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: The Group

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From Keystone's vantage, the Half-Orc shapeshifter was acting just a hair squirrely. He had asked the woman to replace his blade in the sheath tucked into the back of his belt, true, but her body language suggested hesitation, as if she didn't want to get too close to the man. The slight change in her demeanor set off tiny signals to his proprioception; it was enough to shift his greater awareness outward, away from himself and even some away from Sana, still mostly unconscious in his arms. Keystone turned his head around and began to listen in earnest to the conversation going on around him.

"Runnin' about in the woods again?" he said to no one in particular. "Worked just peaches last time, dinnit?" He recalled the reasons given by the more recent additions to the group. Safety in numbers, and that was just when it was a Human/Orc skirmish. Now there were confirmed, sizeable numbers of dead people scaring off the wildlife to boot. Of all the places in the woods right at that second, the only spot he knew was not infested with the Undead was between that cave entrance and the partially damaged wall of ice in front of him.

Keystone slowly turned around and marched the few steps back to the low fire of their campsite. He half sat, half knelt on the cold ground next to the red and orange embers, and rested Sana in his lap. The healer had clearly said that she wanted the Gypsy-Archer off of the ground; the thickness of the Pugilist's bulk would likely suffice, he thought. Now with the support that the new position provided him, Keystone removed his arm from beneath Sana's hips. Just a bit of a stretch later, he tossed a few more sticks in to burn, and shuffled a large ceramic bottle from his pack.

It took a second or two to open the bottle one-handed; it had an interesting flip-top stopper for such a convenience, but it was still a little tricky. Apparently, the big man wanted a little something to tide him over until the tea was ready. That, and he really could use a drink right then. Keystone took a respectable pull from the very full bottle (followed by a marked exhale), and motioned with it to those who indicated a desire to remain. "Dwarven. Got a punch, but it'll warm ya."

For the others, he offered a bit of sideways encouragement. "Rest o' you lot, have fun with y'nature hike. I might be along after the screamin' starts. Cheers."

Keystone huddled a little closer around the campfire, hoping Sana was feeling some of the warmth. It wouldn't be as good as a spot inside the cave with a similar source of heat, but it was much better than nothing.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)

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Ash took the list of the day's dead, examining it with the totality of his capacity for objective thought. A couple of these people he'd been with from the founding of the Newnan settlement. Others he had known for less time, but felt closer to for reasons of which he was uncertain. They were good people, every single one of them. Even that circus performer seemed like a decent guy, but in truth Ash didn't actually know him, more than anyone can know someone over the space of a drive in the country. He'd be interred as one of Newnan's anyway, he decided. Ash was planning on accepting Bazhooli into the fold after a successful run. Technically, it did succeed. But that aside, there was a glaring point of logistics in all of this death.

They had a lot of job openings.

Of course, stoic as the grim Captain was, he possessed enough personal insight to realize that his decision making abilities, so far as trust and reading people were concerned, were compromised. It was very possible that he needed someone a little more easygoing to give him an assist, ask relevant questions he would overlook in his state and get him to back off if needed. Left alive and nearby, they had one Lead that wasn't doing something vital. Ash spoke into his radio.

"Mr. Grady, would you please report to the Mess Hall to help conduct entrance interviews? Need that on the quick."

From James's point of view, this was a bit of a shock. It wasn't the first time he'd been in the room during these interviews, but it was the first time he was radioed for personally. Most of the time, Ash just took care of this on his own; he was a pretty good judge of character and had a knack for convincing people that he meant business. But he was in an unusual state, recently. James couldn't quite out his finger on it, but something was off about that man lately.

"Yeahboss..." he called back into his walkie. "Um, boss? I got half yo' shit across the parking lot here, what you want me to do?"

Back in the Mess Hall, Ash sighed. He took his free hand and pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward of an incoming headache, and exhaled a breath with a whispery, protracted "...damnit..." The annoyed Captain broadbanded the frequencies on his radio, addressing everyone within hearing distance of one throughout Newnan. "I want two people from Domestic to take over for James, reloading and reprovisioning the Hordebuster. Make sure something decent from the Distillery features prominently in those provisions."

Ash respecified the frequency. "Are we good, James?"

"Yeah boss, we good. Be there soon as I get my shirt on."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Morose @FantasyChic

You two have characters that are up for interview in Newnan's Mess Hall. Now we find ourselves in a situation. It has always been assumed that Ash conducts interviews, sometimes alone, sometimes with other Leads. Usually these are done one at a time. But the kicker here is that they have never been RPed out. Tedious back and forth stuff, even if we all sit down and collab it. Plus, we're trying to get to a time skip.

Hopefully, a small gathering in the back of the Hordebuster involving booze and closure is forthcoming, as well. But we'll get to that.

What I need from you: This is a standard entrance interview. If he thinks something is fishy, there are no guarantees. Ash is a fairly observant guy. That being said, if there's anything that your characters are going to withhold or refuse to discuss, let me know here. If you're going to have any questions for him, let me know that here, too. And if there's anything your characters will be volunteering, ditto. Also, we have a few job openings. Let me know what you want to shoot for. Job assignments will be part of the time jump.

🦄 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 shook his head slightly, considering the ramifications of assisting in the escort of the young American woman. The more gentlemanly duty was handled at base level by the driver, but Reginald could not simply leave it at basic point of etiquette. Not when there was another option available. As it turned out, his nephew Peter handled just exactly that, offering his services alongside that of the chauffeur. "Regretfully no, Missus Ridgeway. There were others at the Museum that mentioned their intent to come by the Barracks when their own efforts had concluded for the evening. I would be a poor host, to be vacant were they choose to accept the hospitality of the Qasr El Nil."

Looking Peter over, Reginald reached down to the holster for his revolver on his belt. Unfastening the flap, he spoke to his nephew. "I wonder if you should feel the need for it, Peter, considering the particularly uncommon occurrences of the evening thusfar. It's a Webley, you see. Like the ones we were issued for the War, but the action is a skosh smoother. I shall be well enough here, consuming my scotch and looking up requisition paperwork, pouring through my collection of personal and business cards for what promises to be an interestingly tedious bit of horse trading on the morrow."

He waved the two of them toward the car. "And I shall expect to see you before the evening concludes, my boy - I shall have guest accommodations waiting upon your return."

"Missus Ridgeway, it has been a genuine pleasure keeping your company, and I hope to see you safe and well as we continue planning our Fellowship. Good evening, madame."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them."}

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Location: St. Etheldreda's - Chapel

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Sister Mary bowed her head slightly and gave a polite smile as her noble acquaintance acquiesced to her habitual formality. She would need time and clear familiarity before she could comfortably refer to anyone by a shortened version of their first name, not when she knew their full, given name and especially not when she knew they were titled.

As a child, she was raised to act in a manner befitting a lady of class. She was the daughter of a hereditary Knight (not that she would inherit the title under British law), and as such was raised heavily to understand the concepts of social hierarchy and her family's place within it. She had long since left that part of her life behind, but disciplined indoctrination of divine training and that of the militant Swiss Guard took over where the lessons of a Knight's daughter left off. Her understanding of the world's most famous personal soldiery also gave her keen insight into the actions and motivations of Elizaveta's detachment of Imperial Guards.

"Your guard and I have much in common, my Lady, and I hold them to no fault in the commission of their duties. But to your point of prayer: While I find solace the more effective means, my way is not the only way. If you have knowledge of a technique or mystery that may be of further help, I would be grateful were you to examine the boy."

Mary moved to the side doors of the Chapel, using her halberd as a walking staff. She swung them gently on their hinges and held one open, motioning for Elizaveta to pass through. The young Dame looked around for Bishop Mansfield, hoping urgently for the update he promised from earlier. But she now had obligated herself, and the boy she rescued earlier, to the ministrations of this Russian lady.

"He will have been placed in aide's quarters near my own. Please, come with me."

🦄 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, Kyra, Cyneburg

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Kyra was the first to move at Keystone's request, presenting him with his new cloak. It seemed fitting, after a fashion; Sana had given the cloak to him. In a way he was returning it. The garment had been treated with alchemical reagents and the infernal touch of Hellhound blood, a Hellhound that Keystone helped dispatch, first by very ineffectively throwing a knife at it, followed by a pissed-off close to melee and the brash, underclass gent living up to his title of Pugilist. For his part in the fight, Keystone punched out a Hellhound.

In the future, the broad man would invent a document called a "Resume", a powerful scroll detailing the high points of a person's chosen career and the means by which one may locate the individual. Though he would never become a true Wizard, Keystone's foray into scroll creation would vastly increase the probability of its user securing contracted employment. He could see it now:

Resume Entry

Johnathon Illiam Keystone
Pugilist
Year of Singing Swords, fortnight cusping the Equinox and Late Harvest
Realm of Lore

Demonstrated remarkable adaptive abilities following the unintended Planar Shift that resulted in my presence in Lore. Further demonstrated proven networking techniques, engaging in professional/social endeavors with a diverse work group, including Dragonkin, Goblins, Carney Folk, native Agriculturalists, and the Undead while maintaining appropriate decorum, including but not limited to not pummeling them into pink paste studded with bits of bone shards. Duties included Watch, Threat Assessment, Teambuilding Exercises, Exchanging Fisticuffs with Hostiles, Ambassadorial Service for home realm, Evading Corrosive Rain and Enduring Extreme Environment Changes.

Highlights: Bareknuckle negotiations over exploration/salvage rights to an abandoned temple vs sentient Undead, assisting in a group takedown of a giant Hellhound by hammering it senseless and broken with my bare fists, preparing a variety of foodstuffs from the corpse of said Hellhound including an appropriate sauce pairing (Mornay).

Challenges presented by the opportunity: Losing my favorite coat due to infernal fire (while wearing it), keeping a polite face in the presence of an intelligent Undead fighter (apparently much better tolerated there), linguistic barriers in the form of the Argentum dialect of Common to their native. Also, no bacon.

Nevertheless, he was grateful to Kyra for getting the large parcel of cloth to him. Actually wrapping it around Sana while holding her would be a little more difficult, but hopefully she would recognize his dilemma and give him a hand. With any luck, the Orcs would consent to allowing them into the cave, preferably near a fire on warm, smooth stone, and he could set his friend down safely. Until then, he was going with the advice of their healer. Keystone mumbled a quick "Thanks, Kyra." and glanced around see what else was going on in his immediate vicinity.

Cyneburg advanced upon Keystone, he noted. "Holdin' that knife by the wrong end, yeah?" he mused, still holding up Sana. He didn't mind the Half-Orc druid so much. If nothing else, watching her shift forms into a bear from several feet up for maximum impact against a moving target was inspired. First opportunity, he was going to write all of that down. "Hands're a bit full just now, y'mind slipping that back in my sheath? Sharp side up; there's a good Miss."

He wasn't one hundred percent on where the conversation around him was going; his attention was focused elsewhere. But when Satilla crossed in front of him carrying a wool blanket, mentioning something about "hot to drink" and "proper tea". Seems his propensity to pack heavily and keep creature comforts nearby was of use. "Proper Tea, right? My pack. Wood box. Little goes a long way." He wouldn't mind a cup, himself. Been a long day.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 1 (Infirmary) -> Building 2 (Mess Hall)

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A tiny Russian girl just hugged the stuffing out of him. If she had been an knife-wielding maniac intent on murdering him where he stood, Ash would be a dead man. Just that fast. But that wasn't Ash's problem. Tatiana had just given him the first piece of meaningful, human contact that anyone had in a very long time. He had made it a point to avoid exactly this. But more, she actually used the words "Thank you". It hurt him just as solidly as a punch to his gut. Ash didn't deserve hugs. He didn't deserve thanks. And this was making him very uncomfortable.

The barest of tremors began as his psyche rebelled against the notion of warmth and kindness visited upon him. Worse yet, the tiny flicker of himself that still longed for it flared for a half second before his own guilt and anger beat it back down, reminding him that he shouldn't have that feeling. It was just enough time for one arm to raise reflexively and start to move around Tatiana - a question of inches - and he froze in place until she was finished showing him undeserved gratitude.

Jack's presence, and the resulting diversion of Tatiana's attention, was a relief.

He addressed Froggy as if they had finished their exchange, despite the fact that hadn't answered Ash's question yet, let alone said anything at all to the man since he entered the Infirmary. "Good. Tomorrow, then." It was simple, stuffy, and got him the hell out of there. He exited the building quickly and took a moment to compose himself fully before moving to his next, hopefully last, task for the day.

Just across the street, he needed to interview some incoming personnel. Well, maybe incoming personnel, that's what the interviews were for. He noted with some neutrality the scene unfolding with Kris and Niesha. It was one that he had seen many, many times. Most of the people that were still alive had witnessed this multiple times, as well. They would understand and sympathize, just as he did. But Ash could not offer words of support nor encouragement. He just didn't have it in him right then. The best gift he could give was his distance, which he did for his benefit as much as hers. The tiniest concession he gave was a nod in Kris's direction, before entering the Mess Hall.

Finding out who was new here was simple enough - look for the table with three people who looked nervous and/or out of place. The only remaining unfamiliar faces in the room. But that wasn't completely accurate; he had come in with two of them. But one was ushered in by James. It was she that Ash intended to begin his casual interrogation session. Before this, he called Sally to his side to make a request. "Please have someone get me a list of our casualties. Quickly, if you would."

His voice was granite, reflecting the heaviness of his heart as he addressed the newcomers. "My name is Ashton Holloway, Captain, United States Army. Well, when we had an army. Or a United States. Obviously, things are different or I wouldn't be introducing myself in a church while you're eating smoked deer and wondering how the hell air conditioning was still possible."

His accent had a twinge of cultured Virginian, evident in his speech now that the day had worn down on him. "Look, today was not a great day. I'm going to have to bore you with the abridged version of our "Welcome Speech". It's simple. If you're just passing through and want to do some trading, great. If you're passing through and need someplace safe to spend the night, that's fine too. You have a full belly and a bunk for the night. You may pick your weapons up on your way out in the morning."

"But if you stay, the rules are simple: Everyone who's able works, everyone who's able fights. We take care of our own and we build this place up. You will be given work assignments, primary and secondary, based upon our needs and your skill sets. Listen to your Leads. You report to them, they report to me. If you feel that you do not have a skill we can use, we will teach you one. We can always use more people tending crops, raising livestock, and working domestic chores. Every job is important."

"We have a system of discipline in place that largely mirrors my military experience. Punishments for infractions run as slight as unfavorable assignments and as high as execution." Ash paused for a second to gauge the faces of the new people present before continuing, "Thankfully, I have not had to do that yet."

Yet. Operative word was "yet". But he came close once or twice. And while it wasn't exactly an execution, he had repelled invaders with machete, gun, and knife. "Now, ah... Tiffany? I was just in the infirmary. Both of them are alive and in better condition than they were an hour ago."

"Now, any questions before we begin?"

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Black James(!)

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Location: The Hordebuster, Building 4 Parking Lot

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James paced around the furnishings outside of the Hordebuster's loading ramp. Although he had just done this not a half hour ago, James had no earthly idea how he was going to move it back in by himself. Observers to the scene would find a shirtless Mr. Mandingo Grady take off his impressive cowboy hat to try and flag down anyone passing by, anxious to borrow an extra pair of hands for a few minutes worth of loading detail.

It was actually quite comical.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Morgue

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Comic books? That was a curious thing. But people say curious things when they're about to be subjected to the meticulous torture of fully aware, fully awake surgery. Caesar sympathized with the situation. Even felt bad when the first noises issued from little Cecily. It was her decision to join him, but he did ask. He felt a little bad about this whole thing, an ounce or so of personal guilt weighing on him. It seemed he couldn't protect those around him reliably, which was a liability to a man who owned a large security company. Also, ironic as hell. He didn't respond, except to grunt and hold her down a little harder.

The doctor responding to their exchange with her little observation reminded him to keep conversation around others to a minimum. The last thing they needed right now, aside from medical complications, was more people getting an idea as to their plans. It was at this point that he realized "their" carried a bit more meaning. Thanks to this little outing, Cecily and Caesar were in the same kind of danger, with the same results if things went awry. She wasn't family. Nevertheless, felt he had a responsibility now.

It was with some irritation that he nodded at Dr. Brinne in response to her question as to whether he wanted to know what she found out about Alicia and Lorna. Of course he wanted to know. It's why he asked. Putting it off to remove the bullet fragments from Cecily? Understandable. Offering up a teaser question as if there was the barest possibility that he what, changed his mind? That was posturing. Caesar simply hadn't the patience for it right then.

"So let's talk."

🦄 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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The chase wasn't quite as flashy as Harper would have hoped. He had seen what their pilot was capable of, maneuvering a damaged ship through tight terrain with Reavers heaping mortal stress upon the situation. The Lieutenant was no slouch on the sticks himself; took to piloting ships as readily as he did tech or engineering. That is to say, well above average. That being said, the fleeting possibility of matching skill against a fellow rocket jockey was removed, right at the moment that the Firefly vessel began to shudder and list. It had to be set down. A twinge of disappointment found the Lieutenant, though it opened up possibilities: Depending upon how the next hour or two went, he would have an opportunity to congratulate the Independent pilot on an excellent piece of aerial gymnastics.

It was a very fanciful notion, that. He knew that in all likelihood, this would end with violence. You don't trade stories with someone in a group responsible for killing all of your friends right in front of you. If they happened to have a nasty surprise in store for the I.A.V. Retribution and managed to turn what appeared to be overwhelmingly slanted odds against them, Harper doubted that he would be in much of chatty mood, either. No, he was going to do as ordered and prepare to land.

Taking an idling strafe around the Vengeance, Harper switched to grav propulsion only. He flipped sensors from passive to active, trying to glean as much information from the downed vessel as he could, and kept a steady eye on visuals. True to order, he began looking for a decent landing site as near to the vessel as he safely could and engaged gears for descent to a non-docked site. All he needed now was an official command and an opportunity. In the meantime, Liam opened a comm channel to the Vengeance and hailed the vessel.

"Firefly Class vessel; Vengeance, this is the I.A.V. Retribution, please respond."

Nothing.

"Firefly Class vessel; Vengeance, this is the I.A.V. Retribution. We have cannons trained on your boat. Please respond."

Still nothing.

"Firefly - Vengeance, please respond immediately or we will be forced to escalate."

Either they could not hear the hail, or they could and simply didn't care. Harper reasoned that it was possible damage to the ship could have caused a communications blackout, and wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but that wasn't his decision.

"Captain, we have no response to repeated attempts to hail. We are prepped for landing, but if I may, sir? The Barber (?) was correct. Both shuttles are missing from the craft. If we land, we could lose a strategic position. I suggest getting a full weapons lock before we touch down. Their comms might be damaged. Weapon lock would trigger their sensors instead, if they're still operational, sir."

He made absolutely sure to follow up with a respectful, "Ready to land at your command, sir... Wait, shuttle coming up, aft. Orders, sir?"

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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Ah, what a potentially entertaining day it was. It seemed that fate conspired to deny Foy his chance at an armed Meet & Greet, letting such matters be resolved as a contest between machines and machine users rather that the up close and personal kind of work for which the Farradayan Gentleman was known. Be it interpersonal niceties or trading gunfire, Mr. Coiffeur preferred to look a person in the face. Well unless he was sniping. But that came with the territory. Point was, he was a man on the ground.

"Well, talks of the Haberdashery shall have to be postponed in the interim, my good sir." observed Foy, grateful yet again that he decided to prep for an extended session of munitioned negotiation. He transferred his attentions from his childhood friend over to his former working partner (from back in his days with the Agency), mentioning, "Miss Lobo, I do so enjoy the pitch of the music that is queuing presently." Then inquired simply, "When was the last time you waltzed?"

Foy flashed a debonair smile and applied a bit of wax from a small metal jar to the tips of his fastidiously groomed moustache.

🦄 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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"Yes of course!" blurted the most nobly Peered officer, verbally succumbing to the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol he had been consuming over the course of the past couple of hours. His desire to remain a competent and gracious host would not be dulled by his potential for chronic problem drinking. No, his slur aside (which if one knew the man, was quite minor at this point), Reginald would still see to the needs of his guests in a grand and sociable manner, one befitting a man of his rank and station. "If you would excuse me but a moment... I shall have a car brought around. But first, my dearest Missus Ridgeway, I'm afraid I must abscond to my, ah, secondary office. Pardon me, madame."

Reginald darted around chairs and stationary tables in the mostly unpatroned Officer's Club, to and fro, with growing sense of personal urgency in his movements. He located and darted into a smallish, unsuspecting door toward a back corner of the establishment and let the horizontally swinging interior portal slowly swing back shut behind him. A man listening closely may have even heard a sound, not unlike a wooden slat rebounding off of porcelain followed by a grumbled "Blast it all..." and an immediately following sigh of immense satisfaction.

White noise. White noise in a hollow space. White noise echoing lightly, punctuated by the inexpert humming of a mildly inebriated Officer and Gentleman of the British Aristocracy. The hum persisted, taking on varying notes that, were one particularly inclined to puzzle out any deeper meaning from the abstract sounds emanating from beyond the unassuming doorway, began to take the form of a song; one that couldn't quite be placed.

"La da da dum, dum dum,
la la la laaaaaa dum dum,
la lalala laaaaa la dum..."
...wait for it...
"Lala la la laaaaaa..."

It went on for a span of time heretofore unaccounted by the annals of human history - the inarticulate musical interlude, and that oddly unplaced white noise - the sort that could be explained by, oh I don't know, the forceful expulsion liquid ringing onto a concave, fired earthenware surface, perforated by the more resonating sound of contact with a deeper source of standing water. The humming threatened to overtake the ambient sounds of the mysterious back room, brought back up with stronger, steadier voice. The tune was still just out of reach of recognition, and seemed to be fated to remain that way.

That is, until he began to sing the words.

"Send him victorious
Happy and glorious
Long to reign over us..."
...
"God save the King... GAHHH! Blast it all again!"

Muttering of a sort coupled with the sound of a sudden rush of water met the ears of those in the Officer's Club proper. Reginald himself returned to his guests, muttering, "Never salute when you're indecently indisposed, Reggie old boy; even IF the King is mentioned." He returned to the bar, leaning in close to their bartender. Pausing just a little between words, he spoke in flawless Arabic to the slender man, who immediately left the premises as if on a mission.

"Come along then, Missus Ridgeway! Your chariot awaits outside; one of a comparative few of its kind in this part of the world, and our privilege to keep a few of in the motor pool."

Within the next two minutes, outside of the Officer's Club, there would pull up an older model of automobile. A classic example of British engineering, this car was reliable and stylish, if a little outdated. "It's a 1914 model. Commonly used to chauffeur about dignitaries and the like. It's a Rolls-Royce, of course. Silver Ghost line; give anything the Americans put together today a run for their money."

True, the Americans were doing excellent things with automobiles, and the Silver Ghost was an amazing machine, but Reginald had quite forgotten the nationality of his non-relation guest. "Ah. I meant no offense, madame. I am merely positively disposed to this line of vehicle over others. Why, I used to work on these chassis for military conversion, an age and a day ago. But I digress! The Ghost is at your disposal for the evening, as well as its driver. If you should require further escort, I am certain we can handle this as well, either personally or by proxy."