mary took further precaution: As Jacques berated and scolded the gathering crowd, Mary pushed up a sleeve, revealing a forearm wrapped in black cloth. Useful if one wants to avoid the bite of something particularly nasty or a stray knife slash, alternately, it makes excellent cordage for more utility uses. She swiftly unrolled it, and used it to bind the unconscious child's hands. Thinking on the specifics, she also wound it around his mouth.

Mary knew that the child was fine. The Good Lord knew the child was fine. But the group of irate Londoners might need a little hand-holding before they came around. "The child is unconscious and restrained." she announced in a loud, clear voice. Her eyes narrowed, and she hefted the boy over her shoulder. "He is also perfectly well. If it will placate the mob, I shall place him under the care of St. Etheldreda's Church for the next three days and nights. If he relapses, I will fulfill my vow as a representative of the Order of St. Sylvester. You know what we do." If they wouldn't respond to her role as a Healer, she at least hoped that her reputation with the Church would be of help to their current situation. It would be a dark day indeed if the time came where she allowed a mob to tear a child apart without challenge.

Balancing with her halberd, Mary rose to a full standing position and began walking back to her horse. Market time was obviously done. She needed to get this kid behind walls, and soon.

"Someone should inform his parents." Her voice was calm. Her eyes were not.