The Grey Dust

Oh My Gods!

@ScreenAcne @WanderingSpirit

I believe it is one of your turns :P

Oh My Gods!

@rush99999

I mean if your god does not exist, then there is no issue.
A non-existent cannot even act upon existence without first in itself existing.
Essentially I treat your god as if they are outside the reality of this roleplay.
Meaning that within the metaworld of the roleplay, the God is to be ignored since within the confines of the roleplay's world...
Such a character does not exist. However outside of that world, the god does exist as a character, since the character does exist, however the deity does not in the terms of the in-game world. That said, to remain in the interpretation of lore, anything your god does is basically meta OOC and contributes nothing to the plot in itself as known to the characters, but rather serves as commentary for the audience.

Oh My Gods!

@ScreenAcne

Do the gods even bleed?

Oh My Gods!

We could attack with surgical precision and target our suspected enemy with a specifically prepared and trained tactical strike team given years of intel and Ops suggesting they are hiding out in apartment 12b in Leningrad and will be in said apartment's bedroom at 1300 next sunday per his schedule...

Or alternatively, we can drop a shitload of bombs on the place since we know the enemy is around there somewhere.

Oh My Gods!

Would you be interested in a trade agreement with England?

Oh My Gods!

@WanderingSpirit

Make a deal with Zhystkrexas...
I think of all the gods he currently holds most influence.

Oh My Gods!

I'm still waiting for a full roster of gods so I can do my relations all at once XD

Also I've purposefully failed to mention the lesser gods as two are hiding, and the third doesn't actually tend to exist.

Oh My Gods!

Zhystkrexas has spoken.

The plot thickens.

Oh My Gods!

The Offer accepted. For such temptation could only have one outcome. The will was weak against the bite of hunger, even knowing full well the nature of the Corrupter, still they tried. He challenged them to challenge him, his ways gnawing at the insufferable pride within, gouging out and gorging out a throne of his own design. Inside the heart his maleficence, taking seed within the mind as the whisper of his voice. He was undeniable, for all kingdoms crumbled given enough time, no mortal or god could suffer his slow advances for they were their own! To refuse the desires of your nature, to deny the hunger that ate at you, it was not he that was the greatest enemy to overcome but your own damned self! And that was why amongst the gods it was he that was the most vilified and feared. Pleased with the deal cast in the assembly, the devourer reclined back into his macabre throne with a sinister smile. He presented her a choice, and she had no choice as it was he that presented it, his own power subtly displayed, his influence gripping the court which came to take their seats. The myriad of nobodies in the ranks and file, gods and lessers, pawns to entwine in his silk-wrapt contracts. Their powers to be his, the Maven of Deals, as so too would he call upon Silacetus.

"Where are your manners? Sit, Huladni, she has taken her place... You have yet to take yours... The longer you are here, the greater chance the Outsiders will breach..." A gesture at the crude seat. The biting words of Zhystkrexas pointing out the duties of the Essentials, his was to feast, and the caveman's was to guard. There was no love between them for as much as Huladni watched the stars for threats from beyond, he could not ignore the growing threat of Zhystkrexas eating away from the inside. A malignant cancer, spreading his influence out like a disease to one day be the death of the universe, but there was nothing that could be done to the parasitic Essential. He was just as crucial to the survival of all that was as he was as crucial to the destruction of it. Even Lorin had no certainty on the means to eliminate the Corrupter, and only knew the certainty that Zhystkrexas was the necessary evil. The other Essentials took their seats, or at least the proxy who was a man amongst giants. The Interpreter who made the thoughts of the the Stone known, was he as incorruptible as his master? Was it the god or the writer of his word that spoke the words of gods? And of course there was the River, predictably unpredictable, of little worry to the one who held the court like the apple in his palm.

"I believe enough of us Essentials have arrived to preside over this Assembly. Those of us who can spare the hours in abandoning our function... Hence we shall begin and the others who come late shall have their voices drowned in their own choices made." The announcement made by the self-appointed arbiter. Who would had the audacity to object? Long since had Zhystkrexas govern the gatherings, holding the keys to many lesser gods vying to take a place in the Pantheon. One such among them tried to best him, yes, there was the wretch coming in with the dog. His lesson learned no doubt of accepting a deal to challenge Zhystkrexas, the mortal life warped the god both physically and mentally no less. His suffering granted him nothing but humiliation and loss, nothing to be gained but the jeer of Zhystkrexas who denied him the seat from the cycle prior. But now the Essential needed a patsy to be used in the delegations of these precious seats. Cerpen would be the perfect sacrifice.

"I open the floor for nominations to the seat of Pantheon. First I, Zhystkrexas, nominate she who is already seated: Silacetus. Next, I, Zhystkrexas, offer to nominate Gudaboa the Seeker... should he accept the role of guiding the mortals grow in knowledge... Finally, I Zhystkrexas, shall nominate... Cerpen as Head of the Pantheon, per our wager... I shall honor the spirit of the bargain... Who desires to voice their... Rejections of my proposals?"

Ah yes, either way he wins. Silacetus was truly the only one he needed within the pantheon. And Gudaboa, well, the dog may find the motives of Zhystkrexas suspicious enough to doubt his own nomination. And Cerpen was a political move, one that would incite the Assembly to object surely as what pantheon could be lead by such a slobbering buffoon? The despot was the wriggling worm set to bait the lure, all that mattered now was who would bite him first?

Stretchers, Stethoscopes, and Scalpels: A Hospital RP

BLOOD BATH

Cold waters cascaded upon his body, the cool fluids breaking upon his shoulders as the rush of water descended from the spewing showerhead. Flowing down the wide expanse of shoulders, cut across half down his back, the other down his chest. His arms opened up to grasp his short chocolate hair, wetted fingers pulling back his temple to massage the cool sensation into his scalp. Running the digits back even more as his breath deepened at the pleasure of relief. The breaking waters rinsing down his forearms, dripping upon tiles as trails of water slid down his axilla before down his sides. His head thrown back into the running falls, the cold baptism washing away the day's work into the drain below. Eyes closed in bliss, bodywash squirted into the palms as the figure lathered up his chest, cleaning the scent of a long night from his body. Fingertips running across expanse, swiping to the left and right. The scrub spread across the body, as an anointment of the end of days. What luxury was a simple pour of water, splashing over and over, jetting the continual fountain. The squeaking of the tap, oh to want but a few moments more...

Cold and dripping, toweled then dried, wrapped around the waist to see the grey eyes staring at him. Elbows leaning against the counter, splashing the last kiss of water from the running faucet. Comb swept through his damp hair to resemble the form it did coming in, meticulously landscaped as he examined himself in the silver mirror. An edge of stubble, above the lips and on the chin, the growth of the hours passed away which would be trimmed away at his resident apartment only a stone's throw away from the hospital campus. Caduceus Memorial was a large institution, fully equipped with its own satellite hubs to form the medical block of Santa Cruz over the crossing of the two major roads. A powerhouse of science, healthcare and medicine on the West Coast, complete with its own medical education center and student-resident housing. And yet despite the billions invested into the constant upgrades the hospital sees, thousands pumped into service staff and doctor education, EMR revisions with imaging integration, and uncompensated patient care, all the research grant money could never buy the residents showers in the on-call rooms. So here he was on the 5th floor, preening himself over the mirror in the men's locker room. Each floor of the hospital had its own division, intricately designed and redesigned to provide excellence in patient care and logistics.

It was the vision of Jack Marshall that built the foundations, the man who's bronzed-cast face solemnly regards all visitors to main entrance. A state placed in memorium between the sliding glass gates to the outside world, and world he built, the founder resides embedded in the spirit of the hospital's entrance hall just before the main lobby. The engraved years of his life meaning far less than the lengthy paragraph of his plaque explaining who the man was to generations of patients, doctors, and visitors. From that entry point was the was main lobby, the center of the hospital with a grand atrium that stretched up the spiraling stairs the seven floors. The circular nature of the hospital was key to its design, a trinity of three wings placed in three of the four cardinal directions. The 6 floors of the West Wing was home to the internal medicine floors, two floors of general medicine, and four floors devoted to the common specialties. Floor 3 of the West Wing was ortho and PM&R, 4 housed nephro, urology, 5 was cardio and pulm, and 6 was strictly neurology. The East Wing was home to the Surgical services and Emergency department with direct access to the main roads for EMS to rush in sirens blazing. The ER receiving and Trauma bays were found on the ground floor of the mirrored East wing to triage patients as required, and the Pathology and inhouse Labs on the second floor for STAT access. Floor 3 of the East Wing was devoted to surgery holding two dozen Operating Rooms, with pre-op holding and PACU, 4 was OB/GYN for births and deliveries with their own ORs, 5 was the first ICU units divided into NICU-PICU, ICU and NeuroICU, and 6 housed the Surgical ICU. Combined these two wings on either side served as the power units of the hospital bridged together main pavilion which connected both sides to the heart of the hospital.

The Admin Pavilion, as the central building was called, was the place where the arts of surgery and medicine met, the ground floor being the elegant lobby for visitors to grander at the awe of Jack's Legacy. There was a small cafe to the side, a lounge with many chairs to relax, visitor's information desk next to the eight elevators which served all seven floors. These Eight Elevators served the main elevators to the hospital, although each wing had their own series of elevators as well as the volume of traffic and patient beds required at least eight elevators per building. A lush greenry and a garden was maintained in the lobby area, off towards the hallway into the East wing to give the illusion of a tranquil place despite the chaos of the ED just a few paces beyond the secured doors. Opposite the garden was the gift shop, as a place to give your loved ones a token gift to aid in their recovery at exorbitant prices but in a pinch a plush teddy bear was always a comfort to an ill patient. Visitors were allowed to enjoy the lobby, and even venture up to the second floor where the cafeteria was built, mingling staff and visitors alike in a public area. There was even an exercise gym stocked with weights and machines opposite the mess hall, and a interfaith chapel for spiritual and religious needs. The 3rd floor however was Observation, for patients not critically ill, and the 4th floor was devoted to technology and radiology department although the machines were found in the basement floor running beneath the hospital, 5th floor were the grand conference rooms for big presentations and administrative offices for legal and Records, the 6th floor was the administrative offices for PR, HR, R&D, and most important Finance.

And finally overlooking the hospital was 7th floor, where Jack Marshall's former office was, home to the board and leadership offices for the entire practice. And if one should look outside Jack Marshall's window, across the street overshadowing the Admin Pavilion was the 21-story building that emerged from the North. The North Tower was the clinic building for outpatient follow-up, organized by specialty, which served as the compliment to the hospital. Connected by a glass overpass on the send floor to the main hospital, cars cruising down the road which cut between the inpatient and outpatient grounds could see the many busy employees travelling through the walk way from their rounds to their clinics. Additional parking from the North Tower with the parking structure found on the North side. There was also a connection unseen by the underground, below the security, pharmacy administration and research division dungeon, two levels below both buildings a network of tunnels connected all the buildings composing the campus providing both patient and staff transport.

It was through these tunnels he could reach the resident apartments, finally reaching his little room to relax after the busy night. The medical students and residents were unfortunately not segregated by floors, although they ought to be given call schedules and study schedules, yet it mattered little to a man who could never sleep easy. His hours gave a tired pout to his appearance, nearly nineteen hours since he started, only now to be going home after his cold shower. He was the senior night float for the neurology floor, and they currently had thirty patients on the list. A mix of chronic and acute problems, and some psychosis no doubt he'll need a psych consult to accept to their end. It was a common joke for neurologists to become encephalopathic at the end of their day, and yet he still planned to trudge along, planning to go stay up a few hours until noon or so to stream something in bed before the insomnia finally died down. And of course the process repeats itself again at 1600, when his alarm goes off and he prepared to come back to the floors by the hour, seven days a week. This was the daily life of Dr. Zachary Sinclair MD.

Zach never complained about it, this was the standard life of a neurology resident, and this was his third year working under the thumb of all the attendings. He was expected by the department to be chief, if he could show a little more leadership beyond his impressive memory and dedication. He never was the type to take the center stage, his polite soft-spoken attitude made him seem far more passive than most. And he was okay with being the second man, judging himself in the mirror with a slight nod to the other man who came into the shared locker space who asked if he was calling it a day. But today was a special day, for the curse was invoked, a taboo as old as time by the will of the gods above. Do not take the blessing for granted, for such things can be easily remedied out of sheer spite.

CODE TRIAGE EXTERNAL - PREPARE FOR CASUALTIES - ALL AVAILABLE STAFF REPORT TO TRAUMA BAY

Announced twice more on the overhead, to the follow up of dozens of beeping pagers. Neurology had their own floors to worry about, and the team need to care for West Six, meaning that they were considered unavailable staff. The West Wing wouldn't be needed as they managed their floor patients, but the code being called sent the lockers into a frenzy, the bang of metal doors and swinging of doors. Surgeons, emergency doctors, nurses, and techs alike went to answer the call as was their duty. The reports were surely coming in from the dispatch to charge, the East Wing sent into a situation as OR's set on standby were frantically prepped for inbound trauma patients from the massive crash on 5. What triggered the accident? How the dominoes fell in place to create it all? Was it just normal Santa Cruz Traffic? Or was there something more? In a sense it was just like medicine to find the root cause of the problem, surgeons were more than happy to solve the problem blindly, but alas a neurologist wanted the source. An explanation for the findings, closure of the case before closure of the body.

"Bloody Balls Up." The Britishness of Zac, coming full colours, as he sighed and pulled up his scrubs drawers and knotted the drawstrings. Duty to serve, the oath to do all he could to save another human being. Scrub top thrown overhead, shoes stumbled into as he ran out the door toward the Trauma Bay which erupted into the usual chaos one would expect. White Coats standing around waiting for the wave of dying folks to cut into for the Trauma surgeons, and to resuscitate for the ED's, and to butcher for the Orthopods. "Neurology's here, team assignment?" Waving his badge to the charge nurse bracing for the massacre beyond those glass doors being fixed open by the security team. Waved off and directed by another nurse over to where Trauma team was on standby to assist in neuro checks and Glasgow's.

And the reports were already trickling in...

1) Pt - MVA - LOC - Possible Traumatic Brain Injury
2) Pt - MVA - AMS - Traumatic Chest Injury
3) Pt - MVA - HYPOvolemic - Laceration of RUE
4) Pt...