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@The Jest Shall we fight to the death over who shall receive the Aigiz? (Not really, though.)

Downside to Algiz is the possibility of getting Isa leading your team leader. Isa is the worst.

<Snipped quote by VitoftheVoid>

Very well. I have no intentions of hindering any plans, and I do still need to read up on stuff. Any enlightenment for my characters would be much appreciated.

I'll drop you a PM relating to some of the stuff to discuss. =)
Oh heyyy new people! I'm Vit, pleased to meet you.

@The Jest If you're doing a Surt it might be useful for us to talk as I've been doing all the background stuff for Jotun/Fire Jotun up to this point, know what things are happening with them behind the scenes and have a Fire Jotun in play at this moment.
Heavy feet thudded onto cut grass as the jotun sprang down from a backstreet wall into a small, residential garden. The area was not an affluent one, but it didn't need to be. It was far from the gate.

The creature jogged across the lawn, up the path and to the small back door and shoved a hand straight through the glass to grasp the inside handle to open it up. From there it stumbled into the house's kitchen.

By that point, the jotun had abandoned the hood and scarf completely, leaving her ashen-grey face on show. Set within it, two crimson eyes wandered about the room, searching for a target. After a few moments, she fell upon the battered refrigerator, swinging the door out, tearing the top clean off of a carton of milk and sniffing the contents before emptying it into her mouth. This sufficiently engaged the world-eater enough that it was the click of a firearm that first alerted it.

She turned to fix the deep red gaze on the sound behind her. A small, pallid woman, no doubt one of the occupants, grasping a shotgun in shaking hands. She was clearly terrified. Somewhere, far back within the house, it was possible to catch some more movement. Two small, worried faces peering round a doorframe. Children.

The jotun eyed her and curled her lip, showing off sharpened canine teeth. The hand that was still gripping the fridge slowly closed, crushing the painted metal like a vice.
"Shoot." the monster snarled.
The Technician cast her gaze downward.


She seemed to lower her head for a moment when the subject of her name came up.

"Have you ever heard the old surface stories about how knowing someone's name can give you...some degree of power over them?" she asked, after a moment.
"I think perhaps the opposite is true. If you take someone's name away, you gain control of them in some way. How does someone know who they are if not what they call themselves?"

She cleared her throat, brushing off the moment of wistfulness.

"Regardless. I am heading north, though I'm not inclined to ask for help. I'm not in the habit of relying on others. I feel that placing too much trust in the motives of others... it tends to get you into trouble. "

Perhaps it was this individual's pleasant disposition that set her a little bit on edge. It was, maybe a bit too reminiscent. There were none of the signs of course. It just unearthed some unpleasant memories.


Meanwhile, a girl appeared on the man going by 'Enoch's' table.

That was, she had not approached the table. Nor had she come to stand or sit at it. What had, one moment been a clean tabletop with some glasses and cutlery turned to clattering and chaos as a young woman materialised from thin air a few inches above its surface before hitting it with a crash.

She lay there, supine for a few moments, a half-lidded, dreamy expression on her youthful features.

Indeed she was a relatively young woman, and well-dressed to a degree that indicated she was clearly not short of money...even if she was perhaps lacking in judgement with how best to spend it, as few of the garments she was wearing seemed to match in colour, particularly against her vivid, ginger hair, which at that moment sprawled out around her like a stranded zee creature.

After the brief, but doubtlessly awkward pause, she blinked several times, spun up to a sitting position, and regarded the chaos around her before stifling a small laugh.
"Oh sir, dreadfully sorry...I think I must have overshot a little."…

One map. =) Have linked rather than posting image as it's rather big and zooming in is your friend.
Just to quote from the lore blog Saint Arthur on generally how 'magic' manifests.

"It’s generally possible to gain some form of power or ability in Fallen London by messing around with weird things. Lilac’s got her irrigomancy from the Nadir, Presbyterians getting super-immortality from the Mountain of Light, Flukes and Mt Nomad get to yell Correspondence hard enough to explode stuff, Slivvy’s got weird urchin lightning stuff from Storm… that’s just a few things off the top of my head. I mean, I guess it depends on your definition of magic, but basically everyone and everything is involved some way with some weird stuff, and so that weirdness ends up rubbing off onto them. I don’t think anyone gets to summon skeletons or throw fireballs though."

So to put it in the simplest of terms, it falls under the sorta lovecraftian rules... magic tends to be less something you do and more something that happens to you. Some people more than others. (Magic has happened to all my characters in varying ways...but that'll become clear as things go.)

You might gain particular abilities as a result of it. You might become possessed by an ancient god and go on a murder rampage.

As far as I'm aware fro my talks with Echo, the RP does feature the wider lore of the universe, as brought up in some of the character backdrop, but is more about preserving the general feel of it than being exactly in line with the existing lore (which tbh even seasoned players often would not know a lot about...I certainly don't know the extent of it.). I'd advise to just go for it and I'm sure Echo (or I, if asked) would be happy to suggest a way to make what you're going for work if anything need a tweak. =)
"No, you wouldn't have. I pulled up in Wolfstack three days ago." the Technician responded,

Give or take. It was difficult to be entirely sure when the level of light remained completely constant.
And you weren't sleeping at all.

"And probably will not be staying very long either. Mostly likely just around long enough to accrue enough Echoes to buy passage further along."
Where she hadn't decided yet. The Tomb Colonies. Whither. Codex. Anywhere that was a long way away from the southern Unterzee really. London was not nearly far enough away.

"I'd regretfully inform you that if you were looking for any interesting stories, you're not likely to find a lot here. I'm relatively unremarkable. "

That was most certainly a lie, but, as far as she was concerned, a virtuous one assuming this individual was just attempting to strike up innocent conversation. There was really nothing she had to tell that anyone would be better off for hearing. She wouldn't be swilling around a glass of Oblivion if there was. She was a researcher after all. Her knowledge was one of her most prized possessions. She didn't seek to give it up lightly.

That did seem to be a bit of the elephant in the room.
"I just have some...baggage to get rid of."

One a few hours off the boat in London, Caede, the Dauntless Chelonite, was still acclimatising to the size and scale of the Fifth City.

She'd been to many places across the Unterzee. Seen the standing stones of the Shepherd Isles, the great sunken shard of Godfall, the snow-battered rocks and fizzing salt-pits of Whither. Nowhere even came close to the Fifth City as far as scale went.

Though some parts were turning out to be a constant disappointment.

The drink, mostly.

The beer in London was thin as drownie piss and everywhere was unduly full.

Seemed like most of the land-loving Londoners were frightened inside by even the smallest sniff of rain. Caede regarded herself as made of stronger stuff than that. What fell was a gift from Storm, whether water, jewels, or stalactites the size of small towns. You took what he sent with good grace.

So that saw her striding along a street in Veilgarden, with no use of hat or umbrella, peering into the hazy lights of the district.
She had not a single blasted idea where she was. The city was averse to street signs in such a way that even the mention of them appeared to elicit nervous glances from the men at the dock...and it made navigation rather tricky.

But it seemed at least one of the Gods of the Zee had some mercy upon her, as the chelonite appeared to have stumbled upon a pub.

The Singing Mandrake.

She had fifty Echoes burning a hole in her pocket, a few days before the next trip up round Censor's Arch, and if she had any say in the matter she was going to get intoxicated.

The sometime zailor strode in through the doors of the place, rather a sore thumb amongst the fashionable patrons. Tall, maybe a bit too tall, outlandishly dressed in clothes of zee-creature skin, and dripping rain-water onto the floor, she approached the bar. a few coins hit the wooden surface and the chelonite enquired as to what was it that the establishment stocked that was "stronger than the city's pitiful beer".


The Technician's eyes might have flicked up to the figure who approached, and regarded him suspiciously. It was impossible to tell when looking into those glasses.

Certainly she was silent for quite some time, as if weighing up her options.

Eventually however, she did give a slight nod of acquiesce and spoke.
"I won't stop you. Although if you're planning to make introductions you'll have to forgive me if I instantly forget you name. Literally." she responded.
"And if you are attempting to sell me anything, con me out of something, or convert me to any sort of religious sect I'll save you the effort by letting you know now that I don't have any money so would not be of any use to you."
The Furtive Technician sat at a table in the lively bustle of the Singing Mandrake, staring through tinted spectacles at the cup of liquid in her hand.

It was pitch black, sort of viscous, coating the sides.

If you knew of the source, of course, you'd be aware that that was more from any botanicals it was cut with than the ingredient you could say. It was a spring that produced it. A spring that ran from a cave that was near impossible to find...and should not be uncovered.

In spite of herself, the woman fidgeted, pushing the glass between her cupped hands.

No going back after this.

Which had to be a good thing.

She would just have to count on her innate intelligence to know how to deal with things from then on. She had her wits about her enough that she could probably carve out some niche for herself in the Fifth City...maybe one day even remove the glasses.

If it worked.

If not...where to go from there?

Would death drive it away? Selling her soul to a devil? Running away to the north to live on a frigid rock among voiceless exiles and miserable monkey colonies?

Her mind was full of possibilities now... but none of those would mean a thing if she went though with her current plan.

If anything, the decision was already made. Last Echo spent on Bottled Oblivion. Probably not even the best rate, but it was becoming a little bit of a moot point really. If she was terribly concerned about her material goods she probably would not be looking even half as dishevelled as she did now...and might have thought to at least seize a few belongings on her departure from Grand Geode. She'd probably dropped about five social classes in the space of about a week...and she was remotely aware that she was getting occasional looks from the fashionable patrons as someone who did not really belong here.

At one point, that probably would really have worried her.

The Researcher smirked grimly, swirling her glass once again and peering into its depths.

"...hope I get to keep my whole new sense of perspective."
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