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Topics - Lion
21
« on: January 17, 2018, 02:23:48 am »
Hey Glub-glub,
Maybe this is pffft right place but wrong time or wrong place but right time? I dunno how that works. Far be it from me to decide which way the fates wanna design today. Oh I love the chaos. But before I start getting all sentimental here, I just wanted to apologize. For just a lot of shit. For the fire, for the leaving so soon, for the shitty breakfast flask that still has my initials in it. Ugh I'm so sorry that's a trashy gift, but being it was short notice, I hope you at least polished it up and got some use out of it.
You're a good guy Jess, a great partner in crime. Don't forget me. I won't forget you. I miss you and Nemo, and the sushi. The sushi here sucks old lady knickers. It's terrible.
Anyway before I start running at the mouth, I'm gonna close it off. Mouth? Hands? Hand mouths? Boy imagine if your palm had teeth. Jerking off would be a nightmare. Anyway, I'll see you again, amigato. Old street Adstreian lingo. Takes me back. If I see any goldfish stickers nearby, or if you see kitty-pawprint bandages on rail station walls, we'll get drinks. Like old times.
-Cabal.
22
« on: January 16, 2018, 01:37:02 am »
Nemo:
Look I uh, been meaning to write this for a while now since I left. But I wasn't sure if you would have bothered to read it at all. Since I figure I don't really have anything to lose, maybe it's better I just get it done. No harm and all that jazz. I just wanted to say I was sorry, for everything, for making you feel like you were less than a person. I never meant that, and when we went out - I just wanted to show you that it was okay to have a good time, to loosen up - but I shouldn't have done what i did. There is no excuse for that. Ever. And if it were me I would have done something way way worse than what you did.
I don't expect you to forgive me. You're my best friend, or at least I still think of you as such. I didn't mean to leave you alone. I won't forget you. And I hope you don't forget me either. You're strong Nemo, don't let yourself dwell on the bad shit or it'll eat you alive. You don't need me to look out for you - you can take care of yourself. That doesn't mean I don't worry about you from time to time.
Tell Ponyo Whatevernumberheisn ow that I said hello. Rorshach says meow.
I have never been good at this sentimental stuff. Yeah, the irony. The empath is terrible with writing sappy shit. But the intention is no less genuine. Take care of Jesse, and look out for the goldfish stickers.
I'll see you again real soon, ok. Goodbyes never really being farewells and all that.
-Cabe.
23
« on: January 02, 2018, 10:05:19 pm »
TBA
Done by me Prologue+ NAME + Cabal Benedict Vindstrom + ALIAS + Pilot Echo Cabal Vindstrom, Cabe, Canal, Caby, Cable, Cabbie, Cabstand, A feral dog that needs to be put down. + AGE + 29 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Adstreia, Aedolis + SPECIES + Human? + RESIDENCE + Adstreia, Aedolis + OCCUPATION + Seeker + FACE + Cobalt Blue hair / Hazel-green eyes + STATURE + 6'3” / 220 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Pansexual __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONThere's nothing soft about his body, hard muscled and angular, heavily scarred and tattoo’d, Cabal doesn’t tend to keep on a lot of body insulation. His habits for smoking heavily and eating light foods make his form lean and mean, chiseled and lightly tanned. He seems to have perpetually drawn features. If he’s not frowning, he’s giving a small wry smirk, often in passing. His brow is low, cheekbones high and sharp, dark cobalt hair (shaved up on the sides and back in an undercut) and piercing dark hazel-green eyes, fitted deep as if in a perpetual smolder. Often scruffy, for he's rarely clean shaven, and has two scars running across full lips. His tattoos are of esoteric symbols, ritual signs, letters and numbers, marking his back, arms and chest. PERSONA “Life is pain. Anyone tells you different is selling something.”Snarky and surly, Cabal is something of a walking force of nature, cynical and wily. He can have a good time with the rest of them, appealing to a vague desire to connect with people, while at the same time preserving brooding and introverted tendencies. Wanting to relate to others, but often finding himself at a loss. He’s feral, an outcast with a strong sense of self-preservation, an instigator and, if truth be told, a glutton for punishment. Generally doesn’t care or cater to the opinions of others, and enjoys making others bristle. - Things! -- Athazagoraphobic - fears forgetting his own identity, and of people forgetting him. - Has a cat named Rorschach, calls him Rory for short. - Incredibly nihilistic, although oddly spiritual either in spite of it or because of it. Has knowledge of the metaphysical, chakras, and a strong sense for the unseen. A long running trait in his family, those born with this trait are called a Mortduhast, or Death Bearer (although the connotations are less understood in modern times, and can be seen as taboo). - Smokes heavily, mainly dandylion, but has a very high-functioning buzz. More or less has most of his faculties when under the influence of alcohol or drugs. In fact, he often seems most driven. MAGIC/ABILITIESTelepathy: Moderately strong. Can generally be focused on one individual. Telekinesis: Almost nonexistent CYTOKINESIS - Manipulation of cells of living things. Focused in the mimicry and replication of those cells to copy another person, inch for inch, a practical carbon copy. The devil is in the details Cabal has always said. He can maintain the disguise for as long as he desires, although being in another person’s proverbial skin has its drawbacks. He often repeats a personal mantra after each mission, reminding himself of who he is lest he forget. EMPATHY - Always more emotionally in tune with others than he had any real right to be. He gets touches and feelings from other people, although he does his best to block out that which he doesn’t want to be overwhelmed with - particularly strong emotions usually seep their way beneath the surface. Can mimic the emotional and mental states of others, to further complete a disguise. He can focus on one particularly strong emotion, draw it out, and copy it, even if he doesn’t feel it himself. Often tied with his other gift of seeing the unseen, he can sense the residual emotions of those that have long since past. MORTDUHAST - A long running trait within the Vindstrom family, one that while not every member of the family is born with this ability, those that do are called a Mortduhast, a bearer of the dead. In another time, they were once revered for their gift of ‘second sight’. A medium by another name, Cabal has been able to sense, and see spirits as a manifestation if they’re forceful enough about it, and has done so from a young age. He doesn’t believe in any organized religion, avoids it like the plague, but is very aware of separate planes of existence, and the entities that occupy them. Can “Dreamwalk” - a variant of astral projection - and spirit himself away so to speak, to send his consciousness and ‘see’ things from great distances away. RELATIONSHIPSJain “Nemo” Dau - Best Friendo. Jesse River - Another Friendo. Grandmother (Name TBD) - Grandmother - Caring and kind, warm but firm, she cared for Cabal and Ivan in the latter half of of his life. She's still spry for her age, although she is getting on in years. She's since gone blind, but you wouldn't easily be able to tell at first glance, moving with a startling alertness, and wry sense of preservation. Catherine Vindstrom - Mother - A stern, strict woman, cold and the head of the Vindstrom family. She saw her children as little more than an extension of herself, and showed little in the way of affection. When Ivan passed away, she had his body cremated and interred in the family tomb. Along with their father that died during the war. She does not show a great deal of emotion, and looks at Cabal with a great deal of disdain. Ivan Elias Vindstrom - Younger brother - Deceased. Ivan and Cabe were thick as thieves growing up. And Cabe took it upon himself to look out for him when their mother became too overbearing. Catherine had Cabe beaten when he got into trouble - an act he often took the blame for to keep Ivan from being punished for accidentally breaking something or some such. He died in a work-related accident at the age of 22. Emma Dansk - ex-Girlfriend - Deceased. Smart and funny, Cabe met her shortly after graduation and they quickly started a relationship. She knew of his abilities and accepted him anyway, of his job, and loved him regardless. Sometimes no matter what gifts you have, there's nothing you can do, sometimes you're just in the wrong place in the wrong time. Mahazadra - Dragon (Description TBD) HISTORYThe Vindstroms have always been an unusual family. In the old days they were seers and fortune tellers, or advisors to kings and warlords, healers, mediators, speakers of the dead. In the modern age, they are a semi-prominent family, having grown into the Aedolan military tradition - producing soldiers and Pilots alike. Hearing the name usually is enough to send chills down the spines of those that are foolish enough to believe rumor and gossip. And cause enough for stares from across the room. For Cabal, childhood was not easy, but he was educated, fed, and when he began to manifest abilities that were not entirely psychic, he was taken aside by his grandmother and schooled in the ways of the metaphysical, that not everything is as it seems, and that there is more than meets the eye. His 'Third Eye' had been opened, and the sooner he learned about it, the more at ease he would become. Although his mother was against it, time spent with his grandmother were he best memories Cabe can claim to have of his childhood. But no, life was not easy. He was thirteen when he began to show his psychic potential. Catherine refused to let him go, saying he betrayed the family by leaving, and had smashed him over the head with a bottle, and not long after, he and his little brother left his mother's care at the behest of their grandmother, and cared for until Cabal was inducted into Candidacy. It didn't take long for a dragon to choose him or to be shoved into the Seeker department. Cabe was perfectly content to cut all ties he had with Catherine, and happy to know Ivan was living his own life too. Their mother couldn't reach them anymore. They were free. Of all things Cabal shouldn't have taken for granted was that, a guilt that coils itself in his belly in sweat-soaked nights. Freedom, after all, doesn't come without cost. He felt his brother's death, at the moment it happened, and again when Emma passed away. Reaching out to them achieves nothing, time and again, nothing but void, an echoless chamber that chills Cabal to the core... EpilogueTHREADS
24
« on: December 29, 2017, 11:55:08 pm »
Had it really been 4 months since he’d graduated? It didn’t feel like it in hindsight, the days blending together in one long stream of consciousness that had Soleas blinking blindly, stupidly at the days when he’d had the strict tight schedule at the ATC. Those ones he was more aware of, not knowing if the one time he fucked up was the last time.
Nobody knew what happened to you then, not specifically. You were either Trimmed, or...you graduated. You were useful or you were dead. You survived, or you didn’t. That was just how shit went down. Visiting the ATC had been a strong temptation, one that Soleas had mulled over and over again in his downtime, what little of it there was.
It’d taken some time adjusting. Even more than he wanted to admit. Vanaia had picked him fairly quickly, which had been a welcome relief. Any longer had he been left to putz around to his own devices and no doubt he would have gone mad with discontentment. Or made to do menial shit, like get coffee. He didn’t want to be an errand boy forever. That wasn’t why he became a Pilot. That wasn’t why he worked so hard…
Soleas let out a deep shuddering breath he’d been holding in that made his lungs hurt as the elevator rose up in the Citadel. The objects in hand only felt heavier the higher they went up because his heart couldn’t have found a moment of respite between the news and the thought of making the trip all the way to Haviah just for the sheer fact that Viktor was now a Stage 5. Finally.
Finally, he wasn’t the only one that made it out! Finally, he had someone he knew that was going to serve right along with him. All that remained was Aspen and he hoped against hope that she would make it. It wasn’t necessarily that he had any real doubt. He didn’t believe in lost causes. There was always that small chance, though, the possibility that either of them just might have…
NOPE. NO. No. No today. Not tonight.
Today Viktor made it. It was his day and Soleas had wandered all the way over here from Adstreia to give him a housewarming gift and a bundle of something homemade he’d whipped up himself. Woof, baking was one thing, but those four months had been an exercise in patience that Soleas hadn’t had to experience since learning his letters. Surviving Candyland was one thing, but the very real fear of starving to death dawned on Soleas the second he’d gotten his apartment, and his walls were more than just a little blackened for it.
It was no matter now. A few tests here, several experiments there and he hoped that Viktor would at least enjoy the appetizer he brought him. And if that didn’t suffice, he had a small batch of cookies in his backpack. But that was for dessert.
“Yoyoyoyo, and a bottle of rum,” Soleas announced as he rapped his foot agains the door, his arms currently occupied. He wore sweats and running shoes, nothing overly obscure, and a fine evening to actually wear lounge clothing as opposed to infiltration gear. A loose-fitting tank underneath that and a sweater, and the backpack, that hung loosely on his shoulders. Soleas kicked at the door a second time just in case the first time wasn’t loud enough. “Cmon, you can’t make your ladylove just stand outside the door all night Viktor. Trisha is wilting here!”
He glanced down at the small potted fern in his arm. Plants were great housewarming gifts right? God he hoped so. His apartment had a futon, an armchair and a barely stocked fridge. It was more barebones than a body nibbled on by starving rats. Rats that probably ate better than Soleas did on most days. JJs was almost too good to be true when bumbling home at 4 am.
“Vikkiiiiiii!” he called once again, this time his voice sing-songy. “I brought something for ya. C’mon. You got my messages right? You knew I was coming, now open the door.” Gods he hoped to hell he got those messages. Or this was going to be really embarrassing.
25
« on: December 27, 2017, 12:50:57 am »
 Done by me Demarii Vincent Vittori + ALIAS + Vinnie, D-man, Dbag, or SpinalTap as his online tag + AGE + 28 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Soalrta, Aedolis + SPECIES + Human + RESIDENCE + Home, Home on the Rails + OCCUPATION + Conman / Scrap trader + FACE + Lavender hair / Teal-green eyes + STATURE + 6'2” / 208 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Whatever's convenient __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONAn average build, not overly bulky or buff, Demarii looks every bit like the slippery little shit he is. He's got enough muscle to haul scrap as needed, but not much more to punch someone in the face and expect a knockout. Thankfully, he usually doesn't have to. His medium length hair is shaggily cut and often done himself with his own hand. His tends to sport a goatee with a sloppily shaven beard, the same soft lavender coloration as his hair, with deep teal-green eyes that are wide and expressive. He's very well-tanned, with a deep rich Solartan brown, the echoes of descendants from a desert nation, with a deep burn pattern going up his back and whip lash marks on his upper shoulders. He's missing the top portion of his right ear with a deep running scar down his neck toward the inside of his collarbone. He wears an exoskeleton suit, that he uses to assist in lifting and moving equipment and materials that are far too heavy for even multiple people to lift by hand. The skeleton is fused to his back and responds to a headband he wears when he's sifting through the lover levels. Metal limbs wrap just on the outside of his arms and shoulders, with a spinal attachment braiding itself down his back, and is indistinct enough to be worn underneath his clothes. A small circular plate on the back portion is magnetic and usually is where he stick his foldable hoverbike, looking like a black metal shell backpack. PERSONA “Masquerading as a man with a reason, my charade is the event of the season.”Sly and silver-tongued, Demarii is a quick thinking little shit. There's very little he can't talk his way out of or credits he can't con someone into trading him for some useless pieces of junk he found. Sleight of hand, and a quick wit has been how he's made his way in this world, and kept him alive thus far when dealing with unsavory sorts. He's not a violent man, and in fact shies away from the idea of having to hurt anyone that he doesn't have to. He's a scrap trader, and if he can't get what it is that he's after one way, he'll continuously try alternative methods, usually without having to resort to hurting someone. That being said, he'll defend himself if his life is in danger. Usually deals with really surly criminal-types, have taught him most people don't tend to fight fair. - Things! -- Likes to collect junk pieces and make scrap artwork, welding stuff together, and peddle the little doohickies from city to city. - Has a small collection of pocket tools he wears to make repairs on small electronic/mechanical devices and wears welding goggles in his usual day -to-day wear. - Has a hoverbike that collapses into a small round oval-shaped backpack-looking thing that he sticks to his back and traipses with him wherever he goes. MAGIC/ABILITIESIrradiated Blood! RELATIONSHIPSHISTORYBorn from a well off Solartan family. The Vittoris of a mix of Adelan and Essyrni old blood with a thriving crop business. Demarii was one of two children, his older sister set to inherit the family business, and he left to his own devices. When the war came, his father was killed in action, and his mother had a mental breakdown from the loss. Unable to care for herself, she was placed into care at DoSaM, and his uncle Tiber Vittori took over to help alleviate the stress of holding onto the family business themselves. He was a surly man, devious and eyed his niece from the beginning. Demarii knew, and saw what he'd tried to do to her. The night he ran away, he'd tried to confront Tiber. In the subsequent struggle, the older man had an accident and was killed. With his sister to lead the family, Demarii left and vowed never to return. He was not welcome there, and made his home in the underground places of each city, learning how to survive by his wits and silver tongue. EpilogueTHREADS
26
« on: December 22, 2017, 10:27:00 pm »
 Done by me Quillian Murphy Blaze (pronounced Killian) + ALIAS + Pilot Noble Quillian Blaze. Quilly, “Blaze. Quillian Blaze. But you can call me whatever you want, luv.” + AGE + 40 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Aedolis, Earth + SPECIES + Krampus-Ifrit-Djinn-demon? (TBD) + RESIDENCE + Haviah, but he travels all over Aedolis. + OCCUPATION + Magician! 8D / Prestidigitation / Former CO + FACE + Blonde Hair / Orange-yellow eyes + STATURE + 6'6” / 270 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Pansexual / Panromatic __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONA big boy. He always has been. Bulky and broad-shouldered, Quillian very much looks the part of bull in a china shop, and you wouldn't expect the grace by which the man moves. He has a strutting gait (think Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever), often coupled by a devilish grin, a well-groomed beard over sun-kissed tanned skin. The sclera of his eyes have a darker tinge to them than the pupils and give the orange-yellow of them a practical glow, as if his eyes are piercing right through you. His fleshy bits are human enough save for the antlers that grow continuously grow but are regularly stay trimmed down on his head, prodding up from above each temple, and a thin lithe tail with a tuft of fur at the end of it, some fur flaring up partway at the end. His hands and feet are clawed, and usually well-groomed. His hair is medium length and the most he can manage with such unruly waviness is to push it back, up and out of his face. On a performance day, he has people that fuss about it for him, applying on his face paint, and choosing his wardrobe, etc. Personally he's comfortable enough in sweatpants and a tank top, but goddamn if he doesn't look good in a suit. PERSONA “Fire walk with me.”Adventurous, confident, and genuinely generous, it's easy to look at him and fully expect a brute. He's a kind soul, giving, and caring even to complete strangers. He's a performer, flamboyant and energetic on stage, and lives for the arena. Big stages or small, it doesn't matter. He gives it his all regardless and adores his fans. Absolutely the kind of guy that'll stop whatever he's doing to talk to someone that wants his autograph or take a selfie with them. It isn't for him, it's for them, and it's the least he can do. He's sarcastic, and witty, naturally flirtatious. Quick to smile, and make eye contact and can't help himself if he's drawn to someone, and has a hard time turning down someone looking for a good time. Even if good times aside, he comes home to an empty apartment, to deafening quiet. He's a passionate individual, tends to put others before himself. However, his kindness is not to be abused. Nor are the people he cares about. - Things! -- Loves Yule and often adorns his antlers with mistletoe, ornaments and/or tinsel. He absolutely loves PR events regarding it too. - Actually can't stand frou-frou shit, but will put up with it if his manager arranges for him to do so. The process to looking goddamn fabulous can just be so fucking painstaking. MAGIC/ABILITIESWeak telekinesis, moderately strong telepathy. Pyrokinetic - An ability that served him well in his CO days, and serves him just as good now in the shows he puts on for people. He has incredible control over fire, and wears bracelets of small fire crackers on his wrist to make small sparks, and from a tiny ignition, he can curl and shape the fire into whatever he wants, from small dancing humanoid shapes to massive swooping dragons (“Swooping is bad.”) He's perfectly aware they're illusions made to dazzle a crowd, and that he isn't on the field of combat anymore. That isn't to say he doesn't miss it, but he can't help but love the look of sheer joy on the audience's face. Illumokinetic - Can bend light and create illusions with it, alter the color of his manipulated fire, and even conceal it in, keep it contained within a small sphere until it is time to reveal it. In combat, he used it to hide, make himself invisible, or hide traps or spread it over a small squad to better infiltrate areas. Some Kinda Demon-thing? Naturally hot-blooded and is drawn to cooler temperatures. Tends to sleep naked or in boxers. Fairly strong. Possesses a very strong sense of smell. RELATIONSHIPSAfarit – Dragon (TBD) HISTORYBorn and raised in Aedolis, I'll think of the rest later >> EpilogueTHREADS
27
« on: December 22, 2017, 06:34:25 pm »
 Done by me Sven “Smiling Jack” Matteo Luddon + ALIAS + Jack, Smiling Jack, “Not Sven. Jack.” + AGE + 32 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Some Space Station (tbd) + SPECIES + Human (mutated) + RESIDENCE + Cancer Station, His ship, Spaaaace + OCCUPATION + Smuggler / Captain of the Ravenlord + FACE + Red-orange eye / Raven Black Hair + STATURE + 6'2” / 202 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Demiromantic, Pansexual __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONNot quite as bulky as he’d like to be, Jack’s form tends to be stringier and lithe. He’s got a swimmer’s build, with lean corded muscle. Raven hair so black it’s practically purple grows extremely wavy - a wild disheveled mess half the time - that Jack has opted to keep braided along the sides of his head, with naturally faded sideburns. Two rows align the sides of each temple and stop just past his ears. The rear of his head is shaved and the top remains a casually pushed back fwoopy mess. Jagged scars line his face with it’s most severe one spreading across his nose from his missing right eye. Most notable is the scars on either side of his mouth, a glasgow grin haphazardly cut across his face, the left slash drawn down to his chin. He’s rather proud of his markings, he’s earned every single one of them. Just another notch to show that he lived and someone else didn’t. A typical Jack expression is him grinning with bloodied teeth from a cut lip, his face black and blue. “Heh! You should see the other guy!” PERSONA “Let's get groovy, burning out with rage, seal the deal and do it all again.”A cocky rat bastard if there ever was one. What he lacks in brains he more than makes up for in bravado. Reckless and daring, Jack has earned himself a reputation for making dangerous runs and taking risky jobs just for the fun of it. Sometimes the pay is really fucking good; sometimes it’s shit. He’s loudmouthed and brazen, generally smug and terribly overconfident. Considerably less calm under pressure, Jack possesses the same passionate hot-headed temper Luddons tend to have. Doesn’t like unpleasant surprises, and when forced to choose between thinking and acting: he’d choose the latter over the former any day. That may have cost him his eye. (Good job Jack. Jack:  <He’s not winking.) He may seem flippant to most, but he’s selective with his loyalty, but those he chooses stay within that family for a lifetime. He trusts himself, his ship, and his brother - everyone else has to earn their keep. - Things! -- Captain of the smuggling freighter The Ravenlord - a mid-sized ship capable of holding crew of 25, massive cargo space, and plenty of hidey-holes. Hates cheesecake. Has enjoyed destroying entire cases of cheesecakes he’s found with high energy rifles. Keeeersplat! The embedded plate covering his eyehole has modular pins, although it’s normally covered with another plate that can be switched out. He has a cybernetic implant that allows him to install different mods to the pins in the plate and interface with it, like a targeting mod, a media mod (ie projector), and a laser pointer (it’s a fun way to play with his cat). Also has a cat named Pancake. MAGIC/ABILITIESNo magic! Just got a fancy eyepatch and his wits to rely on. RELATIONSHIPSLudwig Luddon - “Luddy! 8DDD” His older half-brother, and Sven was only a year old before Ludwig's mother took off with 5 year old Luddy to Aedolis. Ludwig is protective of him, sometimes a bit too much, but he's come to look to Ludwig for advice and comraderie. There's no one else he'd rather have at his back in a fire fight or on his ship. Where Jack is prone to jump headlong into the fray, Ludwig tempers his foolishness somewhat. Somewhat. Jack enjoys terrorizing him whenever he has the chance though. HISTORYInherited the ‘family business’ from his father after he died, and had previously worked with him on smuggling runs throughout his childhood. Nobody suspects a kid to have contraband on them, or to point a gun at your face and know how to use it. Jack was raised on ‘the life’ and it’s one he wouldn’t dream of giving up. He made a name for himself, and his piloting talent, and quick decisive action serving him well. EpilogueTHREADS
28
« on: December 17, 2017, 05:52:46 pm »
TBA
Done by me Prologue+ NAME + Danmir Vladrubek Alesku (Pronoucned Da-mir; 'The N is Silent B|”) + ALIAS + Formerly Pilot Royal, Now Pilot Noble Danmir Alesku, “Damir. Not Danny. Not Damnir, Da-mir. Now say it with me.” + AGE + 99 (Looks around mid-30's) + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN +Earth 8D (Under the Sea) + SPECIES + Some kinda blue lionfish type thing (TBD) + RESIDENCE + Formerly Haviah, now Samariel + OCCUPATION + Squad Member of the Samariel Leviathans + FACE + White hair / Ice blue Eyes + STATURE + 6'3” / 224 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Ain't nobody got time f'dat __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONTall and fit, Danmir cuts an imposing figure. If not by his stature, by his poise and wardrobe alone, he's elegant but powerful and moves with a quiet cunning. He has a cheshire grin, if you can get the man to smile, but no one's ever seen it in 70 years. Wiry corded muscle compose a very lean but cut figure, cerulean blue skin with stripes running down his arms in parallel bands, underneath his shoulder and across the undersides of his forearms, vascular and powerful, spreading onto the underside of his fingertips in long lean lines. The webbing that's supposed to be between his fingers has receded into his flesh, as did the white spines that protrude from the base of is elbows and fan out like plumage. On his back are two parallel rows of spine-like fins that run down his trapezius muscles, and stop mid lower back. The back portions of his knees and ankles also possess similar spines, as well as webbing between his toes that flare up when he is exposed to large bodies of water. As it is, compressing them against his body, allows him to cut a humanoid figure, and fit into regular clothes and flight suits. Danmir has a strong nose, wide and broad features, with a slender, brow over full lips. Not much facial hair grows, save a well trimmed goatee on his chin. Three spikes rise above each brow and run along his temples, disappearing into his hair. PERSONA “Ice, Ice, Baby.”Cold and matter of factly, Danmir can easily put on the front that he has no sense of humor. Quite the contrary, for the man delights in the suffering of others. He's cruel, enjoys watching people squirm, and will humor fools if he can find some modicum of entertainment from it. Prideful and narcissistic, humans have very little in comparison to him, but he will humor them with his presence as work necessitates. If he possesses any redeeming quality, it's his discipline and dedicated nature to his duty. Danmir is tough as nails, can take a beating and then some, and nothing riles him up more than questions of his loyalty. - Things! -- Don't Step On His Shoes. Just Don't. Very fashion forward, likes things crisp clean, clearly has some issues with OCD in regards to his clothing. Get the man drunk though and he could care less. - Reads a lot, enjoys all kinds of stories from biographical to fantasy and prefers that over TV. Television, after all, is entertainment for the masses. MAGIC/ABILITIESModerately strong telekinetic and telepath. Cryokinesis: His mastery over freezing substances and materials has earned him a formidable rank and a comfortable life, from icicles, shields of ice, making snowmen, etc. He seems, at times, to radiate a constant aura of cold, made from whatever vague moisture is in the air, and uses it to chill those around him. An intimidation tactic that served him well in the early years, but now he's so used to doing it, it's subconscious and he's hard-pressed to turn it off. RELATIONSHIPSTBD HISTORYSomethingsomething a highly decorated CO that made it Pilot Royal, and had a fairly comfortable life in Haviah, working in mission control and debriefing. Until recently. Superiors thought his skills better suited elsewhere, and a recent transfer to the Samariel Leviathans, has left him a Pilot Noble and a pile spiny misery. EpilogueTHREADS
29
« on: December 03, 2017, 11:41:59 pm »
 Done by me Ludwig Marius Ammatio Luddon (Lud-vig Lew-dawn) + ALIAS + “Dr. Luddon,” “Lou”, “Luddy (>B[)” “SlicenDice” as his Online tag + AGE + 37 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Immigrant, Raised Aedolian + SPECIES + Human (Mutated) + RESIDENCE + Has a barber shop on Station Cancer 8D + OCCUPATION + Ex-Cybenetic Implant Surgeon / Part-time Barber / Sometimes a Doctor + FACE + Raven black hair / Silver-Gray eyes + STATURE + 6'4” / 230 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Whatever is convenient __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONRaven black hair and silvery eyes tend to be the first things noticed when you meet Ludwig. His hair shines purple when light hits it, and his eyes are often shaded beneath a scowl and furrowed brows, for they're deeply inset. He sports an undercut, leaving his thick hair pushed up and away from his face, fwoopy and disheveled when he wakes up – nothing a few shoves backwards can't fix. Usually sporting a scruffy beard on his face – as he can't really be bothered to shave. Shoulder to shoulder, he's athletically built and thickly muscled, covered in tattoos from his chest, back and arms, with a few tagging his legs. His knuckles and hands are scarred over and again, and he's missing his ring and pinky fingers on his left hand, replaced with mechanical prosthetics. Has an incision mark on the back of each ear, where implants were set in to counter the deafness that onset in his early 20's. He's a bit self-conscious of those scars in particular, and doesn't like to bring them up. PERSONA “The fire in my soul rejects my wisdom. 'Cause all you do in life comes back to you.”Pragmatic and practical, Ludwig is a sensible man insofar as his job is concerned. He's a man of his craft, with a delicate touch and an intense attention to detail. He's very good with his hands, steady and meticulous. Ludwig leans toward the darker side of humor, loving morbid jokes. The more terrible the better and it'll have him cackling madly. Bit of a crazy pants >>. Ludwig is a bit hot headed, certainly a lot more temperamental than he lets on, although he tries to remain calm in the face of perturbation. But the man is only capable of so much patience. He's capable of heavy mood swings and petulant ire, to which it is best to let him diffuse on his own. He has a great deal of compassion toward his friends, and those that have earned his trust, making him very protective. Nothing is more important to him than his family. But is sadistic toward those that have crossed him. He doesn't believe in good or evil. Life is what you make of it. That being said, if you do bad shit, don't be surprised if awful things happen to you. - Things! -- Loves Kaiju monster movies. Is a sucker for awful dubs, and he will try and mimic them if at all possible. Loves cult classic monster movie posters, and has a small collection of them in his hovel. It's his pride and joy. Is often horrifically out of touch with most modern pop culture. He's trying ok ]8 There's just so much. Enjoys fine craftsmanship in just about anything, but the more artistically leaning the better. Symphonic power metal is his absolute favorite type of music. He has a small music player and headset he listens to when he's focused. Absolutely without a doubt cannot stand pop music/pop stars. Will not tolerate it. End of discussion. -Self-induced insomniac, to which he will occupy with some kind of hobby. Or try to. - A pipe to smoke and a nice glass of cognac make for a very happy Ludwig. And his most favorite way to wind down after a long hard day. Usually followed by sewing, baking, or painting something. Or getting a tattoo. - Do not under any circumstances interrupt the man if he's focusing. Will not tolerate it. Minor annoyances and increasing irritation tend to make his accent thicker. MAGIC/ABILITIESSurgeon – Once a very talented surgeon in the Aedolian military, specializing in cybernetic implants. He still remembers his training all around, and although he doesn't advertise his skills, he has a backroom in the rear of his shop where he still practices medicine to those that have heard of him. It's a decent side-business. You'd be surprised by the amount of people needing a hot towel shave also end up needing to get stitched up. Ear Implant – The implants installed more than a decade ago to counter growing deaf have ended up being stronger than anticipated. Ludwig can hear pulses very well, changes in breath pitch, and tends to use it to listen to the blood flow in a patient. He can also hear whispers a next door room, and can even have trouble sleeping from time to time – has become a bit of a self-induced insomniac as a result. RELATIONSHIPSSven “Smiling Jack” Luddon – His younger half brother and the only other person other than himself that he cares about. Cocky, smug, and hotheaded with a glasgow grin, Jack (as he prefers to be called) has a remarkable nose for trouble and smuggling. Ludwig is more or less content in the knowledge that he can take care of himself. They occasionally have drinks together, share stories, and if necessary, Ludwig goes with him on runs, or sutures him up. Ludwig will refer to him by Sven just to irritate the absolute shit out of him. Likewise, Jack will refer to Ludwig as Luddy. HISTORYShort-short version Something something Ludwig immigrated with his mother to Aedolis, in search of a better life, etc. Fought in the military and was a combat medic during the Edani War. Lost his fingers in said war, got married and divorced. Mother was accused of conspiracy to commit treason, thusly executed. With nothing to keep him in Aedolis, he got smuggled out and tried to find his father – which his half brother Sven – “Ahem Jack” - inherited a ship and a smuggling business from. Bought a barber shop and makes his living doing hair and stitching up faces. EpilogueTHREADSDanse Macabre [M]
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« on: November 14, 2017, 08:36:03 pm »
Win some. Lose some. It was all the same to him.
Heavens forbid he give anyone more than a glare from underneath the brim of his hat. Shade Ridge wasn’t a particularly huge settlement, but it was right in the crossways between a few others not too out of the way. He was here for a little refuel a little RnR and didn’t plan on staying longer than he had to. At money he had was enough to cover what he needed, and the pot on the table was what he planned to win from the rest of the fools at the table.
Oklahoma’s eye narrowed as he glared at his hand, knowing full-well he could probably wipe out at least 3 of the others at the table with him. One of them was rubbing at her temples, a little nervous. A little worse for wear. The one next to her was scratching at his beard and balding scabby head. Didn’t look no more than say a few years older than him, but goddamn that was a nasty burn on that ripened melon scalp.
Truth be told, it was a nice distraction, even if the only one worth a damn at the table was an older woman, probably in her late fifties, red headed and chewing idly on her bottom lip. Occasionally she’d smile and offer Oklahoma a wink. Clever tell. She had a good hand and was trying to butter him up for a decent fall.
He tilted his head and pushed the brim of his hat back, before the moment of truth came about. His heart was pounding in his skull when he dropped his hand. There were a few hissed curses, and the woman with red hair soon had red brimming right under her eyes as she threw her cards on the table. Hehehehehe. Oklahoma scooped the pot closer to him and didn’t bother counting the worn and weathered bills that he rolled up and stuck in his duster pocket.
“Another one in the pocket,” he snickered and downed the shot of whiskey that was beside him. It wasn’t much of a win, but even a small amount could go a long way. And if there was a good game to be had somewhere he just couldn’t resist. Oklahoma took his hat off and pushed back his dark brown hair, glancing behind him when the door opened and someone walked in.
Shade Ridge wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to hide in. Lots of folks passing through, traveling from place to place, buying tack and feed, making a living just like everyone else. Oklahoma had rented out a room with a bed, a real bed, and he couldn’t wait to fall in it when the sun went down. A few hours of shut eye did him some good. Some nights, admittedly, were better than others.
The worst ones were restless. Even when the ground had give and he was warm, and huddled under his hat, but the dreams didn’t cease, and he woke up every hour, jerking at the slightest sound. Tonight would be better, he told himself. He was gonna make the most of that real bed.
Oklahoma pushed that glass out of the way and glanced up at the people in the bar. A few folks in the corner, someone reading quietly by the stairs, the woman behind the counter polishing the tins. Empty, but not. Quiet, yet somehow he could have sworn he’d heard a din. Someone with blonde hair took a seat at the bar and he locked eyes a moment, narrowing them and averting his gaze to reshuffle the cards in front of him.
Yup it was better not to draw attention. Just finish up his drink, maybe turn in early. He didn’t want to lose out on that bed.
31
« on: November 10, 2017, 09:00:54 pm »
He was a rotten, scheming, no good dirty rat bastard of a coyote man, and if he had anything to say about it, all that would come about was something about getting his right comeuppance. What an asshole! Who the fuck ordered like that and then came back and did more times for every subsequent meal on the menu? Only one howling, snarling, barking scumbag would dare walking into his JJs in all of Aedolis and seek his drooling revenge:
Yavul Hyakinthos and his best goddamn friend on the entire planet.
Grisham had been mad. No, no. He’d been fuming. So much so that he didn’t know if the smoke coming up from the kitchen was because the fries were burning or if it was coming from out his ears. At the end of it though, of a very long day, Grisham found he couldn’t stay mad for long. Sure he was gonna do a murder, sure he’d thought scaring Yavul endlessly on Soul’s night had been hi-lar-ious. (And it was -insert mad cackle here-). But that all could be achieved later.
How often did Yavul make the trip up here? And when he did, Grisham sure as shit wasn’t going to waste the time they could be hanging out with being made at him. That wasn’t any fun. Nope. They had a bet to settle and since his last trip to Solarta - which had it’s own unforeseen consequences - he’d stopped by the Rosco’s and ordered fifty 5 gallon tubs of that awesome lovely Solartan mud.
Realistically, Grisham didn’t measure the length of the hallway outside his door. But it was fairly straight, and the length of it was long enough to bowl a ball down, so he saw no reason he couldn’t chuck a full grown man down there. They’d do it better this time.
Coat the floor as well as the halls, and make it extra slick. So it was better to have more than less in this case. And hitting walls would not count in a do-over. It was all or nothing.
Yavul had been waiting for him at the nearby Manolins and Grisham was still in uniform. Thank fucking dragon balls today was the last day at that awful place. At the very least, he had a newfound respect for people in the food service industry, not that he ever made it his intention to treat them with anything other than just that. The rest of the squad did a remarkably outstanding job. Even if Chatterbox did eat too many fries. Even if Sparrow almost did puke on milkshake dispenser. Something about lizard meat didn’t sit well with her.
Grisham yanked off that godawful JJ’s hat and pulled open the door, splitting his face in a toothy devilish grin, snickering evilly as if he were still in his clown jester get-up. He smelled of beef and tobacco and just a hint of dandylion from his breaks, and the scent wafted up from him as he approached Yavul and slunk the JJ’s cap on his head, making a mop of that soft brown hair of his just crown down around his face like a helmet.
“So you really like to walk the fine line between life and death, don’t you Yavvy? Walking into my JJ’s and making an order like that?! The nerve!” But Grisham was all grins, and he fixed Yavul’s hair from around his ears to better adjust the cap. “That’s a good look for you. Maybe you should take a side gig working behind the counter at JJs.”
32
« on: November 08, 2017, 12:03:46 am »
Prologue+ NAME + Virgil Adan Stark + ALIAS + Virgil Stark + AGE + 34 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Adstreia, Aedolis + SPECIES + Half-Human/Half-Kulshedra + RESIDENCE + Adstreia, Aedolis + OCCUPATION + Lead Singer for the band Mortal Coil + FACE + Oil Black Hair / Magenta eyes + STATURE + 6' / 244 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Bisexual __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONDecent height, but built like a tank, barrel-chested, buff af. 8D PERSONAGrumpy boy. Brooding. Quiet and reserved. Force of nature while on performing, - Things! -MAGIC/ABILITIESFour octave vocal range, higher highs, and deep baritone lows. He can also play guitar, very well, as well as a number of instruments. Kulshedra blood gives him pretty black scales along his face neck and chest. He's also physically stronger and more built as a result. RELATIONSHIPSStark Family – Adopted him when he was a baby. Strict military family and expected him to fall into the fold. Virgil does his best to visit them as little as possible. He doesn't miss them at all save for his little sister. Annaluna Weaver – Best Friend and drummer of 'Mortal Coil'. They spend their holidays and down time together. She's the only person Virgil really calls his family, and he wouldn't know what he'd do without her. HISTORYEpilogueTHREADS
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« on: November 07, 2017, 12:41:19 am »
“Come on darlin’. I promise I'll treat you real good if you start right up for me.” Oklahoma pleaded as he held the clutch and turned the key. The faint, weakened, whir-whir was disheartening, making his stomach clench, grow cold as he finally stopped, sighing deep and burying his head in his hands. It wasn't like he didn't know how to take care of his bike, and the old girl was getting on in years. So what if just about everything on it had been replaced.
So what if it was rusty and the leather seat was in stitches, and the gas tank had been replaced a number of times. The toolkit he’d carried with him in his saddle bags had been worn down almost to the nubs and that useless wrench wasn’t going to do him any good anymore. Poor old girl.
It sounded a little like the battery needed replacing or a good jump. He knew a place where he could get a decent charge on it, clean off the caps and restart it. The convenience of magitech was a little harder to come by out here in the frontier, and it was a luxury that sometimes he found he missed, but the more he learned to get by on practical solutions, the less attached he became.
But shit it sure was nice to be able to turn on a phone and just have everything available to you right then and there.
Like running water, hot food, a warm bed. Gods how he missed a real bed. Sleeping bags and cots and just what grass he could cover himself up with just weren’t the same thing. Oklahoma knew what he was getting into when he came out here. Knew everything he’d been signing away. And the years tended to blend together, disillusioned, empty. Blank.
Out here, you never could know what to expect. For now, a quiet night in the miles and miles between towns called for a swig of whiskey and a smoke, that he’d rolled up quietly. The antennas from any magitech beacons within the nearest town were vague at best. Nothing strong, not like in the city. Any links up to any public chat were getting more and more finicky and as the conversations scrolled on and on, the harder it became to ignore the emptiness in his gut.
He needed food. Anooother shot. A tilt of the flask and down the hatch it went. Nice. What was he thinking? Walking away from all of what he had in the city? What was out here worth gaining? He went from town to town, traded, bartered, earned what little money he could only to repeat the process yet again. What was out here? Back in Tynova he had a job, a place to sleep, people that called him friend. But mistakes were made, and Jensen was gone. There was nothing for him there anymore.
Oklahoma frowned and scrolled up on the chat, his eyes blanking out. Live a life worth living. Get going while the going was worth getting.
He didn’t have the answers, but maybe he’d find them some day. Maybe help someone else find theirs. Oklahoma took one final drag on his smoke and his head was swimming a little from the whiskey. He resealed the flask and stuck it in his duster, placing the hat back on his head as he put that old dusty phone away and disconnected from the chat and got up from where he’d been resting against his bike.
“Gonna go hunting,” he whispered to himself, the sky already painted purple, dark and nearby he’d scouted a nearby pond where some water fowl were swimming across it. Rolling his bike into a rocky alcove, he’d make the rest of the journey on foot with his rifle in hand and a small pack across his back, his black hair firmly on his head. Not that he needed to shield his eyes. The moon lit enough on the ground to reveal the path before him, and going on foot would provide the silence he needed.
Oklahoma loaded a bullet into the chamber, locking the lever back. He only needed one. Just one bird to defeather, and already he could roast it. He wasn’t unfamiliar with hunting, even having grown up in the city, and basic survival skills were a development by force. Dinner was on it’s way.
Oklahoma ducked low when he made it to the pond and he could see a bird not far from the opposite edge. A set of reeds in front of him covered his position and slowly he slunk himself further and further into the waters, letting his body sink in along the mud on the embankment, and he raised the sights on his gun. The barrel was part way out of the reeds and he held his breath, aiming for the bird that was dead set on returning to it’s place in the reeds on the other side.
Critters chirped quietly and he thus far had disturbed nothing more than the faint rippling surface of that pond. The animal was so close to crossing his sights. Close enough and suddenly something on the other side rustled into those reeds, disturbing the water with a loud splash and spooking the birds on the other side of that pond. The birds ruffled their feathers, and all rushed off in a flock, at least 10 of them, and in that flustering moment, he neglected to take a shot.
A hard blink and he tried to keep his vision from doubling,shaking his head firmly. A deeper frown set in and he could already feel water slipping into his boots. Goddammit. All he wanted was some goddamn food. What the hell!
What the shit, he thought, and held his breath again, although his heart was already hammering inside his chest. He watched and waited, trying to see through the blanket of reeds for whatever disturbed the water on the other side.
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« on: November 05, 2017, 10:10:45 pm »
Prologue+ NAME + Kaivalt Theo Renquist + ALIAS + Oklahoma Jones, Oakley, Okra, Kai, Kaia, "The Man in the Black Hat", Goes by "Sanctuary" in chatrooms. + AGE + 35 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Tynova, Edanith + SPECIES + Human + RESIDENCE + The Edani Frontier + OCCUPATION + Ex-Mordecai / Gunslinger / Vigilante / Outlaw + FACE + Dark Brown Hair / Aquamarine Blue Eyes + STATURE + 6'3 / 218 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Pansexual __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONMilitary training has left Oklahoma with a firm, broad shouldered muscular build. A life out in the frontier has made it lean and well-muscled, although lighter days leave him lean and hungry. He's tanned well from the outdoors, with dark brown hair, and broad features - wide nose and square jaw, tending to make his aquamarine blue eyes all that much more distinct. He possesses a scar along is forehead, and scars wrapping around his wrists of both arms, from ropes . He sports a few tatoos, on his arm, neck and hip, one saying “SK-32”, a leaf frog on his lower right hip, and a pair of snakes wrapping around his left bicep. PERSONA “Either get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’. I’ll take the latter with a shot of whiskey.”Time is short and talk is cheap. Sometimes you learn these lessons the hard way, and others, it’s all over in a blink of an eye. Oklahoma has a hard time not looking back, and ruminates on old memories, friends, adventures, and nightmares. That said, he tries to make the most of what he has before it’s gone. He doesn’t ask for handouts or favors, but is selfless and willing to lend a helping hand where he can. As far as he’s concerned the smallest bit of good can make a difference to someone else, even if it didn’t require much on his own part. Oklahoma doesn’t always go looking for trouble, but trouble seems to find him anyway. And when it does, he stares it square in the eye and is not easily intimidated. He's impetuous, often making rash decisions. To survive, you have to be willing to do the things others can’t or won’t, either because they’re too scared or don’t even know where to start. With no attachments, family, or home, he has nothing to lose, and he’d risk his own neck, and will impulsively leap into the fray to protect someone he cares about. It can be difficult tempering his impetuousity with sensibility, but Oklahoma knows that nothing in life is black and white. But he knows right when he sees it, and is trying to learn to live with the mistakes he’s made. - Things! -- Has an interest in music, and has a pan flute he plays from time to time, hidden away in a compartment in his pack. He used to play for his mage partner all the time, and now occasionally touches upon the instrument to clear his head. - Creates little matchstick men and small origami animals that he leaves as small 'markers' in places he's visited. - Has a taste for whiskey and occasionally smokes. He keeps a small sack of tobacco on him and prefers to roll his own cigarettes. - Doesn’t much care for lawmakers or law enforcers, or authority figures in general. Partly due to the fact that he went AWOL and part for personal reasons. While he does what he feels is right, he wouldn’t rob someone of their livelihood wantonly, he pays back whatever he’s forced to ‘borrow’. - Loves to gamble, something he will never openly admit, but he's a betting man and can play a mean hand of cards. MAGIC/ABILITIESMordecaism - Although he is no longer a Mordecai in name, he still possesses that magic canceling sphere and has since ditched the dogtags that allowed him to link up with his mage upon their passing. Range is approximately one 1/2 mile. Military training gave him decent hand to hand combat skills, and he’s a crack shot with a rifle, has a steady hand for trapmaking and sewing up wounds. He carries with him two lever- action weapons, a rifle and a 12-gauge shotgun, and has a hunting knife strapped to his leg. RELATIONSHIPSJensen Acres – Mage Partner, deceased. Nava Ivran Friendo. 8D HISTORYGrew up in a mundane upbringing, the youngest of four siblings, and fought in the war with Edanith and Aedolis. Kaivalt Renquist didn’t have much in the way of a future, or so he was told, but he did well in a fight and when given a rifle and a directive, he followed orders to the T. On a routine mission gone wrong, Jensen was dead and Kaivalt was injured. Kaivalt blamed himself, that he couldn't get to them in time. And when he was healed, by then the war was over, he was expected to return to full duty, be matched with another mage. Instead he ignored his order and went AWOL, packed up what few belongings he had and made his way out into the frontier, trying to do right by his old friend. EpilogueTHREADSThis is the Not the Outlaw You're Looking ForDuck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
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« on: October 27, 2017, 01:23:45 am »
”DANIELS! GET YOU ASS IN MY OFFICE! NOW!”
Glover had been sleeping in the bunk room when he heard that familiar roar. He jerked his eyes open and the real chill of fear shivered down his spine. He’d know the note of sheer displeasure from his Captain at any moment. He wasn’t late. In fact he’d been sleeping in the bunk room for that exact reason.
Sure, it was also a place where he could get a hot shower since he’d forgot about paying for water the previous month and there were always donuts in the breakroom. It was food! And that bill could be paid when he got around to getting paid himself. In the meantime, he could make it look like he was working hard while hardly working.
”DANIELS!!! ASS! OFFICE! OR MY FOOT IS GOING IN IT!”
That was the cue to roll off the top bunk and he landed with a stumble at the base of the bunk and yanked his brown jacket off the hook. A ruddy old thing that was nearly coming apart in some corners of it. But he loved that jacket. It had a hidden pocket on it that he could put a small stash of pills.
“What the hell do you want now, Captain,” he murmured and half groaned so that when he squinted he didn’t have to look at his boss square in the face though. The captain was a balding bastard with a flat pale ugly mug and dark bags under his eyes. The hard lines of his face, wrinkles on his brow, and the ashen quality to his teeth when he opened his mouth to speak was proper evidence that the job aged him 20 years more than he was.
“Shut up. And sit down, asswipe! You look like shit!” the Captain growled at the detective standing in front of him. Glover’s shirt was wrinkled from lying down in it, and half untucked from his pants. Blonde waves were all down in his face. Glover hadn’t shaved in 3 days, and the stubble coming in made him look like a bum.
Glover pushed his hair away from his face and tucked in the bottom of his shirt, hiking the collar of his jacket up when he finally did take that seat in that wobbly wooden chair in front of that metal office desk.
“Good fucking gods above Glover, how on earth can you call yourself a detective? You’ve slept here the past few nights and you haven’t changed your clothes! You’re a fucking transient and I should kick you off the force just by your state of dress alone. You’re grouchy, you’re late, and you always pretend like you’re about to fall asleep - LIKE RIGHT FUCKING NOW. YOU KEEP THOSE EYES OPEN, ASSHOLE!”
Glover twitched and scowled, narrowing his eyes, and choked back the mock snore he was about to make. “Just get to the poooint--”
“What the hell did I just say? Shut the fuck up. Now just listen! Yeah you’re a slob. Yeah you’re a piece of garbage that’d be better use picking up cans off the street and stacking them in your shopping cart, but you’ve got something half the shitheads in here don’t. You’re a mage, even a bloodmage at that. And since you didn’t come equipped with a suitable handler when you graduated, I was tasked with finding someone that might temper that shitty attitude you have. So, Daniels, congratulations. You’re getting a partner.”
Glover’s eyes shot open, but he didn’t move. He rubbed at the temple where his port was, and breathed in slowly. “You’re setting me up with some Mordecai dickwad? What fresh outta the box? Well who the shit is it!?”
“Well, you’re in luck, they’re just getting in now.”
36
« on: October 25, 2017, 11:10:46 pm »
(Logo goes Here) The Adstreia HellionsThe Doom and the Gloom Blackened wings outstretched over the sky
Harbingers of death invading your mind
Sentinels deployed to Earth Epsilon
Flee from the Reaper Squadron: PteropticonTheme Song: Slayer: “Seasons in the Abyss”Hellions Playlist
---x--- I. About the HellionsThrough adversity, to the stars. The Hellions are the first in flight and the last in line. They are not rowdy and have no need to boast. They fight to win and nothing else; level-headed and calculating, ready at a moment’s notice. They hold absolutely nothing back in a fight, looking for any and every advantage with which to destroy their opponent, whether in the Void or on the ground. Intensive training prepares them to handle a multitude of extreme conditions - temperature, atmosphere, 0 Gs - for varying tactical response (ie. thinking on your feet, resourcefulness). In addition they must know and maintain their equipment - from their jets to their rifles to void suits to drop packs - and test and run new equipment in applicable combat settings. They are moderate to strong telepaths and remained linked during combat to better work in conjunction with one another, and thus absolute trust is imperative. Their link also allows for communications over vast distances in space (com system failure notwithstanding). Interpersonal relationships between squadmates are absolutely not allowed, as per Commander Alberich’s orders. Hellions HQ is Malhame (Mal-Ha-May). Location is near the Stellarium. COMMUNICATIONSMission Directive: "Operation Talon"_______________ II. Objectives- Blitzkrieg assault (ie.Swift and Total Devastation)
- Expose a weakness and exploit it
- Leave No Squadmate Behind
- Rinse and Repeat
_______________ III. Rank and FileTo join: Send me the profile link to the character you wish to join, and Commander Alberich will be in touch~. PRESENT MEMBERS: Squadron CommandSquadron LeaderAsst. Squadron Leader Limited positions available depending on squad size overall[Acts as Squad Leader in the event that the present Squad Leader is unable to perform their duties, or helps to facilitate group cohesion in the event of large-scale deployment. Otherwise is simply part of the squadron regular. Should either be a senior Pilot Cardinal or newly minted Pilot Echo with good leadership skills.] Squad Members PAST MEMBERS:whether because they're dead or something more sinister. >> to be added as necessary. _______________ IV.Squad RolesThese are specific sub-roles that are fulfilled by specific members of the squadron to form the full unit. The basic structure is that of a ten man squadron, headed by the two commanding officers, the Squadron Commander and Squadron Leader. This particular role structure differs wildly from team to team, based on that particular team's specific modus operandi (ie. a stealth based team will have far more supporting/stealth based operatives versus heavy weapons experts). The Hellions change their tactics as necessary, and thus, do not have a set format! _______________ V. General HistoryTBD _______________ VI. TimelineActive Missions Threads:x Past Missions Threads:x ---X---
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« on: October 25, 2017, 07:38:08 pm »
[Open by Request /o/]
Tired eyes opened to the poster of Georgia Jacks on his ceiling. Georgia Jacks, an on screen legend. Sure it was Aediolan cinema. And the copy he was most familiar with was a worn out bootleg dvd of the “Ziggurat of Death”.
Glover had smoked so much dandylion one time he recited the entire movie line by line as it played and did so three times in succession. He went hungry for days after that. The fridge having been cleaned out after the first runtime. And he couldn’t make heads or tails of the numbers on his phone to dial for takeout. He had never loved orange chicken and noodles more than he did on day four.
He didn’t call Wil then. He didn’t need for them to see him like that. It wasn’t the first time and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. At least, - he quietly thanked the stars - at least this time, he was home and as he stared above him, the smug triumphant grin of Georgia Jacks was greeting him.
Years tended to bring a particular talent in playing pretend.
His phone ignited with the familiar light and backdrop of Wil making their most attractive face of sheer displeasure. Which was usually a glorious amalgamation of a groan in the midst of an eyeroll. And usually brought about by three-day old orange chicken that Glover kept in his jacket one time. Usually led to priceless responses. And some shrieking on a few occasions.
With a groan he rolled up into a sitting position, checked the messages and wandered over to the shower. He was fine, he was ok. He could head down to the station today and he was running out of sick days as it were. Even if his head was swimming and it felt like he was underwater even as he let the cold water waterfall down his face. He already knew he was late, Wil was probably just foaming at the mouth to ream him out.
That was always fun, and it would make for an interesting day. Glover dressed and cupped his coffee to go before stepping out of his apartment. A quiet day, warm, almost an hour to noon, and every step was taken leisurely. Glover sipped his coffee and favored a smoke, brushing blond hair from his face reached in for his go-to Hippo lighter. Brushed steel, an engraved hippo design on the side and he puffed hard as the flame took, pushing any thoughts of hunger away from him. They’d get lunch and his partner could lecture him on the importance of punctuality.
The coffee tasted like dirt. He could handle it.
“STOP HIM! SOMEBODY STOP HIM PLEASE!”
A commotion around the corner was a vague warning, and Glover glared upward. In an instant, a hard body collided with him like a rampant bull and knocked Glover clear to the ground. The coffee container flew out of his hand. The mugger that knocked him down scrambled to his feet and his foot landed on the cigarette that flew out of Glover’s mouth on the impact. As he disappeared, the detective reached for the smoke, rolled it over on his thumb and felt the white hot of rage boiling inside him. The guy was getting away and he was running like hell down that street with a purse firmly fisted in his grasp.
“Stop. Police,” was what Glover should have said. And any other cop might have bothered to call it out. But he that was his last smoke until lunchtime when he could cop a pack from Wil. The last smoke that the stupid fuck just ground into oblivion!
Glover growled and bolted in pursuit, crossing a busy intersection and giving chase with all the strength he could muster. He hoped the fucker didn’t plan on running far, because that was only going to make it worse. Pushing between crowds, shouldering old ladies, and running over small children, the guy ducked into an alleyway and squealed when Glover rounded the corner right after him.
“What the fuck!” he panted, and ducked into the first open door on his right. Glover followed suit and when he didn’t see the mugger, he paused, seeing little more than shelves and shelves of plants.
The fucker had to be in here somewhere. He wasn’t about to get away.
“Come out asshole. End of the line,” Glover growled softly, and kept his hand on the grip of his pistol just inside his jacket.
38
« on: October 15, 2017, 10:56:05 am »
It had been hell in a handbasket trying to get Harley up here. Sure the trip was almost forever and a day, and scorpion hunting was what brought him down there to begin with but a promise had been a promise and Grisham wanted to take Quin up to the Stellarium. The places that were open to the public were nice, but that which required special access, exhibits that detailed a greater aspect for more prominent research were as equally breathtaking.
Grisham had let Harley stay with him, rest up and the moment they had free together, he took him to the Stellarium. Walking the Astrosphere, and taking a look through the observatory sector to view the stars through one of the many satellites that orbited this world.
Adstreia was the City of Stars. Built more up than wide, and with levels less stringent than Haviah. If you had a mind to be here, it was a mind being put to use, with solar panels lining the sides of every building, skyscrapers, tram systems, and something very distinctly non-Solartan. It was much much cooler.
When they were settled in, Grisham looked down at Harley, smiling as they passed through clearance and Grisham led the way through corridor after corridor toward directories where the Astrosphere was. It wasn’t a long walk and Grisham wore his jumpsuit for the day, black form-fitting coveralls with the ends tucked into laced up boots, and the zipper halfway up his chest. A white shirt underneath was set against his dog tags and as they jingled with every movement, Grisham’s left hand idly held one of them.
“Are you excited?” he asked gently. “The Astrosphere is pretty great. It’s like you’re walking amongst the stars. For real. Star maps projected everywhere. It’s a real sight to see.”
He took his hand out to Quin. “I’m real glad you decided to come up here. What changed your mind?” Except now that he said it, he regretted it. One thing could very well make Quin change his mind and turn around and decide to walk right out. Of course, there was the little fact that he’d have to get through Grisham first, and it wasn’t like he was going to let him walk away. And there was also the little facet of having to ride the rails for another 12 hours to go back home.
Home. Did Quin think of Solarta as home? Maybe not in the way Grisham called Adstreia home. It was where he lived because his dragon wanted him there and that was where he worked because it was a job he was paid to do. Grisham at that moment, no longer questioned dragging him up here, if for just a day. They’d make the most of it.
Quin deserved that much.
39
« on: October 07, 2017, 01:06:44 pm »
Prologue+ NAME + Hannibal Tarquinius Thayal + ALIAS + Pilot Echo Hannibal Thayal, “Hannah”, “Nibbles”, “Alpaca” + AGE + 31 + GENDER + Male + ORIGIN + Solarta, Born and Bred + SPECIES + Human (Duhjari and some Essryni Ancestry) + RESIDENCE + Solarta! (Silver or Bust) + OCCUPATION + Pilot Echo of the Solarta Valkyries + FACE + Dark Brown hair / Pale Green Eyes + STATURE + 6'2 / 225 lbs. + SEXUALITY + Pansexual __________________IN-DEPTHPHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONTall and built, Hannibal is very much the physically imposing. He has broad shoulders and his muscles are finely defined, with each divot carved out with harsh precision. He's more trim than bulky, but can definitely hold his own in a flex-off. A deep rich brown tan, Hannibal's complexion is swarthy. His hair is dark brown and long, reaching just past his shoulders and usually tied up and back into a bun. His eyes are a piercing pale green, which seem to stand out even more when contrasting against his skin, and might pass for old Adelan blood – were it not for muddled ancestry. Lineage means nothing to him, and it's the here and now and what you do that proves your worth. Proof for Hannah at least, can be found in the battle scars that mottle his skin with lines of white. A choice cut from behind his ear and down along his neck is among the most prominent ones, and another on the underside of his right arm. A deep groove lines the inside of the V-shape along his pelvis and curves onto the inside of his thigh. He has no tattoos, but has considered a few pieces he'd want painted on him. PERSONA “I can read good and spell good. But I can bench press you even better.”Snarky and opinionated, Hannibal doesn't apologize for saying what he feels. Only really mitigated by how much he likes and respects you. And if it gets a rise out of you even better. If you're not important to him, he doesn't really care what you think. For those that do meet this threshold, he means well, even if he doesn't always say what you want to hear. Solartan born and raised, folks of other species are odd and strange. The dragons know all and know best, but that doesn't stop anything fairly non-human looking thing from making his skin crawl. Just a little. Much in a similar turn, Hannibal has no taste for posh or fancy folks and lifestyles, all of that is another world that is as equally odd as some off-worlder with eyeballs in their fingertips. It's his opinion that curiosity didn't at all kill the cat, it only taught it a lesson it needed knowing. It's easy to see a Valkyrie and see a rowdy moron, only knowing where the rest of the pack was by the smell and following the drool left by the others, and Hannibal enjoys the surprise people have when seeing he's a just a tad smarter than your average alpaca. He loves learning new things, seeing how they work, even if it's something he'll never really put to use. But what he lacks in filter, he makes up for with sheer loyalty. He operates under a “leave no one behind” mentality. Sheer doggedness and perseverance has saved his life, kill your enemies before they kill you. Because it is only through conflict that you either find yourself or find yourself lacking. Won't give until until his last breath. If he trusts and likes you, he'll go to the ends of the earth for you. He is hesitant regarding emotional attachments, he doesn't have many friends but those he does have he values more than life itself. His squadron is his family and there's no question about it. When he's with his pack, he falls in with the rest of them, and does his fair share of shenanigans, embracing nonsense like a second skin. - Things! -- Loves craft beers and frequents a number of bar and grills. He likes to experiment with new types of drinks, from wines to ciders and everything in between. - Reads a lot. He doesn't watch television and the closest thing to that he gets are videos he watches online or the occasional film. He's not difficult to entertain. - Has a hard time sleeping, will stay up deep into the night, reading or doing something, to keep his mind from wandering. Less of a chance to dwell on the emptiness that way. - Had a pet rat named Rolli when he was 6. His dad made him drown him when he found out. MAGIC/ABILITIESTelepathy – Above average and he connects easily with the rest of the Valkyries. His telekinesis is meh, at best. Aerokinesis – Can manipulate the air and it's pathing, use it as a “Force” push to knock an opponent off backwards, or make the air sharp enough to cut with. He's talented enough to even and maintain a “bubble” of breathable air for a short time. His abilities work very well in conjunction with others, to concentrate or spread across an area. RELATIONSHIPSLysand Thayal, Father, Alive – Moved away Hezekiah Trevaine, Mother, Deceased Emryn “Emmy” Thayal, Older brother, Deceased Cuthlain “Colt”, Older Brother, Deceased The Valkyries - His family, his pack, and he'd fight and die for them. Adele Samora - Previously referred to as 'rat kid' on first meeting, one of the newest members of the Valkyries, it didn't take long for him to warm up to them. Being bugged by them constantly softened Hannah's initially bristled reaction, and fellow competition in the gym and a shopping trip turned them easily into his best friend, friendly rival, and lover. Tiberius – Dragon – A scathing, bitchy terror at best, and a cruel and sadistic at worst. She's a moody mistress, and could care less about what Hannibal does in his spare time, as long as he's ready to rock and roll when she is. She has a taste for bad puns and internet memes. She's very large, full on elephant sized, with fully replaced mechanical limbs, and wings. A metal spine rivets down her back and her tail is barbed along the sides, with a large spike at the end, thin and whip like. Horns ride her nose nose and brow, with a mane-like set of tendrils along her neck, usually hanging off to the side, and exhaust vents along her ribcage, that release steam, and open and close with her every breath. HISTORYFrom a family of Solartan “Mudminers,” Hannibal worked in down in those tunnels as soon as he could carry tools until he was 14, when he was discovered to be psychic and drafted into the Candidate program, and slotted into the Valkyries while the Edani War raged on. When the Cease Fire brought him home, his mother and brothers died in a tunnel collapse, and his father had moved away to Haviah. EpilogueTHREADSMist [One-Shot] Falling with Style [M] [COMPLETE] Hannibal's Kitchen [COMPLETE]
40
« on: September 24, 2017, 12:59:02 pm »
The following message was just received. Source Uknown.
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They’d called him in, but it was a good thing he was heading down anyway. Three hours was enough. There was coffee and sandwiches, and the moment the call came in, they’d been working to decipher it. Grisham waited only long enough to listen to what it said.
“ATTN: ADSTREIA FLIGHT BAY�THIS IS PILOT ECHO SPARROW ANDERSON - OVER�IM ALIVE - OVER�PLEASE SEND ASSISTANCE- OVER�SELF DIAGNOSIS - MINIMAL INJURY - OVER�AIR QUALITY - NOT OPTIMAL - OVER�ENEMY MOVEMENT DETECTED - OVER�PLEASE SEND ASSISTANCE- OVER�NOT ABLE TO KEEP SIGNAL ONGOING - OVER�GRISHAM: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED - HAVE YOU EVER SKINNED A LIZARD? I HAVE!”
He kept that playing over and over in his mind. Mission accomplished. Son of a bitch. She was alive. And it didn’t take long to trace her coordinates. That faint flutter from before. That heart beat, he honed in on it and met with Haruxhir, taking flight out of the dome. She was alive and she accomplished her mission. Out of a lizard no less.
Sparrow “Lizard Skinner” Anderson. It had an interesting ring to it that was for sure. Grisham had been on 18 cups of coffee running through his system when at last he found that connection. He was sweating, heavily, and took low slow and deep breaths in his helmet, and followed that connection until it was getting even stronger. Every throb of it, until it seemed to beat in time with his own heart - desperate and heavy in his chest.
Another low and steady breath when he found her. No signs of any bogies. And just as he expected, she’d been resourceful. There wasn’t any small amount of relief when he pulled her onto Haruxhir. The winds were calm enough, and he had to hug her close to make sure she was safe, wasn’t slipping away any time soon. She was a squaddie sure, and she’d stuck it out here long enough. But she was his squaddie and goddammit if he wasn’t going to hug her.
“You look like absolute shit,” he breathed out heavily. He wasn’t expecting a response and kept her helmet affixed in place. Dehydrated and malnourished, but no serious damage from the immediate viewing. Still, he was taking her straight to DoSaM to be sure. In a crash like that, scraping by, there was no telling what kind of damage was underneath the surface. He wasn’t going to be taking any chances.
Another heavy breath, quicker this time. Fuck if his back didn’t hurt. But they were so close now. DoSaM was coming up on the scanners. “We’re almost there, Sparrow. Hang on,” he whispered, sending out the signal that he was coming in hot.
18 cups of coffee. Maybe he just needed one more when he got in. Cafeteria had pretty good coffee. And the meatloaf wasn’t good but it would do on his empty stomach. Shortness of breath and he coughed, tasting of iron on his tongue.
“Almost there, Sparrow,” he panted. He saw the indicators on his hud, vaguely in the corners where his vision was getting out of focus. So close, they were right on top of it, and Haruxhir darted down to the landing section.
Grisham slipped off and pulled Sparrow into his arms, holding her as he rushed into the facility doors where he was met by medical staff and he watched her disappear on a gurney. Grisham's breathing quickened and he coughed again, this time splattering blood on the inside of his helmet. "F-fuuck," he panted, leaning against a wall and fiddling with the straps of his helmet. The sound of pressure leaving and he pushed it off his head.
Grisham's legs slid out from underneath him, his chest aching even more. "Sparrow...you'll be all right," he grunted out and collapsed to the floor, vision fading to black.
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