Tominas

The Underground

Ultimate bravery test, hit random page on the wiki for the sake of powers. True glory awaits

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The Underground

@The Incredible John
So hey, if this is still open to apps, I'm highly interested.

The Shattered World

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Harun Fakim Al-Kashir

DATE: Year 7,432 of the 3rd Era. 3rd Month, 15th Day
LOCATION: The Sprawling Plains of Bervenia, Heart of Bervenia
INTERACTING WITH: Morgan@Lyla, Nimue@Crusader Lord

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“Thank the gods.”

Three staunch horses stood at the crest of a grassy hill amongst the rolling fields of Bervenia, their riders overlooking the Twinned City. Two women, both with red hair and simple travelers clothes, and one, rather busty and scowling. One of the slimmer women looked to the others, a mischievous smile on her lips. Her voice was not the thief’s own, but it was one he was quickly growing accustomed to. “I can’t believe we’re finally here. Now you two can move on with whatever grand destiny you have and I can knock out my chores. I would like to say it has been a pleasant journey, but I don’t lie. For the record, Fly Without Wings is a fantastic stallion, don’t you dare let them geld him. I’ll be checking back in with him in a few days.” With that, Harun ran his hands over his horse before transforming into a sparrowhawk, spiraling off towards the city. Fly Without Wings was a beautiful beast, and the thief had every intention to keep him, Fraweth be damned. Xil was eerily silent on the subject.

Traveling to Bervenia had been hard. Not the actual route there, the road was easy and the wind was always to the travelers’ backs, but let the world be damned if it wasn’t awkward. The two lady legends were sheltered in their own tents, though the thief distinctly heard them sneaking between them multiple times as they traveled. It was obvious that where the warrior’s bodies had long been dead and their spirits dampened, they were looking to make up for lost time.

More importantly, Xil’Gurash had been uncannily quiet since the launch party, only breaching the silence between them to bring up their ‘important talk’ that needed to be had. It was usually at these points that Harun would change the subject or begin addressing minor issues with the two Ladies, putting things off. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to have the conversation with Xil, just that he didn’t want to now, and sure as hell not in the company of those two. More than that... he didn't know what to say. Xil had been happy, that was easy to tell. He had a wielder who deserved him. But Harun had found him first, saved his life even! Surely that made him deserve to wield the holy blade... right?

Putting those thoughts away, Harun was actually glad for the budding romance between the two stone-brained fools. As far as he was concerned, the more the twin heroes of Fraweth paid attention to each other the less they paid to him, and he had more than his fair share of work to do. As they made their way, he continually set contracts with local spirits for the sake of surveillance, gathering information and leaving spies. He even set a few gusts of wind to watch his associates and respond in case of emergencies. Nothing they would notice without obvious magical assistance, and if they did then what of it? He was looking out for all of them, whether they liked it or not. That, and he was learning their mannerisms better and better...

Regardless, they were finally here, in the shimmering jewel of the plains. ...Or something along those lines. The point was that the shapeless prince had finally found the object of the strange urges in his mind, and could get down to business. Or at least, those were his thoughts when he landed in a stall in the market. Shifting to a familiar shape of a tabby cat, Harun walked down the streets unmolested, taking in the strangeness around him…

“Excuse me, Harun?” The tabby spun around, claws out and back arched. The thief could already feel the anger rising. The witch had followed him to the city? Seriously? After trekking across the gods-damned continent sighing and moaning and wishing that he wasn’t with her, she followed him?!

It was at this point that the southerner realized that the voice addressing him was male and coming from a tall, armored form. Still, the man was looking directly at him, mostly stoic. Much more importantly, he was speaking Kashiyem. It was stilted and obviously not something he was fluent with, but it was Harun's own language. Blinking once, the bandit king stopped dead in his tracks, seeing how things would go. This was different.

"Yes, er, Harun Fakim Al-Kashir? Sandwalker? The Ladies of this city request your presence at the palace with the other heroes, as well as the Ladies Morgan and Nimue as soon as they arrive in the city. Lady Royce would also like to comment that ‘redhead and the busty fool’ seems like a disrespectful way to refer to someone when speaking with spirits, but your life choices are your own. Additionally, I've been told to inform you that your stallion will be more than tended to. Mayhaps more importantly, the Lady addressed him as 'your stallion,' so as to avoid conflicts. Follow me, if you would?” Immediately the guard turned around and started to walk, his face slightly red as the people in the street stared at him, speaking to a cat. It wouldn't be odd if Harun didn't follow him, but this seemed like a way to get answers, or at least important questions, so...

Harun ignored the strained laughter in his mind, Xil’Gurash chortling in his mind’s ear. Considering his options, The tabby cat followed the guardsman, blinking with confusion. Either the leader of this city was a divinist or another spirit speaker, and considering how common the latter was in his own age... Divination magic was always a pain in the ass. He could take any form he wanted, if she knew his name he could be found eventually. Horribly inconvenient, but she knew he was alive. That itself spoke volumes as far as he was concerned. The bastard king would be at the palace soon, and would be more than happy to speak with this ‘Lady Royce.” Maybe she would have some godsdamned answers.

His thoughts came to a halt as he was led through the palace to a small chamber, silks and cushions piled in small mountains. To be entirely honest, it was a little too similar to his own throne room for comfort. More greens than he favored, though. Still, his attention was more than taken with the throne across the room, facing away from him. As he stepped inside, he shifted, taking his full form plus a few inches of height for dramatics. He swept into a low bow, a confident smile crossing his handsome face as his amber eyes flashed in the dim light of the room. He didn't bother changing languages. She would know plenty. "Lady Royce, I presume?

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier
Well, sorry m8. First full week of class has been hellish, 18 hours + labs.

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier
Life has been crazy busy lately, I'm gonna try and drop a post tomorrow.

Farrow's Gift

Shawn Barrett

DAYS AFTER THE PARTY: Negative Something
LOCATION: Darkwell City Diner
INTERACTING WITH: Wren@Elle Santiago, Cait@Ambra

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Shawn took in a deep breath, steam curling around his head as hot water rushed around him. He felt his entire body relax at once, the heat working out the aches and pains of his daily routine. God, nothing in the world felt better than a hard workout and a good shower. Still, despite feeling like a goddamn stallion of a man, a few things kept keeping him from truly being at ease. One hand rubbed idly at an old scar on his shoulder as he turned the facts over in his head, again and again.

The recent deaths didn’t make sense. Rural dogs went feral sometimes, but the wounds in the most recent case looked like they were done with steak knives taped together and wrapped around a chainsaw. They were too deep, too jagged, and quite frankly too messy. When a dog attacks someone, it doesn’t look like their insides were put inside a fucking blender. The bodies were torn to shreds. Not eaten, just scattered. Spaghetti with a chunky sauce. Despite himself, memories of I.E.D.’s came to mind... But those were bad thoughts, and there sure as hell hadn’t been a detonation. No ash, no smell aside from the rotten sweetness of old blood, old meat.

Perhaps more strangely, there was the letter to consider. It wasn’t extraordinary in and of itself, as far as the police department could tell, but the man who had died held it clutched in his fist, even after whatever had killed him had done its work. A few of the officers had mentioned that it WAS the hundredth anniversary of the founding of the town soon, but none of them knew about the party. Most likely a private shindig. Still, with the timing of these “accidents” and the way things were going, people were getting superstitious. The latest victim had survived, but she sure as hell wasn’t in any condition to talk, and wouldn’t be for a while. Shawn knew in the rational part of his brain that full moons and hundred year-curses were all fake, but the primitive lizard part of him had its own ideas. Frankly, he had been a cop for eight years, and after a while you learn when to trust your hunches. Ever since he had come to town, something was just off.

The detective shook his head, letting the water run over his face before killing the pressure. He toweled off, pulling on a button-up and some jeans while taking care that he wasn’t completely coated in cat hair. It was a losing battle, but he had to put an effort into it. Still, it was good to have something a little more comfortable. Those uniforms got stifling after a while. He didn’t have to work tonight, thank God, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to cook. Locking the door behind him, he ran his fingers through his hair and lit a cigarette, rolling the smoke around in his mouth for a moment before slowly exhaling, watching his breath trail into the brisk night air. He had tried to quit before, but with work like it had been lately… Fuck it, who could blame him?

Making his way downtown, Shawn thought about the letter. A party in the Darkwell City Diner, celebrating the hundredth anniversary… Maybe the staff would know about it? Still, he noticed a dog sitting outside the diner. He was an adorable animal, Shawn had seen him on a few occasions. As far as the detective knew, the pup belonged to a student at Darkwell, some young girl who worked here sometimes.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him, Barrett knelt down, scratching the little guy behind his ears. “Hey there, fella. It’s been a bit, I was worried your big sis had taken you off somewhere.” A small smile split his cheeks for a moment, his attention focused on the pooch. “But hey, I’m gonna go grab a bite for myself. If you’re still around when I head out, I’ll give you a little something.” He stood up, taking another look around before entering the diner. He had been visible through the windows, but hopefully no one had been paying too much attention.

Walking inside, he took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the diner soak his bones. Something smelled delicious. Wednesday… soup? Chicken, if he knew the schedule by now. Near as he could tell, it wasn’t too crowded, only one person was sitting at the bar. Likely a good thing, though he wasn’t sure why. He had been here a hundred times, was the definition of a regular. But something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t shake an ominous feeling down his spine. Maybe it was the way one of the lights was flickering, but he couldn’t help but think that either work was getting to him again or something was coming. Hopefully the first.

Taking his usual seat up at the bar, he opened a menu and flipped through it without really reading at all. He knew the damn thing frontways, backwards, and sideways at this point. In the first few months of living here, he had quickly established where the best places to snag something edible were, and the Diner easily made the high middle ground of the list. At this point, he played with the menu out of habit more than anything else. Dule was over talking to Cait, he thought her name was, and he wasn’t in a rush. Soon enough, the woman made her way over to his seat, and the ritual began.

“Miss Dule.”

“Mister Barrett.”

“Is there anything hot?”

“Well, we can find something or another. Probably. Coffee and water?”

“Coffee and water.” And with that, she started off towards the kitchen. He honestly couldn’t say what she would bring, and he didn’t care so long as it was switched up from time to time. She got a good tip, he got a decent meal, and time kept marching by. “Excuse me, Miss Dule?”

She turned back, a slight frown of surprise on her expressive features. “Yes, Mr. Barrett?” He usually didn’t say too much after the initial overture.

The officer’s gaze was focused on the waitress, but he was all too aware of everyone else in the restaurant as the words left his mouth. His voice was serious and his face hardly changed as he spoke, but that wasn’t different from usual. However, his eyes were just a touch harder than usual, a cold light reflecting their icy blue. Significantly different from his usual interactions with the woman, but he needed answers. Most likely, no one knew too much about the letter, and it probably didn’t matter. But if it did, then he would be one step closer to finding out what the hell had been attacking people around here. “What do you know about a party being held here on the 27th? Anniversary of the town’s founding, all that jazz? Maybe it’s from where I'm new in town, but I recently received this letter and have no idea who sent it.”

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier

...you know, I kept reading the latest GM post (and I promise, I've been reading them when they come, but apparently I'm a bloody neanderthal.) My bad, won't happen again.

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier
I more mean the fact that you referred to the fleshnids as Ascendant 1. Like, do our chars have any way of determining something is scary and powerful OTHER than from the same five senses you or I have, or is it just a matter of eyeballing it?

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier
Now I do have to ask, do we have an instinctive idea of how strong something is compared to us on a soul-capacity level? Obviously the giant lava maw fire monster is more powerful than us on a physical level, but do we get a sense of how many more souls it's eaten? Same for Crowman and the fleshnids, on an in character note.

Farrow's Gift

Shawn Barrett

"Pass me a light?"

Name: Shawn Barrett
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Occupation: Police Officer, part-time Student
Relationships: TBW
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Abilities: Nonexistent.
Appearance:
-Height: 5'10"
-Weight: 187lbs
-Eyes: Blue
Personality: Serious and relatively quiet, someone knows they’ve hit his good side when they make him truly laugh. Having seen more than his fair share of corruption, Shawn has a hard time trusting people around him without good reason. Stubborn to a fault and dedicated to his work and studies, Shawn can be a bit of a dry man. He likes his humor like he likes his coffee, dark and bitter. That being said, he’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, and opens up when truly intoxicated. A social drinker, it’s not a problem. Really.
Short Biography: Raised by a single mother in Boston, Massachusetts, Shawn attended public school as a child, generally getting into fights on a regular basis and trying his best to keep his friends out of trouble. Athletic and with a good head on his shoulders, it looked like Shawn would be going to a solid college upon graduation when he surprised his friends and family by enlisting in the Marines.
Serving several deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan, Shawn returned to the States to discover that the G.I. Bill actually takes a decent bit to process, and realized that he would have to work to make his way before he could go to school. Joining the B.P.D., Shawn performed admirably for several years, rising to become a lieutenant detective before discovering that the funding for his education had finally gone through. Ecstatic at his transfer, Shawn moved west to get out of the big city and really clear his head, focusing on his studies with a renewed intensity as he continued work as a small-time cop in a quieter place. Soon, Shawn found himself taking world history and education courses in Darkwell, seeking to become a teacher and leave his life of pursuing criminals behind him. For now, he works the not-so-calm streets, disturbed more and more at the increasing violence in animals and strange omens around him. The last case initially looked like wolves, but signs pointed more and more to murder, with a bloodstained letter pointing him towards a coming party in the Darkwell City Diner. For better or for worse, it looked like this would lead him to the heart of things.

Other:
-An absolutely HORRIBLE cook, goes out for practically every meal.
-No musical talent, though he thinks he’s a good singer. He’s not.
-Excellent shot and taking up lifting as a hobby, Shawn made the most of his time overseas. Speaks a smattering of Arabic. Doesn’t like to talk about what happened.
-Tough as nails, Shawn has been shot twice, stabbed three times, and spent his entire life fighting someone or another between his childhood, time overseas, and police career. His injuries ache when rain is coming, or at least he thinks so.
-Has a sexuality, doesn't talk about it. Supposedly in a long-distance relationship, but it's strained and likely to end soon.
-Currently lives alone, comes to classes covered in cat hair.
-When he isn't going to work or class, his hands are usually stained with charcoal.