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2 yrs ago
Current Vanjie......Vaaaanjie. VAAAAANNNJIE!
4 yrs ago
Silly me silly me, for tuttling like we could make something beautifully. And the hands of my man, dusted in bedlam and false promises --while I delved in with love abundances
4 yrs ago
Ooops....where did the time go and it's the Holidays?
4 yrs ago
Surprise bitches, betcha thought you'd seen the last of me


I think I'll come back to this relatively soon...but then again, knowing me, I probably won't.

I guess the main point of this is to say: damn, I was gone for over a year from this place. I spent a good bit of inconsistent time on Iwaku, but I kinda missed my roots and the place I originally called home.

Most Recent Posts

And let's kick this Saturday off with the first Baal post of the second season!! Hot of the press and giving you an inside look to your favorite god-musician in the Absolute-verse.

XoXo, Stein

Issue 2.01 – The Book of Baal LP - All Falls Down

The Thunder’s Call: Break the Mold

By Arturo Rodriguez

The last time we ran a “Break the Mold” segment, our readers got an exclusive look into JAY-Z’s 8th rap album “The Black Album.” The multi-millionaire rap artist-turned business mogul, turned political activist, turned arts patron was more than happy to let us into his home. In the process, we got an intimate view on foundation that built rap’s HOVA.

This time, I get to take a seat with Baal, the artist who’s on track to save the world. His meteoric rise as an activist and hero is second only to his meteoric impact in the music industry, and in his own words, his “throbbing, fucking ego.”

It’s an ego which can be felt as soon as I walk into the waiting area of his studio. 4 portraits of him adorn the walls. The lavish explosion of color, richness of texture, dramaticism of his poses are all further accentuated by the wall housing them, marble of an ivory white. Readers, if you find this impressive, I won’t even get started on the mural in his main hall.

More on that, later.

Because Baal himself is an inviting host. He’s surprisingly candid from the intense demeanor his outside appearance gives. No formal wear, just a black shirt and white pants. His signature lightning bolt chain--of course--accompanied by splayed arms and a smile. In the interview coordination phase, it “slipped” how much I’d followed the new musicians rise. I was already a dire fan. I asked about what he was working on and in response my audio recorder short-circuited. Baal apologized for his excitement, ushering me into his studio and promised me a brand new one. After one glorious hour, listening and experiencing the next wave Baal has up his sleeve (I’m under oath to say mum about it), I was taken to his sky deck.

En route, we passed an art studio, study room and a few rooms, but the Man of the Hour wasn’t interested in showing off the grandeur of his home. He was more interested in telling the stories that birthed the art pieces in his home.

I’ve been thinking and, I promise this will be all I say on anything outside the music, but if you think about it--your message is essentially to save the world through Art, Unity and Action.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Holy Trinity, if you will.”

You don’t mince words or shadow your ego in a veneer.

“Why should I? If you don’t know your worth, if you haven’t proved it to yourself, how will you to anyone else? If I can’t live up to the hype, the world will know soon enough.”

On the topic of hype, Baal’s first album, “By Divine Rite” scored a 99 on Metacritic. It’s a feat almost unheard of by rap-focused albums. It’s garnered him rightful critical and popular appeal.

After hearing your samples from “The Book of Baal,” I have to say it’s a vastly different sound, sprinkled with deliberate nuances. But I might be even more excited for this album than BDR.

“Come now, love. It’s almost like you’re trying to make me blush. Takes more than that, but I appreciate it.”

How do you think the rest of the world will feel? Will they respond well to the new direction?

“‘Course they will. Have you heard the sound, the bravado of the album? Did you listen to the soundscapes? It’s likely to become the album of the summer, one of the albums of the year.”

There’s...not an ounce of doubt in your voice. You won’t even feign humility or some shadow of doubt, will you?

“Please, SparkArt. When you’re as good as I am--”

Baal paused as this point. It was the first I’d experience of the man looking surprised. I inquired, and he shook his head. There was a wistful tilt to his head as he said “Just a...just a wave of deja vu.”

You were saying...

“Right. When you’re as good as I am, this is humble. I see no point, pretending to be smaller than I am because some pruned feathers might be ruffled. Mortals have such a short life, why spend it pretending? Pretending to be lesser than you are, greater than you are. Be who you are, find your truth.”

Mortals? You say it as if you aren’t one.

[Continued on next page.]
Excerpt from IMPACT’s Fall Volume, Special Edition

“Mortals?” Baal read, “You say it as if you aren’t one.” The sky god chuckled, dropping the magazine onto his armchair.
Raindrops ran down the wall of window he looked out of, blurring the flecks of light that dotted the Seattle cityscape. It was no London, but it was a good substitute on nights such as these. “Well,” Baal asked, “what’s your verdict now, SparkArt?”

The figure in his bed slid from the silk pool of sheets that stained beige by the city lights. “Hmm, I’m not sure. You’re definitely something, alright.” Jimmy wound his hand around Baal’s arm, shivering next to him. “All I can say for sure is you’re a shockingly good space heater.” Arturo smirked at the sky god. The patter of raindrops turned his gaze toward the cityscape. “Do you ever think about it? That day in New York?”

Baal resisted the urge to tense up. ’Don’t be like the rest of them, James. Don’t be daft.’ Baal thought to himself. But he answered. “Not really, no.”

Art motioned him back to the bed. “Really? The entire world was holding it’s breath. Waiting to see how New York would come out of this. If the rest of us were next. How does that not sit with you?”

Baal felt the chill from before. Before this realm. The way The Great Darkness billowed like a forming maw, tendrils snapping to attach to his limbs. The way it dragged him back. That damn cold. The only time he’d ever felt cold. “Because I’ve sat with worse.”

“Why?” Arturo pressed. “Why don’t you like mentioning your work as a hero? It’s a good thing, you know.”

“Because, Spark-Art. I’m not a good person. And that’s not why I’m here—”

“By that logic, why are any of us here?” Arturo threw his hands in the air, falling back into the plush of white pillows on the bed.

“Look, Spark-Art. I don’t know why you all are here. But, I’m not here for that: to be a good person and the heroics. It’s because your lot is shite at it. That Wonder Woman? If she’s your world’s posterchild for heroes, you all need to go blind then.” Baal turned to Arturo finally, slid into bed and pressed the journalist down. “But if that’s the case, I’m thinking I can leave you with some sights and sensations you won’t forget.”

Art flipped himself so he straddled the sky god. The sky god gave the mortal a taste of what he’d been too afraid to admit he’d been waiting for: Baal let sparks dance across his skin, run up Arturo’s arm. Arturo’s tan skin shivered and Baal lifted himself, carrying Arturo to the window and pressing the reporter’s head against the glass.

“Oh? How’d you know I was ready for round 2?”

Baal kissed down Arturo’s neck, glancing toward the skyline once more, noting a growing glint in the night. “Let’s just say there was a spark in your eye.” They both chuckled before Arturo let slip a moan and Baal ran his hand down the mortal’s torso.

“Well Mr. Baal, can you do that thing with your tongue again—”

Baal tensed, his grip tight on Art’s neck.

“Baal? You’re hurting m—”

The sky god’s grip became steel around Arturo one instant. The next, Art’s body was flung across the room, toward the door. He hit the marble floor, his skin tugging against the cold surface. The mortal looked up just in time to see a portion of the glass wall shatter, flames lick the panes and radiate outward, an explosion! With Baal’s silhouette right in the epicenter.
Sample post pending, here's my app. The storm's about to get wild in here.


Accepted. Granted I'm not a GM. But I've accepted it and that's all that matters.

XoXo Gossip Girl
I do not understand.

We can reimagine canons as it were them, and then we plot out our own stories which is like writing issues numbered one through three like distribution of comic books, and in deep enough we participate in crossover and world-affecting crisis. I mean shoot man, what exactly do I not understand?

Hey hun, I think this might have been a message for just Wraith? So just shoot him a PM.
Oof. I see bitches encroaching in some areas and the interest is picking back. Yas, the heterosexual sacrificial offerings I've made seem to be working.

But for business stuff:

@Lord Wraith and other GM--oh wait. heh.

Anyway. For this next season, as I'm starting to integrate more regularly into the RP, I was looking at tucking a few characters under my NPC belt.

Would I be able to bring in the Planetary Team (Jakita, Snow and The Drummer, Ambrose, etc.) to my NPC bank?
There's all this anger and shadiness going around. Why not let your resident sky god brighten up the place with a brand new issue.


Issue 1.03 – Building Churches in the Wild Pt. 3 -My Name is My Name

New York, 10 Minutes Before the "Crisis"


A burst of light from an alleyway in the Upper East Side signaled Baal’s appearance. He righted himself, preparing to dust himself off until he remembered the state of his clothes. “Ugh. Mortals.” Baal took a deep breath and inhaled the metallic air like cigarette smoke.

The sequence of car alarms blaring at his arrival let Baal know he needed to work on his landing impact. A clatter of glass from an opening window drew his attention.

“Fucking gods and their.. Oi! You haveta knockout my power every time you visit? I mean, right in the middle of AbFab?”

Baal shrugged. Was he supposed to apologize for appearing? The sky god at least had the decency to place himself in a more insulated area when he arrived via lightning. But, he noted the radius of charred cement around him.

Jeroen Thornedike, "The Doctor", sighed. “Damn divine wanker is what you are.” He disappeared from the winding before popping his head out again. “You coming up, or what?”

“You know, I typically don’t push back appointments. Even a few moments. However, I made an exception with you because…”

“I’m a god. I know.”

Jeroen snorted. The involuntary reaction sent drops of tea flying, spreading hints of lavender throughout the room. “Yeah. Right. That’s the reason.”

Baal stared at The Doctor. Did this mortal really want to try his patience?

“Oh come off it already. You’re not the first god I’ve met, real or proclaimed, and you certainly won’t be the final one. You’ve seen one godly ego, you’ve smelled them all. ‘s boring. No, I made the exception because well, you’re so divinely broken.
It took a moment before, through set teeth, Baal asked “Don’t you have a teapot to tend, doctor?” Wrinkling his nose at the burning smell now hanging in the air.

Jeroen tilted his cup back, draining the remaining contents. “No,” he let the clatter of porcelain on plate punctuate the air. “But you have a new couch to buy me, god.”

Baal started, jerking his hand up. The ox-blood red of his suit, dust-laden as it had become, was now Rorschach-ed with a splatter of melted leather. With a growl, Baal stood and ripped the arm of his suit off. The dim light of the Doctor’s apartment flickered as Baal surged electricity through the sleeve. The ashes listed to the hardwood floor before he spoke again. “That was unintentional.” He didn’t have wherewithal for two apologies.

“Hmm,” The Doctor responded as he stood. He made his way over to a shelf of books. “This routes rather nicely to my initial point: you’re broken. I mean if your world’s Baal Hammon is anything like the lore of ours, you were never one for good temperament to begin with but, your emotions are even more out of balance. Your music, while still profound, centers on pain and rage. Your patience, even more quick to deflate since you first came to me 2 months ago. You’re grieving, Baal. God or not. What’s interesting is, besides not realizing that you are, you don’t know what you’re grieving over: the death of Inanna, the potential death of your world, your death—because isn’t this just a new type of life? Your old one left behind. And in this new world, you can’t grieve because no one knows who you are. You need your identity but here, you don’t know where to start looking for it, because it never existed in this world in the first place. But! Enough on that, because you don’t have much time.”

Baal massaged his temples. “The buzzing here is deafening. So much energy I can feel. Was never this bad in my world’s New York. I don’t want to stay here longer, but I don’t have any other plans for the evening.”

“Heh, like that matters. Carrying on. You asked for answers. Well, you tried to demand answers initially. But all that aside, in terms of my theories about you getting home—I was completely wrong.”

Baal’s fists met the coffee table. The scorched ovals contrasted against the sandy finish of the table. He took a breath before looking up, blinking back sparks. “Don’t fuck with me, seer. I’ve had a day. And this…buzzing. The current of this city. So much energy I can feel, pricking my mind. My New York was never this bad.”

“Ah yes,” Jeroen commented, “that. Don’t worry, if you and the others aren’t completely daft, you’ll take care of ‘em. Or you won’t. New York’ll be destroyed. Machine domination, all that loveliness.” The Doctor placed a finger on the coffee table while he stared into the distance. “For the new table, make sure it’s mahogany. I rather like mahogany.”

Baal stood, creaking the hardwood of the loft. His hands splayed and blue traces of electricity spiraled down each finger. Thornedike waved him off, turning his attention to his glass front armoire. He rifled through the collection or relics. “See? This is why you should listen before you act. Hear me once more, sky god: I was wrong about my theories concerning you getting home.” The Doctor reached further in, balancing on his toes. “Care to sift through your rage enough to tell me what I said the first time you barged in here?”

“That I wasn’t able to go home. There was no way to go back.”

“Ah-ha! Exactly. But, I was wrong. After consulting with the other Doctors, it’s clear that your destiny—as of now—does not terminate in this realm. Now, as for when and how you get back. That, I have no idea of. I have other theories, but not information.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“Wonderful,” the not-mortal-mortal pulled his head out, trailing his hand, “I thought you’d never ask.”

In praise of the Doctor, Baal didn’t expect the man to move as fast as he did. In an instant, he’d taken Baal’s hand with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Do what?”

There was a glint of light and a knife running down Baal’s palm before the god could react.

“Now then, best not to ask what I’m going to do with this. You won’t like the answer.” The Doctor pulled back his jacket, slipping the glowing relic into the darkness of one of his pockets. He checked his watch. “Besides, you don’t have time for the detailed explanation.”

“Blood—the fuck do you keep saying that for?”

There was a crash outside. The sound of metal falling over metal in a cascade. Screams followed, before the sound of sirens pierced the chaos like a dollop of whip cream.

“Right then. Like I said. We’ve both got things to do, people to see and egos to check.” Jeroen crossed to his window, opening the French bays. “Off you go! Don’t worry, place is magically insulated.”

Baal nodded, his eyes dancing with sparks. Pops of light on his lips. He charged the window, focusing on the night sky, the cityscape. The buzzing. He dove, smelling the surge of ozone, hearing the snap of air rapidly collapsing. The brightness of pure energy. And he was gone.
Hi all. I know I've been MIA with only a couple posts under my belt. But just wanted to say I'm still

It's okay, guys. I have the silver lining: two fewer reviews I have to do now.

Seriously, though, as much this sucks, and as awkward as it may be, I hope we as the player base can continue to move forward. This has thus far been one of, if not the, most successful of the Guild comic games. Many of us are on track to complete our arcs and progress into a new season that can bring just as much success.

For those of you concerned or doubtful, the game can survive. Our stories can thrive. It's up to us, as players, to make sure it does.

Got that presidential style motivating speech on lock, dontcha, Retired?
One person is always right in a marriage, the other is the husband.

But, what happens when they're both women?

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