Skull

The Wild Encephalon [Sci-Fi Western Epic]

@Song Book You are far too kind, but thanks for the compliment! That just made my week . Nice way to start off what will most likely be another crazy work shift.

The Wild Encephalon [Sci-Fi Western Epic]

@Kafka Komedy Hey there!

There's essentially a coalition called the Kujat made up of many different alien races. Two of them are high caste, and I might expand on a couple other species. I'm leaving it open for people that might want to create their own.

Then there is the human equivalent simply called Hume. They've got longer lifespans compared to us (200 years) even without cybernetic enhancements. Non-enhanced humes are rare and there's a whole reason behind that I'll detail in the OOC.

Magic will most likely be tech-based. Kind of like Mass Effect's omni-tool in how it can fabricate three dimensional objects and manipulate kinetic/thermal energy, combined with how Tony Stark's Iron Man suit generates its powers --- to a certain extent. My idea is to have it utilized as a lesser function, kind of like Witchers with signs. I'm still working out the kinks behind it, but this is the direction it'll most likely head.

The Wild Encephalon [Sci-Fi Western Epic]

Update: I'm pleased to announce that I'm more than halfway through the OOC. The scope of this RP has gotten a lot larger than intended, but the western sci fi/exploration themes are still very much intact. All that's left are a few tabs on alien races, bestiary, tech/misc, and a timeline. I aim to get this done no later than Thursday of next week. To those still interested, thanks for your patience!

Buccaneers and Blades (Fantasy, High Casual)

"You've shat yourself?" Zahir looked deeply concerned at the man sitting across from him. He stared out to the small crowd around them, searching for clarification. "What is this word, shat?"

"He shit himself!" A grime-soaked spectator whistled a chuckle through the gaps of his yellow smile. "Dropped brown anchor! Pranced around with the puddin princess! Let loose a soddin mud dragon!"

This was a confusing explanation to the bronze-skinned foreigner. He demanded further enlightenment. Several patrons began pantomiming wild gestures with their hands, swirling them about from their rear ends. Zahir finally put two and two together. He cocked his bald head back and let loose a burly guffaw, releasing his hand from his defeated arm wrestling opponent, then proceeded to wipe said hand on the man's shoulder.

"Keep your coin shatty man," Zahir didn't know if he was using that word right, but it achieved its desired effect as everyone around them hollered with laughter. "Save it for the washmaidens!"

Zahir rose from his chair, careful not to bump his head against the candled light fixtures. As he did, he looked over to the table across the room where a man sat interviewing a line of potential deckhands. The queue was finally thinning out.

"Fellow drunkards, this is as good a time as any for me to take my leave," Zahir bowed, his golden jewelry clinking about like tiny wind chimes. Despite their protests, he insisted. "I've enjoyed your company, but now I have more pressing matters to tend to."

He grabbed the red poncho hanging from his chair and draped it around his chiseled frame. It no longer felt weighed down by Seacliffe rainfall, but his sandals were still damp. He'd much rather chuck them all together and peruse bare if he could, but, as he quickly learned, such a notion was frowned upon around here. Not to mention that exposing himself in such a way only drew unwanted attention, and he needed to lay low, for there were daggers out for him. Zahir approached the pony-tailed man, grinning at his question.

"My name is Zahir," He held out his calloused hands as if he were making an offering. They were riddled with scars and toughened skin, forged by sea and scrap alike. "Use these to smash a man's skull, or work the deck of any ship. I can rig my way around most, fore-and-aft, or square masts, it matters not. Good climber. Can scale crossbeams, or go as high as top gallant if needed. Can also do oar work, or maintain ballasts below deck."

A moment of silence passed between them. Zahir stroked his chin. He wanted to add something else, something humorous, but nothing came, so he shrugged his broad shoulders and clapped his hands to signify that he was done talking. Almost.

"Spear fishing! This, I am also good at!" Zahir finally remembered. "Yes, yes! Speared three lungfish at once. Like..."

He struggled to find the words, wishing his drinking companions were there to pantomime for him. Then he remembered a delicious treat he ate at the wharf market, picturing the small stick stabbing through pieces of dried squid.

"Like, shagrashi-tkebralla babmata-ka-rattai!" Zahir frowned, realizing he was using a variation of the word from his native dialect. He proceeded to chip it down to its more popular moniker. "Shat kebab, yes? No, ...no! Wrong word. Shits Kebab. No, not that either... Shish! Shish Kebab! Hayasham molama-setriad la!"

The Arad Luin trailed off in his native tongue, cursing at himself for his foolishness.

Buccaneers and Blades (Fantasy, High Casual)

I should have a post up by Friday!

Across the Great Sea - A Witcher RP (OPEN / STILL IN INTRO STAGE)

---

Somewhere below the Craft District...

The underground sewers beneath the Craft District danced to the haunting voice of Edgar "Lantana" Cervantes. The night had started with him and his troupe, planted along a nook big enough for a small audience. Giuseppe Gavignone, the group's half-ling talent manager, coordinated with the local herbalists to bring in droves of wonderfully scented fauna to combat the stench of excrement. Natural light came from the moon shone down from the manhole opening above. People came and went, but there was always a crowd, even when the moon left and the bits of sun started rising in its stead, peeping through the manhole and down onto Lantana like a faint spotlight. He basked in its glow like an ethereal deity, strumming his guitar as its melody lanced out in harmonious echo. The rhythm was soft, slower now, a calm that seemed to match the beauty of the rising morning, further accentuated by his somber ballad:

Summon the old flames cast anew,
Light the lantern, see the truth,
What was once will never be,
Yet broken hearts will wish it so!
No matter peasant, king or queen,
It matters not with kindred souls,
The Sun and Moon forever dreams
For the day they'll be made whole!
So, Dance The Night Away! (bridge)
Dance until your life, is ablaze!
Your tomb awaits your brittle bones,
Your spirit longs... to go ... back, ... home.

The final note was sung; The chords plucked from his guitar melted away into the silence of morning's light. A slow clap was heard, followed by many more, until all that could be heard was an overwhelming echo of applause. Streetgoers corralled around the open manhole from above, their shadows blotting out the sun as they joined in on the jeers and whistles. Coins and flowers rained down on Lantana, even a random Telchar sword and stiletto, which thankfully fell onto the ground without injuring anyone down below. Lantana didn't think the cheers could get any louder, but they did when he bowed his head, thus concluding their Night & Day concert. He straightened up, pointing toward where his troupe should've been, but they were nowhere to be found.

"Oh my, where did they run off to?" Lantana said, deeply concerned. Giuseppe Gavigone appeared at his side, pulling Lantana away from the continued shower of coins, flowers, and whatever random objects people felt compelled to chuck down at them.

"You did it again." Giuseppe simply stated. Lantana stared at the half-ling, confused for a moment, but a knowing look from his old friend made him realize his folly. Lantana sighed.

"Who was the first and last to leave?" Lantana asked, walking over to his guitar case. Giuseppe waited until he put his instrument away, then cleared his throat.

"Osid gave up after his 2nd string broke, likely a drunken stupor somewhere. Tizald, well, tried Fisstech to keep up. Setra had to take the lad back to the inn and tend to him."

"Why didn't you stop me?" Lantana had a somber look about him, but Giuseppe only smiled, the kind of smile that hurt because such happiness came at the troupe's expense.

"It was magic incarnate, dear friend, and no one dared interrupt a Grand Wizard's summons!" Giuseppe raised his hand, pointing to the audience crowding around them. "This was your defining performance, Lantana! They'll be talking about this for ages!"

The pale bard tried to smile as all eyes were on him, but his attention was still back at the empty wall where his troupe should be.

---

Meanwhile, at the Jolly Lion Inn...

---

The world spun madly about. It felt as though a surgeon flayed his body open, doused him in peppered spices, and sewed the bard back up with barbwire. The slightest of movements exacerbated his torment, so he laid there like a paralyzed dolt in an aracnomorph's web, groaning in agony.

"Quit yer codswallop, Tizald!" A woman's voice called out. The man could barely make out the details of the room, but her figure was undeniable. It was Setra.

"I'm almost ready." She said.

Ready, ready for what? Was this a fevered dream, or had she finally warmed up to his farm boy charms? He pursed his stiffened lips, gritting his teeth through the pain as he held them in place for a kiss. What he received instead was a wooden spoon full of what could only be described as ichor from a mutilated calf. Tizald lurched, but Setra firmly planted her hand over his mouth.

"Don't ye dare, Tizzy!" Setra warned, pointing a finger at him like she were his mother. "I ground that paste down to wee bits til the sun came to, so ye best get ta gulpin if ye know what's good fer ya!"

Tizald submitted to her will, calmed his aching body, and swallowed the syrupy paste.

"There ye go, Tiz." Setra's voice went from sharpened pikes to feathers and bath soap bubbles. She sat beside him and lifted Tizald's head, then scooted over so he could use her lap as a pillow. He gladly obliged.

"Wh-what happ--" Tizald lazily slurred, drifting into a hazy calmness.

"Shh, Shh, my lil bumpkin." Setra hummed a tune, The Handmaiden's Sonnet, the last ingredient needed for Tizald's recovery. She combed a loose strand of hair from his forehead back into Tizald's mane. As she did, she left a red mark in its place. Setra frowned, drawing her hand close, then out into the bouncing light from the Inglenook flames. The skin on her fingers were torn to bits, riddled with nicks and cuts.

"Lantana, ye crazy fuck. You'll be the end of us all."

The Wild Encephalon [Sci-Fi Western Epic]

Sorry folks. I'm not shelving this project, but the OOC is going to be coming out much later than anticipated.

Across the Great Sea - A Witcher RP (OPEN / STILL IN INTRO STAGE)

I should have something up in the next couple of days too.

Trylin Blues (Sci-Fi Space Western)

Sorry for the delay guys. I've got some free time the next couple of days so the responses will be quicker.

Trylin Blues (Sci-Fi Space Western)

Naturally, Ojan blamed his brother for the current kerfuffle. Had he watched where he was going, they'd have zigzagged out of this hot mess and be divvying up whatever reward Ence was willing to offer. Ojan carefully placed his scavenged weapons off to the side before he swung out his own. He whipped around the rifle over his shoulder and pointed it directly at the Torros. The gun whirled to life with plasma energy veining throughout its body, casting a powerful, vibrating hum, as a small holo interface winked in front of Ojan's targeting eye.

"Get moving, bull," Ojan warned, aiming between the Torro's horns. "Or you'll end up in pieces at the food market."

Just as the Torros was ready to pounce, a voice called out from behind him. Its tone was far more intimidating than Ojan's, even with a gun pointed to his head, for the bull scampered away without objection. Ulri looked up as he was picking his weapons, noting two bodyguards flanking a large lizard man. Not just any lizard man.

"Mack? What the hell are you doing here?" Ulri questioned, to which Ojan slapped the back of his head, pushing his twin brother forward.

"Shut up, Ulri! Just get to Ence's!" Ojan turned to Mack. The lizard wasn't quite as big as the Torros, but he was still intimidating nonetheless. Ojan wondered why he'd even need bodyguards to begin with. Nobody would be stupid enough to mess with him. Ojan shouldered his weapon, backing away toward his weapons pile. "Mack, we've got no problems with you. We're on our way to see Ence. You know how he is if you keep him waiting...so, we'll just be going now."