Sigil

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

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Keystone

Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three/Morning of Day Four

Interacting With: Satilla, Sana, Group In General

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The musings of the rest of the party as good as faded to inarticulate sounds in Keystone's ears. So long as it registered as common speech to his conscious brain, he intentionally ignored it. Satilla's instruction to the broad man stood as an exception to this; Keystone was exceptionally interested in what the group's dedicated healer had to say about the well being of the semi-conscious gypsy. The feat of coordination necessary to transfer Sana from a one-handed suspension from the ankles to a more cradled position without first setting her down was a little awkward; not quite the kind of thing that he committed to muscle memory from exhaustive training. The first, instinctive thought was to toss the entirety of her weight up with a slight rotation and deftly catch her in a manner more in line with the healer's wishes. Of course, that might result in something worse if a foot slipped on the cold ground below, not to mention the jostling might not be the best idea for the more delicate state of his friend.

So, as quickly as he dared, Keystone turned Sana over in his arms and and lowered her legs, sliding his arm up to hold her above the knee and under her arms. Her head rested upon the hardened leather of his coat covering his shoulder. It was a solid, supporting perch, if not the most cushiony. Satilla's plea to postpone the squabble for a later time was taken into due consideration, discretion being a pragmatic choice at that juncture. His own protective instincts were running hot just then, and though he remained more or less silently attentive during this particular event, he positioned himself as to create an angry, living barrier between Sana and Thomas. His back was facing toward him, giving everyone in that direction good view of oil hardened, segmented pieces of chevroned leather and an empty knife sheath. It also served to indicate his priority at the moment, though from one moment to the next priorities had a way of changing.

"We ought get 'er someplace warmer, yeah?" he intoned to Satilla, tilting his head toward the cave entrance. He followed up with louder words, broadcast to anyone who was listening, "Ey! I got a big cloak, top of my pack that Sana'd 'preciate being wrapped in just now. Someone be a lamb an' grab that, wouldja?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Black James(!)

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Location: The Hordebuster, Building 4 Parking Lot

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There was blood splashed across the floor of the Hordebuster's dump body. It was expected. Actually, more blood was expected than what lay smeared below James's feet, but that was fine by him. The wet, crimson patterns and swirls were illuminated by a steadily burning hurricane lantern hanging from the wall above, flickering every once in a while. James had considered lighting a second one, Lord knew that Ash liked to keep his ride stocked with gear and provisions in redundancy, but decided against it until others showed up. Nights like this after a rough patch, the back of the 'Buster became a sort of public house.

The last time, standing members of Newnan's Leads drank fine liquor with newcomers. Stories of the dead were shared. People bonded. Those two Viking girls invited themselves in and... well, and James just made himself sad thinking about them. Suffice it to say, ever since joining up with Newnan and these people, he had grown to appreciate what this vehicle meant to its owner and to the people around here. Him taking a mop to clean out the back, that was part respect to Ash, part respect to the 'Buster. It saved lives. It brought people together. It was a home inside of a home, a fortress, a refuge. And apparently, sometimes a bar.

He was almost done. The mop has turned red with its work, and slowly washed back out to an unimpressive grey. Only a thin sheen of moisture decorated the smooth floor, soon to evaporate into nothingness. The back of the dump body was wide open, creating an awning of sorts, and the loading ramp was fully extended. It made a sort of aluminum pathway down to the blacktop, where two large couches, a recliner, and a couple of utility boxes lay neatly. James paused and removed his t-shirt, utilizing it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Nighttime usually brought a gentle breeze and cooler temperatures, but some summer evenings just refused to give up the heat of the day. This seemed especially true when one performed an act of labor. James looked down at himself, for the first time in a while taking in the fact that he was already in his forties. His body was beginning to show it, too. No matter the amount of physical labor he endured, and he was no stranger to this, he couldn't seem to shake a certain amount of girth. Not that he was prideful. Maybe a little. James was strong, no doubt, and an industrious man, but it was well known that he hated running.

A moment to stretch his muscles and adjust a strap on his overalls over his otherwise bare torso brought his thoughts back to the present. Cleanup was all well and good, necessary pretty much all the time now. Blood seemed to get everywhere, so much so that people just stopped being offended by its presence. The concept of "squeamish" died off after the first couple of months of the apocalypse, and kept getting hammered down to a distant memory. People that got nervous around gore were oddities, as far as he was concerned.

Along those lines, more dead people had to be dealt with. Be it a bit morbid, James had the odd idea to burn them all. Burn them, and sow their ashes into the fields. A person of romantic bent would say that even in death, they continued to take care of the community. A pragmatic person would say that the additional rendered carbon compounds would mix excellently with pig shit and nitrogen fixing provided by alternating cover crops of legumes, resulting in reliably awesome soil for cold weather growth. He probably should lead his proposal with the more romantic angle. Definitely.

And didn't Bridgette want to be burned anyway? Yeah... and her soul was supposed to ascend in the smoke, not the ash. Okay, okay... more ideas for the proposal.

But first, he took a long, hard look down at the huge boxes and the furniture and various Hordebuster sundries. He removed his nigh-trademarked stetson cowboy hat, scratched the back of his head, and tried very hard to remember how he got all this crap out of the Hordebuster by himself in the first place. And more importantly...

"How the ass'm I gettin' this back in by myself, now?" James sighed. This had officially become more annoying than he wanted it to be.

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 1 (Infirmary)

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That guy Beni was alright. Ash may have been a little hard on him. Yes, people did die, and though it was on a mission to help his people, it wasn't their doing. Everyone was still trying to survive as best they could, and he couldn't fault them for it. But the random, pointless death? That fucking tree that took out two people quite by accident, sitting in the middle of the road, slathered with their blood. He needed a drink. Big one.

Night was closing over Newnan, and he still had much to do. Interviews - A couple had already taken place, but more new people were in the church they were using as a Mess Hall. It was the last responsibility he had to tend to that evening, before he could crawl into the back of his Hordebuster with a bottle of decent hooch and try to blunt the metaphorical knife that the day's events were driving into his skull. Even before the last couple of interviews, he had one more stop to make, across the way from his 'Buster. Froggy apparently wanted to give him a checkup. Fine with him. It had been a good, long while anyway.

Ash looked across the street to see light spilling out of his truck, at least the back of it, and noted James was keeping true to his word, cleaning out the back. Probably the only man who could do that unannounced that he wouldn't put a knife into (or at least consider). It was his hope that James would be done by the time he was ready to clock out for the evening.

Turning back to the building, Ash considered the reality of his situation. He was essentially just a Lieutenant who got a battlefield promotion that stuck, fixed in a war that never quite ended, living off of his environment and constantly raising a militia. Everyone he cared about was dead or missing (some missing for years), and those few that he allowed into his heart since had gone from this world in horrifying ways. Ash was tired of the fight. His often overwhelming sense of duty prevented him from stopping. People still needed him. He wasn't done.

Ashton pushed open the doors to the makeshift infirmary. He recalled when it was set up by their first Doctor, Vivian. She was a morbidly frightening lady. More than a touch offputting, but damned effective. She had his respect. This new setup by their new Doctor was a little softer, more patient-friendly. More like a hospital, less like a laboratory. He actually preferred it this way, though he would rather have both Doctors alive and working than a cheerier locale. Knocking on the now opened door to announce his presence, he adopted a "parade rest" stance and cleared his throat.

"I'm here for that checkup, Doc. I'll want the Reader's Digest version, though - I only have a little time in between duties right now. Unless you'd rather do this tomorrow."

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

@IcePezz

Lerraina would be the only one with a constant and direct line of sight to what was going on outside of the wall. Everyone else caught tiny glimpses in comparison. So far as how many of the entire group of Orcs remain, I would refer you to Lady A. I have only been working with the guard out front for purposes of the fight.

@POOHEAD189

Leader trio? I always figured Keystone was just highly outspoken. If the group's looking to him for guidance, that's an interesting group dynamic. Troubling, but interesting. Maybe it's his ironically charming underclass upbringing, or his ability to fell trees via styxian ass roar that's earning his position of leadership among the masses. Hell, we elected a president with fewer qualifications just recently.

If I recall properly, Cremwise put Kyra in charge. Then again, that contract went bye-bye the same moment a bear fell out of the clear blue sky and wrecked his wagon. Perhaps this needs to be addressed IC.

That aside, let me be clear that Keystone's opinion of the group (including Thomas) is influenced purely by IC actions. I've even got a running cheat sheet of stuff he's observed to keep his reactions consistent with character attitude and history. I should actually commend Grey his choice of character and the decisions that said character made. Keystone had only ever tried to choke out a party member that soon after meeting them once before - said character was putting the rest of the group in danger by giving away their position with constant, willful bickering about an issue of pride.

Now, if Grey feels that the only character worth playing is one that is immediately accepted by the group without conflict of personality, as a friend and equal regardless of attitude or psychological quirk, without first proving one's self, then he is missing one hell of a roleplaying opportunity for the sake of convenience.

IC actions will result in IC reactions from the other characters. They won't always be positive. Case in point: backing away from the group while keying up a spell, without actually telling them the intent of the casting first might be seen as an act of aggression, considering the situation.

Speaking to this situation, though: it makes sense that a character with zero skill as a healer would try to forcefeed a potion to an unconscious person, thinking it would be helpful. It also makes sense that friends of the unconscious person will be suitably upset when she almost dies because of it. Now, if Thomas feels safer now wandering off in undead infested woods by himself in the middle of an Orc/Human armed conflict than the group, that is his decision to make.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"If I be not in a state of grace, I pray God place me in it; if I be in it, I pray God keep me so."}

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Location: St. Etheldreda's - Chapel

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It was not surprising to Mary that the Pope was in declining health. He was a man of eighty years, no small feat even with the benefits of the Papacy. Still, it invoked an instant sadness. They knew each other personally; Mary knew him as a truly good man, wiser and kinder than many who had sat in his chair before him. She would have to inquire into the specifics of his health when it was appropriate. What was surprising was that this Russian noblewoman had heard stories about her. Her - Mary Hale, one of many anointed Knights and Dames of variable reputation. It was a little flattering. Then again, maybe it was meant to be flattering, for specific purpose.

Even if it was, it was no reason not to extend every courtesy she could. Mary was the interloper in this situation, her church or no. Mary beamed a quiet, angelic smile in response and accepted the noble's hand with practiced gentility, the action at odds with the callouses on her own hands; hands accustomed to labor and wielding weapons. "It is a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Elizaveta. ...I apologize, formality is within my nature, I fear. I shall attempt to suppress it as it comes to speaking with you directly, if this is your desire."

With some hesitation, the Apostolic managed to look her guest in the eye and say, "Veta... I insist that you call me Mary, then, for the sake of reciprocity. Also to give me reminder." Mary shifted the conversation back to something she was more comfortable with. Veta had mentioned that she was in fact just in prayer, but belonged to a denomination differing from her own. The young Dame assumed that she was discussing the Russian Orthodox Church, a belief structure very similar to Roman Catholicism, but with a few key differences that set apart. Hats notwithstanding. And they did love their hats.

"Greek or Latin, Heathen or Hebrew, Christ is all and in all, Veta. Even as his face is upon the waters and stones of the earth, so too can he be found here. Invoking His name is all that matters, regardless of the trappings around it. The Lord our God and the caretakers of St. Etheldreda's bear full support, I am certain."

"My own supplication will be brief. I have a new charge, upon whose behalf I must pray. Young boy, attacked by a Ryne in the marketplace nearby. With God's grace, I have Healed him and preserved his soul, but he still sleeps. The people who bore witness became very nervous, riotous even. I am concerned by the implications. You may want to stay on the grounds of Ely for a time yet."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster, Parking Lot of Building 4 (nearest Gilbert St across from Building 1)

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Froggy had Medical, such as it was, up and running. Ash observed wearily that their "B" staff was handling things in this regard, but he also supposed that every piece of a medical team had to start out that way. They had a talented surgeon leading them, and they would learn. Come to think of it, it would behoove him to take some training under the man, himself. If there was one thing this world needed more of, it was medics.

Referring to the group as their "B" staff wasn't entirely fair, either. Astrid was dead, or as good as. Newnan still had a far greater setup than he would have ordinarily hoped, and people were being treated. What few remained alive after this random clusterfuck of a day. Sadly, neither one of them were his people; three of his had to die to bring two back. But now was not a time for pity, neither for himself nor the people of Newnan. It was time to take care of business, and hammer things back together. Ash nodded at Froggy when he insisted that he come in for a full evaluation. Sure. Couldn't hurt anything. Maybe his cholesterol was high. Maybe his cheese was beginning to slip off his cracker and he was hearing voices. Hard to say. Defer to the Frenchman's experience.

At this time, people came to him asking questions. Seemed as good a time as any to give answers. He kept them short and to the point. Jack inquired first as to what Ash required. "Medical has their end covered. If you would, help unload the bodies. Get as much useful stuff off of them as you can. Weapons, armor, meds, personal effects. Full nine. First, before the Infirmary gets too busy, go give your ladyfriend a hug. The dead can wait a minute longer."

"James! You are acting Security Lead." Ash said this loudly and clearly, so that everyone around them could hear plainly. "We have guests. Please insist that they disarm fully, and collect their weapons for temporary storage."

This last bit was spoken in such a way that left no doubt as to the depth of his sincerity. "Until they are fully vetted, no one keeps weapons here."

James nodded vigorously, responding with raised voice directed outward. "AIGHT! Y'ALL HEARD THE MAN! WE ALL FRIENDS HERE, AND WE KEEPIN' IT THAT WAY! DROP YO SHIT, I'LL BE ALONG IN A SEC!" Not the most professional approach, but if it got the job done, great. Ash followed up with James about the most recent surviving Newnanite, "Jack is ok, at least for now. Handle our Franklin guests."

Tiffany approached next, introducing herself, giving condolences, and asking what Ash wanted her to do. His response was without definable emotion, level and solid. "I appreciate, Tiffany. Thank you. If you want to be of help right now, you may surrender any weapons you have on your person, and keep out of the way. If you're from Franklin, you're going to want to find Beni. Unless you feel like relocating here, you should speak to him first. Come back after."

Other than directing traffic and handling questions, Ash calmly waited next to the Hordebuster until the patients were clear. As he had little skill assisting the injured, he intended to see to the dead alongside others. Everyone who is able, works.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Morgue

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Bullet splintered, no anesthetic. Caesar had been through this kind of quick and dirty surgery before, and under worse circumstances. But it was no picnic, whatever their surroundings held. At least they were someplace sterile. Of course, Caesar had to get himself fairly liquored up before trying to dig out a bullet. Ripping up a shirt to mop up welling blood and getting invasive with a pair of pliers was not a great way to spend an afternoon, though it was necessary if he wanted to prevent his own demise. Having an actual medical professional was a gift, as well.

Cecily was not Caesar. It would be unfair to hold her to the same standards of background and tolerance. Instead, it was his duty to support her in any way he could. Before he took the Doctor's order to hold her down like her life depended it, he produced from his inner vest pocket a sizeable flask and offered its contents to the injured coroner. "Very smooth stuff. It might even help for a little bit, but I'm telling you, just for a little bit. I've been here before. Maybe best to just let shock black you out."

He nodded to Cecily gravely, and moved to physically restrain her. When properly pinned (as best he could manage), he leaned in closer and said, in attempt to distract Cecily's if just a bit, "When we're done here, talk to me about your salary requirements."

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Outside Elisabeth's Office

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No eyes directly on the client. Mysterious appearance of the Secretary of Defense, predicted by Caesar before communication with him ceased. Dealing with the stoic private security of the same lady, each group of hired muscle trying to out-professional the other. Yes, this was tedious. At least Keystone had eyes and ears on their immediate surrounding and elsewhere in the building. A small tactical advantage, at least.

Now, if he could keep the terrain tight around the visiting muscle, he could forego a firefight - just in case something went sideways - and minimize loss of life in case of such an emergency. Down to it, the big man just didn't trust these people, not one bit. Hopefully he was being paranoid. His boss's warnings about the situation here in town had given him that particular touch of heightened personal awareness.

But he still wished that he had eyes inside the office.

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

@FantasyChic

That sounds a lot like an IC question for Foy.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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The manner in which the rogue Reaver vessel was dealt with did rather seem like Jahosafat's style. It was complicated, dependent upon the proficiency of others, and ended in a flashy manner that resulted in something getting destroyed. "Bravo, Doctor. Excellent bit of tactic, my good fellow."

Foy clapped his hands lightly, or at least as best he could without putting his fine, felt bowler hat in danger. It was a sturdy enough piece of fine, timeless headwear, not to mention that it wasn't the only one that he packed. But it would be quite some time before he would set foot in a place that would afford him the opportunity to replace something as fitting for him as the perfect hat, so he wanted to ensure the quality of said item for as long as possible. Money gave no excuse to be wasteful, unless it was to impress people.

"Ah yes, of course, and a tip of my cap to the good people manning their positions here on the Bridge. It was truly a piece of magic to see that the less fiscally and socially well-off can make up for those very shortcomings by acts of proficient daring. Quite the spectacle, really."

The esteemed Mr. Coiffeur seemed particularly pleased with himself, possibly even thinking that he had passed along a compliment in his moderately eloquent ramblings. His one point of note that was potentially of use to the crew was phrased after a short pause, "I say, Firefly shuttles - they are mounted externally, are they not? I don't recall seeing any still attached to the old girl. Something to give a modicum of ponderance."

This was getting interesting, indeed. Perhaps someone was out seeking help nearby. They just might get it, too. The Alliance didn't have much in the way of flowering support out in this corner of the 'Verse. A downed Reaver ship would also surely bring out every able gun in the region to finish off survivors before they could locate civilization and do their dastardly bits to it. Oh, this area would become quite busy (for the population density) in a little while.

And speaking of interesting, the game was anew! The damaged Firefly was staying together with duct tape and good intentions, from the looks of her. Their crew must know that a tactically superior vessel, such as the Retribution, could easily overtake and crush them. Logic would dictate a landing, from which they could try to negotiate, bribe, or lay ambush. He did so hope it was the latter. His hands itched to be weighted by his shooting irons as they grew steadily warmer from repeated use. Another thought came to mind, as it tended to, and he offered a hypothetical to his good friend Jahosafat.

"I had been considering expanding the family business, Josie. What would you think about "Foy's Haberdashery", hmm?"

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William Harper

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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"...pursue the Vengeance at this point." A clear and easy command, one that Harper was very capable of doing at the time. It was the simplest matter of finding the ship, obvious in visuals without having to resort to more technical instrumentation. Habit made him check sensors anyway. Habit, and a decided need to not be taken unawares by any lingering Reaver ships that might be in the area, and aware that one of theirs just got impacted into the side of a canyon. Such an event would undoubtedly make his day even worse.

"Aye, Captain." Simple words communicating compliance. This was a Black Ship, and Quinn was the Captain of it. That gave him all the authority he would need to commit acts most unpleasant if the situation hinted at it. But this was an everyday, common order. Even if the Lieutenant didn't like the work he was doing. All the same, might as well do it right.

Foy sure was annoying. But the last bit about the shuttles was right. They might have backup on the way. It was something worth considering; it was further Harper's opinion to get done whatever needed doing here and blow atmo before things got worse. Lobbing a question at the Captain seemed like a useful idea, if the question would speed along the results.

"Do you want me to hail them, Captain?"

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

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Keystone

Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three/Morning of Day Four

Interacting With: Satilla, Sana

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"You want me to what her? 'Ere? Front of everybody?"

Keystone was a fairly open man, as these things were concerned. It had been said that he was a man that lacked some of the basic elements of shame, even when it was to his benefit. But he wasn't without scruples as it came to others. To his mind, it just didn't seem to be the proper moral path, with the party all around them and her in a state of physical distress. Point of fact, Keystone had half a mind to tell this inappropriately garbed witch exactly what he felt about her suggestion, and imply that her gender and small stature were the only things keeping her from some manner of rough treatment for even suggesting that Keystone take advantage of a respected colleague and fellow warrior in that egregious manner.

"Don't know what kinda healer you claim to be, miss, but you... ..oh. Oh! ELEVATE. Yeah, I'm on it."

Well, that could have gone better. Keystone's judgement had been a little questionable lately, he realized. It seemed anything concerning his friend (if "friend" was appropriate, they'd only spent a few days adventuring together before, and a while back) made him shift priorities. He had never been a man to consciously list priority, more than a man who instinctively acted, confident that he was doing the right thing with willful abandon. The vast majority of the time, it was with certainty. Sana's presence had invoked certain protective instincts that, while always present, now seemed to quiet everything else. Why the hell did she have to kiss him? Why couldn't she just slap him to make him break off his attack on the spellcaster? Or better yet, would it have made a difference? Keystone was a very physical guy.

"Right! Elevate." The occidental monk rolled Sana over onto her stomach. He proceeded to wrap one massive hand around her ankles and lifted her from the ground in a single, fluid motion, seemingly unimpressed with the amount of weight he had to bear. Keystone placed his other hand upon her sternum to steady her, providing a more natural, supporting angle than just allowing her to swing freely like a human-shaped pendulum. "Now then." he started in a concerned voice, "Hack up the skinny prat's liquid, love. You got this."

There would be choice words later.

🦄 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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The Lord Major scoffed at his nephew's sudden lack of interest in the results of his tale of hooves and ribaldry. "Ho ho there, boy. I shall have you know there are many such minor epics that litter the landscape of my history, the vast of majority of which a man possessing the breeding and refinement worthy of the Keystone name should never take even the most modicum of pride. Nonetheless, I find myself looking back upon them with some level of fondness. There must be more to life than that which is expected of us, I find."

Reginald gave the concept a few seconds of actual thought, as if coming to full realization that he was indeed living a coded philosophy slightly against the grain of his upbringing. "It is freeing, I think, coming from a point of disgrace." His eyes darted to his guests, fearful that he may have given more about himself away than he intended at this juncture. Peter likely knew most of the story, but the American woman... well, he was pretty sure that his actions would have been looked upon with fairer eyes across the Pond. "Not that my actions are without honor, mind, just that it forces a perspective differing from the Peerage's overt guidelines of conduct. One could say that honor brought me to my current standing."

He had said too much. Too much and too fast about himself. Again, his relaxed circumstances and liberal attitude to alcohol probably didn't help. He endeavored to change the subject back to the present. "But never you mind the Honeycomb and the Jackass, sir. I shall attempt to provision us with comfort and practicality in mind. Perhaps I should inquire into the local labor pool concerning the hire of a houseman or two to tend to our more mundane domestic needs whilst traveling, what?"

"Ah, and Missus Ridgeway! My apologies, I did not notice the rings before you mentioned something just now; otherwise I would have been using the revered title in reference. So, Missus Ridgeway, if the festivities of the evening are becoming weighty, I would like to restate my offer: You may find rooms for visiting dignitaries on the Barracks, else I would extend the use of my private car and driver here for your continued safety."

"Otherwise, feel free to continue to eat, drink, and recline with your fellow celebrators, perhaps until such time as one of our upholstered benches claims your consciousness. It would not be the first instance for Yours Truly, nor key members of our senior staff here at Qasr El Nil."