Current
Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
6 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
1
like
7 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
7 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
7 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage." - Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Like a flurry of activity, the small inky beasts scampered low across the ground, alternating between two legs and dashing about on a hand or two. The first, drawn to the beck of Cesar, leapt at the man's exposed back as he dealt with a far more dangerous contender who seemed, if anything, at least fixated on him. His wizardly companion, not more than a few feet away stepped in to intervene although the damage was already done; black claws struck at the bard's back and the offender fell back down to the ground upon its palms and soles.
Birbin, on the other hand, was far more lucky. Perhaps he had that ounce of feyfolk in his blood or, more close to truth, the bumbling gnome again stumbled his way into success. His spell cast, he thrust a fist into the air and only found a whiff pass by him as the ebon attacker swung. Immediately his celebratory expression ended and turned into a disappointed frown. Not so much because he was attacked, rather because the other size par foe he had, the one he dazzled with his magecraft, stumbled around and right past the chaos that was the front line. Fortunately, by the time it reached the roof, the clearly staggering creature was swinging wildly - badly enough that the sun-blessed monk needed to do little more than sidestep her attacker. As an added boon, the enemy was tantalizingly close to the edge and not obviously wholly aware of her location, let alone its environment; that bit of mischief she naturally felt wouldn't be ill placed either in this battle.
Scene unfolding before him, the slayer of monsters and other diabolical creatures watched his enemies erupt into their usual chaos. Fighting these things was, perhaps, one of the most disorganized and riotous experiences to be had, yet it did offer a challenge nothing else before had; it lent credibility to the notion that the Kingdom of Light truly had been matched equal in the past... perhaps even edging closer back to that now.
A Shadow comes darting in behind Cesar, apparently drawn in by his taunt and missed by Haemar's attack. It swipes at him and deals 4 slashing damage. Birbin dodges a careless attack by another remaining Shadow. The last of the Shadows scrambles past the the head of the assault and scampers up the wall after Katia. It attacks her, ultimately finding failure by wildly missing, still in part mesmerized by the light.
Yes, that would accurately describe these people as well; Micah Xavier Johnson, James Thomas Hodgkinson, Malik Mohammed Ali (also known as Everett Glenn Miller), Nidal Malik Hasan, Omar Mir Seddique (also known as Omar Mateen), Adam Peter Lanza, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev and Tamerlan Tsarnaev and many, many more. You know what is consistent with these people, to include James Alex Fields? They are either self radicalized religious extremists, almost exclusively Islam, or the mentally ill. Some are a combination of both. There is a distinct pattern of who, by and far, makes up the threat indicators for mass shootings and acts of terror. Your average Nazi, as terrible as they are, are not even close to the field of predictable and credible danger to anyone.
The amount of finger pointing is inexcusable when one begins to even dig slightly under the surface. I find myself immersed in it, not by choice, but I can reliably tell you people are more upset by the fact they were flying Nazi flags than what actually transpired with Fields. This narrative of feigned anger and outrage is artificial, plain and simple. Do not believe this as truth? Look no further than the Boston Free Speech rally, where potentially up to forty-thousand, forty-thousand, people appeared to protest free speech. Why? Because they were told it was a Nazi rally and were motivated by the Charlottesville narrative being spun. How quickly they forget a man murdering policemen or acting in attempt to massacre members of congress.
I am not going to sit here and give you a body count. But if there's any doubt where the violence is right now, and where it really is coming from, look no further than the Alt-Left, who not only vastly outnumber the real Alt-Right, but are an actual danger that is highly mobilized, increasingly more violent, and ever more disturbingly supported by the story being fabricated. Just take it upon yourself to reflect for a moment and compare the two, because they really are not dissimilar. One just happens to be made out worse than the other.
Added later, just for the sake of photographic evidence about how biased the narrative is using Boston alone.
@Holy Soldier, it is credible he is sent temporarily to Japan in order to train resident task forces, law enforcement, the military and perhaps even private agencies on the Z-Task Force's policies, registration process, threats, and counter-terrorist operations. I am not exactly sure who your character is, or what exactly the Z-Task Force operates as, but if it is any sort of military organization this is within normalcy for them. It could really range from discipline, such as failing an operation they were engaged in or causing a political mess and needing to put them somewhere mostly out of sight and mind, to just a quality of what they do in their work.
Kyoto, based on the saturation of players, which seems to be myself and @Eggs for the time being along with someone else I've yet seen, might be a sparking point politically or militarily? Perhaps a major attack or disaster, or just concentration of crime?
Entirely for the best, @Holy Soldier. Getting started will take some time in character as well to get the plot going from our end. No shortage of opportunity here for those arriving only now from what I can tell.
I was always baffled by the fact people would willingly subject themselves to what appears to be overt conditioning as a form of "entertainment". It is not even subtle that these shows have paid agendas they are trying to front. Admittedly their style is not to my taste, neither is their content or rhetoric, but their intent is not even hidden; it is blatantly dishonest. Worse yet, the part that scares me, is that people reference them as some sort of authority, especially on the same level of the already compromised media outlets.
@Holy Soldier, I was not aware that was even a plausible option. I have added that in based on that understanding. I was unsure if task force and private task force type zoanthropes were registered conventionally at all, but that certainly answers the question.
The descent into sleep was a welcome distraction from the waking world, albeit this time it was far, far longer a journey into its depths. No mere passing dream, it was the sort of plunge into the unconscious that one only had when they were at their weakest; when they could no more resist sleep than any other foe. Rather than fear or fret in this place, the ferine soul could be at ease. There was no struggle between primeval urges and the tempering of humanity, only sublime peace. It was what relief was needed now more than ever, to be away from a night of battle.
But Brannor did not sleep forever, let alone long.
After the passing of some hours, just enough for the others of his company to settle their business with each other and the town of Greenest, the man stirred awake, the call to continue their crusade in pursuit of the cult not falling on deaf ears. It was, as with any other thing of instinct, an inexplicable urge. The outlander had no bodily desire to rouse himself from the crude bed of straw and burlap, but the call to the hunt was far, far stronger than he; far more powerful than the underlying sting of his in part healed injuries, many of which had been soothed by the touch of the lunar blood through him. So possessed now of this compulsion, Brannor mended himself further before donning the trappings of his leather and chain armor.
The splint, which he had cast off in this weakening throes before his rest, was now distinct to him and what a mauling it had endured. It had served its purpose, yet he the man feared for a moment just what was to come once he revealed himself again to the people of the town. At the time, his actions felt as though to him they made great sense, but now in hindsight, would they still tolerate him? Or was he to become the new enemy of this town now that the other threat had passed? It ate at him, the doubt that his service, a light of hope in darkness, might be so easily betrayed because of just what these people were - little more than scared peasants. They had no appreciation for nature's power or its glory, the priestess was proof enough that when riled even her divine conduit was stronger than she imagined and far more red in demeanor than people dared think it.
While they, his company might have understood, Brannor did not think the people of Greenest itself would. So when he clasped his cloak and threw over his shoulder the remains of the splint to rest upon his pack, he made himself no obvious figure to the people outside; stopping only by deed of the governor who, in apparent continued thankfulness, awarded them two alchemical bottles. Potions. The man, admiring the reward, swirled their contents about within their glass, viewing them with a particular wonder that was far more than amusement; such concoctions were often born of the world outside, collected by herbalists who knew the bounty the land provided in its natural ways. What little surprise was it as he thought about them in his observation that Greenest's clergy of Chauntea might know more than they understood.
Packing one of them away for a moment of dire need, the hooded hunter offered the other to his companions, all of whom had apparently been willing to hunt down their common enemy. They stopped only one other time thereafter before setting out on the road and that was to return the armor, beaten and broken as it was. To pleasant surprise, the smithy, whose forge was already well at work, offered to do the deed - either not knowing just what Brannor was or not caring that he was dealing with what many would see as a "beast" - for only a minor fee. The men, at least the soldiers, had no issue with bestowing the armor as it seemed and for a few coin, Brannor could return to collect it.
Fortune had smiled upon them as it seemed...
... and it continued to, for not long into their travel, they bore witness to smoke on the horizon. Not of flames like Greenest had been, many of its buildings raided, damaged and scarred, but rather a lone billow. Off the path as it was, several miles over and out, it was a strange sight to behold. The elder took no time in debating as to what they were going to do with it, no, instead calling upon his avian watcher in a whirlwind of black feathers and strange magic. It perched itself briefly as he talked, watchful eyes darting about as its head observed them all on the path then the rolling world beyond.
“War soars upon the meekest updrafts while peace brawls against the gales of a hurricane. It is now the way of the world. We must change it.”
The hunter nodded initially in silent agreement, his arms folded across his great chest, speaking only when the briny druid came to a slow.
"If favor is still with us, they are the meek of our enemy, perhaps those injured and limping along." Brannor said, looking across from Orchid on down to the halfling, "Or they are travelers themselves, perhaps even the others we saw on the caravan before we left to reclaim the town."
The back of his fist brushed the silver amulet that hung about his neck, reaching then to the bristled hairs of his close kept face. He thought further for a moment, becoming less idealized and more practical in his musings once more.
"Whatever you choose, our quarry is likely not swift. We might have time for such a delay, as at worst they will only be a day ahead of us."
Brannor will place only one of the Potions of Healing on his person for emergency. He will offer the other to whoever else wishes it within the group.
The shadowy fiend, at first squaring itself off against the heroic paladin and ready to strike her down following the brutal assault she weathered, turned about to face the mage who cast some sort of curse upon it. Immediately after, before it could so much as react, it was blasted with a bolt of ethereal energy. While it had braced for impact, being far from out of the fight, Wick's efforts had at least diverted its attention now to her and the sword-bearing bard. Turning its sword about in its hand, it readied to square itself off against the seafarer - unaware that it had stood better odds before, attempting to harry the already injured Thea.
Flinging both hands out from his chest, Birbin too cast a spell, although one of radically different flavor and power. A cone of brilliant light swirled forth and enraptured the two shadows in its path, leaving their outlines glinting in rainbow radiance and their bodies incoherently staggering about. A bit late to have offset the injury the woman suffered from the greater of the two's attack, but now her revenge was all but guaranteed. The lesser servant of darkness, the same size of the gnome, stood almost mesmerized by the light, perhaps now totally unaware of its foes.
Not one to be left out of the magical fray, the wizard - in one swift motion - set himself forth with a blade of deadly ice between his fingers. With elven grace, he cast out the shard, only to have it accidentally split into two during its flight and impact the midnight foes to the left and the right of his target. For a moment the man blinked in disbelief, free hand still rest upon the hilt of his elegant sword before he nodded; fate had guided his strike, even if it was clear it wasn't meant to have gone that way. The Light saw him through in it and, with a turn upon his heel, he drew his weapon and challenged the foe beside Cesar; the two swordsmen now bearing down on one enemy.
"I assume you can handle a one on one fight?" Haemar inquired almost tauntingly, gesturing with his sword to the enemy between them and the paladin, only to then calmly look back at the last rogue uncontrolled.
Wick's Eldritch Blast strikes the Shadow Soldier and briefly engulfs it in magical energy, aided by the Hex spell. Birbin's burst of rainbow light weaves around the Night Fury and the Shadow just behind, blinding them both; all attacks made against the two are at advantage and their attacks are at disadvantage until Birbin's next turn.
Haemar conjures an Ice Knife and flings it at the distant Shadows to try to ward them off. His initial attack misses, but the ensuing explosion of icy shards defeats two Shadows, oddly missing his actual target.
In the settling smoke caused by her destruction of one of the shadowy figures, the second, far more deadly enemy broke through like tornado of blades; it swung swipe after swipe of the greataxe it bore with inhuman speed, attempting to off set her while it proceeded forward with single minded determination. It swung again at an upward angle from below, only to avoid Thea's sword and inflict a tremendous strike at its full power. The impact from the dark weapon was more than enough to get her attention, as was the almost visible aura of frenzy the attacker had as it stood before her, withdrawing by a step and already seeming to ready its next attack. If anything, it seemed to have no other purpose in the world but to attack with relentless and wild abandon. Whatever this enemy was, born of the seeping darkness, it was only the beginning of fell omen for the heroes of the Kingdom of Light.
The gnome chimed in, preparing a spell upon seeing the young paladin weather such a brutal strike, "You helped Birbin once, now Birbin will help you! Just try to hold out, friend!"
Arcane energy again appeared in his hands, floating about his palms albeit not the familiar glittering sort they had accustomed to, rather this time a shifting series of rainbows and prismatic lights. The real question was, what had the reborn sage of Wick been preparing? Unquestionably her own magical reprisal against the darkness...
Thea defeats one of the two Shadow Soldiers, her attack narrowly besting their well armored defense. Unfortunately, the Night Fury closes the gap and unleashes a brutal attack, inflicting its maximum 15 slashing damage.
[center][h3][color=f7941d]The Harbinger of Ferocity[/color][/h3]
[img]http://orig13.deviantart.net/79bb/f/2016/137/d/8/final__small__by_argentfatalis-da2um2l.jpg[/img]
[color=f7941d][i]Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine[/i][/color]
[i]Nature, red in tooth and claw.[/i]
[b]"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."[/b]
[i]- Carl Van Vechten[/i]
[i]I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.[/i]
[i]My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.[/i][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><div class="bb-h3"><font color="#f7941d">The Harbinger of Ferocity</font></div><br><img src="http://orig13.deviantart.net/79bb/f/2016/137/d/8/final__small__by_argentfatalis-da2um2l.jpg" /><br><font color="#f7941d"><span class="bb-i">Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine</span></font><br><span class="bb-i">Nature, red in tooth and claw.</span><br><br><span class="bb-b">"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."</span><br><span class="bb-i">- Carl Van Vechten</span><br><br><span class="bb-i">I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.</span><br><br><span class="bb-i">My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.</span></div></div>
Vixere
Captain Uni
parelaxis
Passable Writer
rush99999
Nightwing95