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4 days ago
Current Skyrim belongs to the Nords.
7 days ago
Hey @Egads, if you need to talk - send me a PM. You're going to be okay <3
10 days ago
1001 days on the Guild. Does this make me a nerd? *shudders*
13 days ago
This is why I don’t log in anymore.
1 mo ago
Anyone else tired? Like, a lot?


You could probably stab Storm in the throat and she'd be like *gurgles* "fascinating"
Tough girl

- a testimonial by @Hank

You're good Juju - BEST JUJU

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Stormflyx is savvy, sophisticated and sincere. She's also an excellent human being

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Most Recent Posts

how dare u

Yes bitch, so?


Name: Morgan
Age: 33
Gender: Female

Tavern Owner, GM controlled character, moves events forwards.

Please do not IC post until I've made the first one, thank you!

A basic CS for the CHAR tab;


Personality Type:
Skills and Weaknesses:

Welcome to 7th Heaven! The best Tavern in this city!

We are located near several portals, of course - which means that just about anyone can end up here. We've had guests from the past, present, and future... People come from other planets and dimensions. There's truly no limit to the odd characters who walk through the door.

We tend to just kick back, relax, and enjoy the drinks here. Sometimes we have entertainment too. I'd just be careful of Monster Nights...

You know, when the portals freak out and spit out all manner of absolutely horrifying things! Don't let that put you off. We usually have a few capable fighters around to dispose of them so we can all carry on.

I've set up this space, as a free-for-all Tavern roleplay, sort of as an experiment mostly, and for fun too.

I used to run a roleplay "bar" on a social media site and I have such fond memories of the absolute shenanigans that happened. We did a lot of dumb theme nights, including an event where we each donned a canon slasher movie baddie and shot the shit over a pint. It's a writing experiment! Not to be taken seriously, just throw up a character, and come and spend some time inside! As many characters as you'd like! All good stories start in a Tavern... What if we just never leave?

Feel like writing a new character for a roleplay but you want to try them out a bit first? Bring them to the bar!

Any and all writing levels encouraged! :)

This is a Generic Fantasy™ style Tavern, but the strange and mysterious portals that surround the place spit out characters from all walks of life. So if you have a giant cyberpunk superhero, they're welcome! If you have an OC from a fandom you love, well, I guess they can find their way in too.


1. Post a brief outline of your character in the CHAR tab. Just an image, name, age, skills. No history required unless you'd like to do so. You don't need approval. Just jump in, as many characters as you want.
2. Don't spam post. This should be fun for everyone, so try not to double and triple post. Be considerate about hitting peak zoomies.
3. Don't flame in the OOC. IC interactions are not OOC interactions.
4. GM controls the mass monster events, but feel free to start your own fights with each other if you really want to.
5. Have fun!
6. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

7. Please don't make me regret doing this.

Corgis are my favourite.

Just like you're my favourite, Big G.

“Do you remember what happened, Desmarais?”

The woman in the bed let out a hiss through clenched teeth - bringing her palm to her face.“Omega. I was stationed. A mission, I’m Tsillah Cell.”

“That explains why there’s no records to find for you…

The injuries sustained were severe, you’re lucky to be alive. The gunshot was easy enough but your landing was rough.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You fell, and hit a ledge before you fell further, Desmarais. Fractured your ribs, dislocated your shoulder, and you had an open head injury too.”


“You shouldn’t try to speak, just rest. We’ve done all that we can, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a few things hurt for a while. Try not to laugh, for instance.”

“I don’t make a habit of it, anyway.”

For the first time in what had felt like her whole life, Odette had been pushed back by her own body. She felt the ache on either side of her chest, the dull throbbing in her shoulder and the screaming hot noise in the back of her head. The thought alone of even trying to get out of the bed amplified every sensation.

Her body was her work. Her ability to move, to climb, to dance across a location was everything. Now she had been told to stop. All she could do was glance around the white walls of the cell, locked in by her own skin and bones.

Still, as she tilted her head to look at her wounded shoulder, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride towards Callan, and that feeling invoked enough instant warmth to conjure a smile onto her face.

A day later, and more rest, Odette felt better. She felt well enough to move around outside of her bed. There was nothing right about the way her body felt, but it was less disconcerting now. There was movement in her core, and she continued to pace around the pristine room, flexing and stretching - despite advice against it. The Cerberus agent wanted to be out. There had to be a way to contact Callan, to let him know she’d survived… Or was that best left? She sighed while staring off into the middle distance of the room. She had to leave him. That was the whole reason for this. Walking back to Omega to find him would be too dangerous for them both.

She contemplated it some more. All she had was silence, and the thoughts that occupied her mind.

It had been three days since Odette’s extraction. For the most part, the Cerberus facility had been quiet until today.

It had been the sound of a piercing scream, followed by thuds and shattering that woke the woman. She was a light sleeper at the best of times, but that chaos would have been enough to wake the absolute dead.


Such a vicious and absolutely sincere sound. Even her heart started to race, and it was just a simple hand that she placed on the cabinet by her bed that was the indicator that she was readying herself for something if need be.

But then the noise stopped.

The noise stopped, and after that, a bed was wheeled through and into her room. A sleeping, beaten and bruised adolescent lay sprawled out upon it. Forced into sleep no doubt. The staff kept moving the man through until they reached the end.

Odette made out the distinct shape of his biotic implant, and her mind instantly took her back to something that Callan had told her. About what Cerberus had been doing to him. She’d denied and rebuked his argument then, but his fear and his anger had been left in traces on her skin. For the first time in a long time, Odette’s face cracked and she showed, in a single glance, sadness for the boy. Was her old colleague right? Was this really why he had abandoned them?

As the staff passed through, Odette was out of her bed and at the nearest terminal she could find. She was masterful at encrypting her messages, they’d never know - especially as it wasn’t even Callan the message was going to… But she knew he’d receive it.

She needed his help.

The Beast writhes above, heralding death down to them,
Men, women, and children answer, deathwalking and condemned,
Bodies torn, formed of plague, decay, rot, and phlegm,
They walk free, walk free... T’wards the Serpents’ Requiem.

This was not how the night was supposed to end.

They should have been sleeping in their beds, warm and dreaming under the safe canopy of a thatched roof.

Such an ending was not to be. They had come to be hiding in Bruno’s cabin. Now a dark trench of screaming, harrowing silence — endless echoes of it. Joy could practically count each breath individually, the timbre of each person's sorrow as it left their parted lips. Rage, loss, grief, and confusion all singing up to the invisible dark. She sat for a long time contemplating the events. None of it made a lick of sense to her and she didn’t see fit to ask when nobody else had the answers either.

Her tired stare fell on Janus from the cold corner of the room she had chosen to settle down in, by Henry’s side. Joy observed in Janus a man who must have given himself in full to war, a man who had carved away pieces of himself in bloodshed, a man who knew violence like she knew music.

Joy did not speak the language of warriors, nor could she comprehend much of the conversation that she had heard tonight. She could make no sense from the shadows in the air that the others found such restless unease in, and there were no answers to be found in the silence between them all in the room.

They were all here and yet not one of them wanted to be. Anywhere else, anywhere at all but here, and here now - under this new and scathing sky.

Joy had been expecting to swat away the wanting hands of drunken men and women as they cloyed for a moment of her time, desperate to run a septim into her pocket, to whisper a request in her ear. Instead, she had been thrust against swaths of undead, the remains of people just like her, torn mindlessly from their graves— or perhaps not even. Creatures so ready to claw the fabric of life from the living. Unraveling at the skin of the deceased patrons like bandages, reaching deep, deep down to find what? For what purpose?

With a quiet sniff, Joy placed her hand over her throat and let her fingertips brush the bruising there - the redness that she had brought upon herself through sheer stupidity in the heat of the moment. This wasn’t the sore voice she was accustomed to. It wasn’t the same rasp she got in her throat from singing and laughing until the early hours.

No, this was screaming, so much screaming. Everything that she had seen and heard before the light fell out of harmony and into chaos was circling over and over in a whirlpool, dark and endless.

She withdrew her hand at once, not wanting to feel the heat of fear that resided there any longer.

As the others all found themselves a place to settle down, it occurred to Joy that they each had in common the provenance of confused pain now. That this unlikely traveling party had been built and born in the blood and smoke of Solomon’s inn, The Loyal Hound. It would just be clouded ash now. Floating and rolling through the tide of the sickly night.

They may have been sharing in their collective pain and anguish, but she was still the outsider.

Everyone around her had a secret. A strength that helped them in the unexpected fight. Even Solomon was not who she had thought him to be, and she felt a twinge of embarrassment for working so hard at him, showing her spark, and her fire for life—rubbing it in his face. Her world had never consisted of monsters, or cataclysmic events. Joy was just a bard, and before that she was just a slave, and before that, a simple orphan. Tonight, had she become the burden of this group? Was her presence simply as intrusive to them as a nail sticking upwards through the floor?


Her secrets were not the same, with nowhere near the depth as any of her companions... But she had reason to fight too, even if she was without their means. She had her own, and she wasn’t willing to sit under that cloud of doubt any longer, no matter how black the night. She huffed out a sigh —turning her toes inwards to look at them fidget and move under the blanket, in spite of the clawed cuts and the cold numbness.

I can still move. I can still walk. I have my arms to hold and carry. I have my voice to speak.

As she tilted her head back, she gazed out of the window — up at the looming threat of the Serpent, alone and suspended on an abyssal backdrop. They had no answers yet. She had no answers. Inzoliah did not either, nor Sihava, nor Janus... Not even Solomon knew this fight.

Just like that, the trickle of a memory - a voice that came through the rushing current of water that moved with reckless abandon. An anchor to hook to a mote of hope...

“Better the fire be just a glowing ember, than let the fire go out.” Joy told herself convincingly, with the briefest whisper of a determined smile, before it faded again under the blinking light of the oppressive Serpent.
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