TrippyNightmare

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚢.

𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚆𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕.

𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍.

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚕, 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚊 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 - 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚍, 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚙-𝚝𝚘𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙾𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌. 𝙸𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎.

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚢. 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘, 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜?

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

A group of anarch thin-bloods is tasked with delivering the final blow in a sect war.

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𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚊 - 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚢.

𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍.

𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝, 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚚𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝. 𝙺𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝, 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕.

𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚜; 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖; 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚜, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑.

𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍.

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

OOC will be up tomorrow.

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

I'll make the CS, yeah welcome to lick city.

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

@Eviledd1984 Probably thinking of 13thish gens, no alchemy but disciplines are allowed.

You'll have to pitch a clan if it's outside the core ones or caitiff.

I'm not sure if I'll use the V20 ruleset, or a rules lite I'm not running this as a TTRPG in a sense.

I'm not involving any other splats, the RP will be in a city on the west coast TBD or made up.

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

@Sanity43217

@Eviledd1984

I'll have the OOC up this weekend if you're still interested, the game won't be big but I think this is a good duo.

𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢

A group of thin-bloods is tasked with delivering the final blow in a sect war.

_{P R E M I S E}

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𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵.

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘳, 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘈𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯-𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘺, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬—𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺: 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘣; 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘭, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘻𝘻𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵?

---

Trinity City of Heroes

Common L

The Envenomed: Military Science Fiction Deniable Operations

Gak.

Blasted again by the goop from the bug thingies, this was not the ideal situation for our young Kleo Alves. Nay, naked and afraid was one thing , but being glooped by a glooper? This was even worse for the pale skinned dork, she cringed and flinched at the feeling of the gloopage on her pauldrons and armor. now what?

Then she recalled the passage.

If you get the mysterious goop on you, do not panic, do not fret. The goop will turn you into a monstrous vessel that is meant to open the abyss that much deeper and let the all-hell let loose onto the universe. The occultist shall use baking soda and soapy water to remove such an ethereal mess - or wipe it onto somebody else and it make it their problem. -Dr. Hunter Powell, Fight the Occult

As the little squid in her ear told her not to panic, the panic began to well in that tiny stomach of hers. Dr. Hunter Powell's words echoed thrice more.

If an alien squid gives you advice, ask yourself it has walked as bipedal as we have? Swam down a river without inking itself, can we really trust a squid? -Dr. Hunter Powell, Fight the Occult

Thus, Kleo moved with purpose and intent as she made her way over to big boy Echo. The girl rubbed the goop off onto he, where he was bare? Now, such areas contained Alves' gloop.

"Hold onto this for me dewd." She said, believing robots were immune to the chaos gloopage. She fled, ready to move with her squad leader, squeaky clean.

alkaline.

_{DAY 019 ◆ C H A P T E R O N E}

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That chance meeting so long ago was something Alex never thought he would have to endure, facing off against someone he had to protect intrigued the man, but not enough for him to stop and have an active conversation. After all, it was life or death with Elowen Sloan, the woman was a fox, a vixen one never sated, no matter what. Even in the ruins of that destroyed city, their blades danced steel for steel as the pair faced off, no words, just blades as they glided. He did the best he could, parry-riposte and more as they clashed. In the end, he proved himself. How could he be defeated? He was Alex Meyer! A brute in his own right, the warrior of warriors, one who would not fall to the red-haired princess who dared to challenge him. That night, these memories still played in his head even as he was being dragged to his untimely demise at the hands of the Harlot. This wasn't how it was supposed to end, at least not like this. "I'm Alex, you always attack new people you meet!?" He exclaimed back diving back into the battle as they traded blows thrice more. In the present, he was weak, collared like a dog. In any other situation, it might be kinky, but facing final death was nothing to smile at; the situation would be funny if he could even muster a laugh, but his body had almost given up on itself, including Buvelle. Where was that damn, spirit gone but not forgotten it seemed. It mattered not, he walked and moved himself forward at the beat of the drum, the music that they held had an eerie ceremonial feeling and aptitude to it that sent chills down Alex's spine. The world was sick, and this was the heart of its disease, led by a woman who had lost her mind long ago for power. Now, Alex was but a toy, a beaten one in the grasp of a woman aiming for more than just the planet. Where was Sloan? She should be here by now. The thought always crossed his mind, like a sixth or seventh sense calling out in pain, just waiting for someone to answer it. He knew she would, they'd connect somehow and come out on top even in such a terrible state, hope never left him. Alex's steps slowed as he was dragged along by the Harlot and her chains; they kept him enslaved, and he had lost track of how long he had been down here. Days and months didn't matter, it was all about living to see her again, even if it was for one last time. "No.. This isn't the end - she isn't too late, you bitch." He spits, a glob of what's left of his bodily fluids lands onto her boot, a symbolic sign of resistance to fascists like the Harlot. On his knees, he still won't accept defeat, maybe he could change things. Maybe Sloan would roll in and turn them all to dust, maybe Buvelle would rear his ugly head before his demise? He made eye contact with the Harlot, for perhaps the last time before she struck him down in an uncontrolled fit of rage. At least, he still had the memories of Elowen Sloan - his beloved companion. That's all that truly mattered to him.