Deus ex Entente Role-Play

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Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JerriLeah7 on 18th January 2018, 5:04 pm

RPM: @JerriLeah7 RPH: @JulietHasAGun

Character Color Codes
b8f7ffNikolaus Meinrad Engelherz
0cafffFean (Fen) Thonav
009900Marisol Yorina
fbfc7eDonnie "Half-Dozen" Haull
ff9900Alwin Seal
a6151bBrooke Cascata
ff6699Saif Taozi
ff9999Sofia Taozi
4D4B4BNoire Lightsoul

Signature Dividers:

Aquarian Gloria

Air Jaunt Battalion

The Artifice Precept

Cardinal Crowe Company

Hollowstar Oathbound

The House of Repose

Noblesse Oblige

Purged (Any)

Shadowcast Diviners

Vox Libertalia Nyxeria

Last edited by JerriLeah7 on 20th February 2018, 8:16 pm; edited 4 times in total

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JerriLeah7 on 18th January 2018, 9:01 pm

Part I

There are gatehouses to the walls that surround the Kingdom of Transuria--a place of gold and marble, of wealth and equality.  There is no starvation or slavery here, not among this home that many of humankind would wish to call their home.  Transuria, itself, is the meaning of "paradise."  Each gatehouse would allow people to enter and travel through, but it was more than a gatehouse--they are bastions of hope and peace, keeping those that would harm humankind away from the most monstrous of creatures and kinfolk.  

Yet, now, the northern Gatehouse is deathly quiet and there is no light or life to be found, save for Tavrim, himself.  He has worked here, as a Gatehouse Guard, for the better part of his life and it has been, at its most, uneventful.  The worst drama ever brought to him was a border dispute between Kingdoms.  Yet, even these small, political and geographical incidents had solutions.  Simple solutions.

His breathing arduous, his armor damaged, his last weapon drawn within his hands, he barely stands over his comrades, all dead.  The floor is filled with their blood, slippery.  The smell of death permeates the gatehouse, accompanied with more than just Tavrim's grief at the loss of his friends and his coworkers.  Memories flooded through his mind, memories of the life spent with these individuals, the ones that fought so hard so that he could escape and give word.  Yet, he never could escape.  He never got a chance to warn any of the Kingdom of what is coming.

The black, twisted, and horned humanoid before him had swept in through the night, taking all that he loved and more with such swiftness that he knew not of what it could be.  Those deep, red eyes glowed, as did its throat and its innards, glaring in through its rib cage like a mystery that he was never meant to understand.

What was this thing?  What did it want?  Why did it attack them like this with no warning, no reason?  Why did his friends have to die and why must he face this creature alone?   They were good fighters--every single one of them, yet this thing took them down so quickly and suddenly.  Did he stand a chance?  Did it matter?  Was it not his duty to protect the Kingdom to his very last breath?  As it stands, he is the only remaining thing preventing an invasion...

This thought terrifies him, but it keeps him going as he strikes at the thing again and again with his long spear, jabbing with every  opportunity given him, screaming with rage and sorrow mixed together as he pushes against it, trying his damnedest to force this bony creature from his home.  From their home.  This battle went on for barely a few minutes, but it felt like hours--days, even.  Yet, it would not budge, and as it knocked his final weapon from his hands, breaking it in half and moving forward to press Tavrim down to his knees, it garbled out some twisted, human speech.

It said, "Do you understand?"

Tears had stung at his widened eyes as he gasped aloud, but the gasp was not from the realization that flooded through his mind.  Rather, he gasped as all effort, all hope, all tension and effect left his body.  He forced himself to breathe as he wept, looking at the thing above him while its face shifted widely into a grin, followed by its own deep, garbled laugh.  

He hears that dark laughter echo throughout the chamber, the home that was now a bloody crypt that he knew he would die in.  The realization that had flooded into his mind was something he had hidden from himself, mentally, as he had fought back with his determination and his desperation.  It is always that which one cannot mentally handle that defeats them, in the end.  Yet, he now knew that this thing never tried.

It came, it conquered--without effort, without trying.  The lives it took were easy to take, just as his would be simple to take.  It was trying to teach him one final lesson.
Hopelessness.  And now, he did not know of hope, closing his eyes as this black thing moved to strike him down.  Tavrim's last breath was released and he knew, just before his end, that his entire Kingdom would fall to what would eventually become known as the Inanis.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JerriLeah7 on 25th January 2018, 7:34 pm

Part II

The Queen:

The platform that lifted the queen of Transuria was circular in shape and covered by fine materials of excellent, royal design. She stood upon it with defiance, though she was not at the raised platform's center. Rather, there was a sword, a rather simple looking long sword that stood upon the platform's center from the tip of its blade. The hilt, held up by multiple chains that spread out to the edges of the circle's base, seemed magically enhanced--just as enhanced as the chains, themselves. The sword stood before her, glowing brilliantly with magic of its own and lighting up the Queen's face with its warm, yellow light.

The crowds below her had been scared, panicked, and battered. There was only a small population remaining--around five hundred of the high-born humans and a hundred or so of the low-born. They had escaped together, within the confines of a darker, deeper hidden dungeons beneath the greatest castle and fortification known to the Kingdom. The Queen stood tall, her shoulders eased and her head held high as she recalled the memory of her husband's face before he had put on his helmet, prepared to die as he kept the Inanis from entering too soon so that they may escape. They could hear the battle above in the distance, but she knew that by now, their King must be dead.

"I have brought to you," The Queen says finally, her voice magically enhanced to be heard by those within these dark, cramped chambers, "Ten warriors. My very remaining crowns guard--the very best of mine."

As she finished this, a few cheers were heard as some hope was renewed to the people. She looked back, over her shoulder as ten people stepped up from the shadows and stepped to the circle's side, to the right of their Queen as they looked up at her upon their introduction. It was then that the Queen looked at her daughter with a sadness that made her heart ache. Her very own little girl that was not so little anymore, volunteered to take the place among their guard and fight as they did for one last push for freedom and for life.

"My very own Phae," The Queen said, the crowd hushing again as her voice wavered with emotion, "Will give us our freedom. Our victory.
That is how certain I am of our survival."

The people quietly cheered again, careful not to become too loud so as to be heard by those Inanis that battled and conquered above. The magics made here made their chamber silent to those around them, but one could never be sure and the sinking fear within the people was obvious enough, as it was reflected through their Queen's eyes. She could not bring herself to show doubt. If she did, her people would have no hope in their final days and if they were going to die, they would die fighting. Of that much, she was certain.

Unfortunately, she could not wear armor around her torso--the essence crystal had seared through her flesh, fighting its way through her form and into visual capacity. Her power oozed from it, her flesh raw at its edges, both from the crystal's hard and ragged edges and at the way it sometimes rubbed against the edges of her plated armor. She was dressed for war, as best as she could be and, although she would not go with the Defiant...she would fight at her people's side and die with them. Die with honor.

"The Defiant will not die!" The Queen raised up her hand, "They will go and take back what has been taken from us all of these long years!"

They cheered--her lost, dying people, dirtied and damaged from war. She stepped from the sword and looked to her husband's dear friend expectantly. The old, bearded man walked up with confidence, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he approached the sword and braced himself for what could happen as he touched the blade's hilt. Upon contact, the chains vanished, the sword glowed, and he claimed it for his own.

Tears fell down the Queen's cheeks as she looked on, listening to the hopeful cheers of her people as they all waved the crowns guard off and away to battle, a battle that she feels and knows in her very heart that they will never return from. Her hand clenching tight to the spear in her hand, she watches her daughter leave with them, sacrificing what is left of her family to the Inanis with the hopes that, by some miracle, humankind will make it out of this war alive. Her knuckles turn white, shaking in anger as she vows to herself to give Inanis pain and to send them to the void that they create.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JerriLeah7 on 25th January 2018, 7:52 pm

Part III

Ceallach stood upon the dirt floor within a dim room, patiently waiting with a stoic face and a false posture of relaxation. Her alertness was not apparent, but anyone who knew her knew better than to believe such foolish lack of perceptiveness within the realms of a possible confrontation. The armored plating mostly covered her arms and central torso, but chainmail covered the rest of her vulnerable places and this choice of dress demonstrated her expectations well enough. Her shoulders relaxed, her legs equally carrying her weight as she stood straight with her right, armored arm resting upon the hilt of the sword sheathed on her right side--a posture that hinted at battle, but also did not express hostility due to the difficulty it would be to shift from that pose into a battle ready pose with a quick movement. Of course, there was the great blade upon her back, but as of yet, it remained untouched.

The lantern light upon the wall at her right flickered and wavered, highlighting the blue contrast of war paint upon her face. The red pieces of cloth hung here and there from the armor, a bannerous decoration of sorts. Her navy blue shirt, however, faded into the darkness, very visible against the paint and the shine against her armor from the firelight. The lanterns did not swing from their chains from the ceilings, the dirt could not creak or moan as a wooden floor would, nor could it clatter with footsteps as loudly as stone. All was silent within the worn down, empty stable as Allach simply waited.


The soft crunching of footfalls finally fell upon Allach's ears and she watched her opponent approach her with a gaze of distrust. She seemed to be alone, but she knew that she was not--they had both agreed to keep allies in the distant reaches, but not too far. The girl walked with her weapons sheathed, as well, and so Allach relaxed just slightly more, though her alertness did not lessen. The girl looks young--moving with agility and youth, as well as with strength. Covered in full plate armor, the girl's massive shield on her back belies at the muscles that are hidden behind those plates.

The soft, dark hair of reddish hue was highlighted from the lanterns that glow within the stable and her armor did not shine near as much from its light as Allach's did--rather, it was too dull, too muddy. There was red and black clothing, both of which were dark enough in hues to be dimmed out by the oncoming dimness of the light outside--sunset was nigh. She immediately moved to the small campfire pit that Allach had already made for her own comfort, reaching out to its warmth for comfort against the cold winds that rushed by against the small plates that left too many openings on her body for Allach's taste. No chain. No closure between the plates. Still, she had the shield...and the two daggers.

"Ifren," Ceallach greeted her softly, stoically. The firelight flickered against her back, the sparks rising up behind her back and giving the soft image of a red smoke rising from her, though this was not the case. Her blank expression that she gave in return added to that hint of intimidation and Ceallach was just not going to have this. They could both play that game and they could play it well--but who would win?


"It's a new world," Ifren says, her voice sharp, business like--but cocky. The warmth of her breath clouded before her against the atmosphere's contrasting cold, the frost in her voice almost seeming to match the weather about them with ease. Her arms raise up, as if holding the imaginary world that she has in her mind before her to show to her opponent with pride. "This is the last time you'll be invited into it."

Allach laughs, "This world is the same as it always has been. Same rules, same progenitors, same
kaird purged strutting out into the wild and thinking that they are the shit when they manage to survive."

Ifren scowls, her eyes narrowing, "The Progenitors are irrelevant. We're coming up, Allach, and if we have to, we'll clean out this little prison of yours to make room for what is to come."

"We keep Iodenia safe, we fight for ourselves--Purged are our own Progenitors, Ifren." Allach says coldly, "We can pick sides, but this is us. You walk in, piss in our water, and expect us to drink. You naive, little girl. Make no mistake, I do live in a prison--one of my own creation and it is my religion. I live here. You're just a visitor. You are

Allach's eyes light up, her feet now taking a battle stance immediately as Ifren's shield straps are released from her shoulders and drops to the ground with a big, dull thud. Blades are drawn, magic flowing outwards from their bodies as Allach's mind wanders, her thoughts calculating just how much of a threat this new bitch is going to be. Her following has been growing, and she's been watching it happen with caution--but was her disdain and disinterest of Ifren before now too careless?

Ceallach touches the mark of the Purged upon her arm, a summoning or signal of sorts as it ignites upon her flesh and sears against her flesh. The grimace does not go unnoticed as she can hear screams in the distance--battle was beginning and Ifren was not one to wait. They charged at each other, a great sword swinging down upon a great shield with two different colors of lights blasting outwards from the strike as they both met with a metallic twang and the force of the magical attack and defense released another force--a small explosion that shook the northern edge of Iodenia along its border for miles around them.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JulietHasAGun on 17th March 2018, 7:35 pm

Hathe City, a town of progress, luxury, unity; and a meeting place for immortals.

These meetings encompassed some of the only times all of the Progenitors gathered in one place. They might disagree, argue, squabble, and loathe what each other stood for- but in these meetings, everyone, everyone made sure to be on their best behavior. Kovros made abundantly sure of that.

The room in which these 'meetings' took place was just as mystical and awe inspiring as one might imagine- as the deathless beings that made this table their gathering hub.

It was nonagonal, large, with a high, domed ceiling. Tapestries hung in nine slices, from the circular apex of the ceiling. These tapestries, of course, represented covenants. Their silken, yet heavy texture shone luxuriously in the atmospheric lighting of the room. 'Nobilesse Oblige', 'Hollowstar Oathbound', 'The House Of Repose', 'Shadowcast Diviners', and so forth, each had their covenant symbol displayed, a mark of alls equal stake upon this room; looming over alls heads- but more of a presence, and not an oppressor.

The walls were mainly covered by these tapestries, but flecks of it showed- stone, marble? No, magically resonant stone- requested, carved, and crafted by Vaelus for the implicit purpose of 'protecting' the room. Many had thought it was silly, but Kovros had given his go-ahead, so most dissenters were silenced. The stone looked to be volcanic rock to any untrained eye, but if any magi, or magical forced touched it, swelled within it, it would dance with the fiery colors of their magic- holding it, like a magical conduit.

The floors were stone, black, silvery, like walking on a stormcloud. When footsteps resonated on its surface, it sounded akin to if one was walking on crystal, light, sharp. It echoed throughout the room, dampened not by the tapestries above- pittering off lightly on its own.

Braziers lit the room- atmospheric lighting, magical lighting. They called it 'veilfire', magical flames that could not be put out by mere water. They had to be put out magically, lit magically, and maintained, as surprising as it may be to some, magically. The colors were interchangeable, based on the magi that lit it. But most often in this hall, they were lit in a prismatic effect of colors, matching each progenitor; or defaulting to a cool white, flecked with green.

The sole door to the room was a large, slate marble set of double doors that tipped almost to the ceiling. Few set foot in the room when a meeting was in place, and whatever ascendant accompanied their Progenitors to these meetings generally waited patiently outside. The handles were intricate and curved, but seldom few used them- like most things in this room, they possessed a touch of magic.

The most notable fixture of the room was the large, heavy table, circular, with nine chairs aligned around it. Each chair was numbered to match the Progenitor that sat there, silvery and white, their backs were tall, the seating was plush, and thickly upholstered, for comfort.

The table was smooth, slightly, bizarrely, warm to the touch, with no known name for the material it was crafted from- at least, no material accessible those who would wish to duplicate it. The outer ring was opalescent, white, easily touchable by those around it the secondary, middle ring, was darker, a black tortoise shell pattern; the inner most circle was the most striking.

The inner sphere of the table beheld prismatic, ever changing motes of light, dancing about in the sphere. They formed maps, figures, mimics of faces, anything that could come to mind. For now, it held a map of Iodenia, charting its borders, territories won and lost, in a crème, light yellow that illuminated most of the room.

The Progenitors, all patiently seated- though, some more patiently than others, had grown to reflect their interest in the affairs set before them.

Vaelus, who sat between Nyhara and Nyx, was, perhaps, the most poised of all of them. Sitting upright in his chair, legs crossed beneath the table- holding himself akin to a teacher, or a business man in an important meeting. His black suit showed not a single wrinkle, and the rings about his fingers, woven together, gleamed in shades of silver, amethyst, marble and lapis lazuli. His expression was calm, nuanced, distant yet engaged, his eyes were calm, his lips were set, his elbows rested casually upon his armrests as his hands met together before him. His feet, clad in silver tipped and heeled shoes, did not jiggle impatiently, nor move at all. He did not fiddle with his hair, run his fingers through it, it was perfectly styled, though not overly maintained, coifed back in an orderly but stylish fashion. He was the picture of poise, calm and restraint.

A seat down from him, Nyx was still patiently sitting; though maybe less so than the Progenitor before her. Her elbows shifted, from time to time; at one point, they were both on the table, her hands cupping her face as she rested it within their grasp, at another, her hands had rested on the rests of the chair, her head leaning back into the plush cushioning of the chair as her fingers idly fiddled with the long tresses of her hair. Now, her cheek sat in one hand as she leaned forward on the table, eyes, stormy, striking, keen and attentive. Despite her perhaps 'nervous' energy, Nyx's attention did not shift from the topic at hand. Well, outside of once or twice- when her gaze flickered to two of the men seated at the table. Shahaeyl, and to a different extent, Reinhold- the latter being a less rambunctious disturbance. But outside of a handful of side glances, mainly directed at the Patron of Chaos himself, she was wholly engrossed and attentive of the meeting. She had somewhat shed her overcloak, a large, sweeping black affair, trimmed with fur lining, though it still hung loosely on her shoulders. Her dress, too, was black, long, made of a luxuriously black material, soft, but heavy. It coiled around her neck, but bared some of the skin on her chest, enough to reveal her covenant symbol, and the fabric around her arms continued down to the middlemost of her finger. Her hair was loose, long, perfect to be nervously played with.

While Nyx and Vaelus might have been the image of poise and attentiveness, respectively. Shahaeyl and Polluexia were....not.

Hale, situated between Reinhold and Polluexia, had changed positions rather drastically, and often, before finally settling on one. Sprawled out across his chair, one foot resting on the armrest, the other resting on the table. One elbow rested upon his knee, the other draped on the armrest opposite his foot. Shahaeyl barely deigned to pay attention to the topic at hand- apparently he miraculously managed to offer insight from time to time, to the surprise of some. He also, occasionally deigned to make a slight joke of the subject, which the rest of the progenitors generally tried their best to ignore- if they weren't the kind to laugh at it. Vaelus occasionally found his sensibilities offended, but knew any protest on his part would be met by deaf, uncaring ears. Shahaeyl, clad in a dark, rich stormy grey suit, with a luxurious, dark purple overcoat, and mismatched buttons; waist in a coil of a brocade fabric- rings of mismatched colors, styles and sizes; all of which had tapped distractingly on the table at least once; certainly...stood out. Comparatively to most of the room. His hair was wild, his eyes were striking, and a impish smile never stopped tracing his lips. One learned to get used to him, even though it might take one about a thousand years.

Polluexia, to his side, was, while less overtly distracting, certainly as tactless as Hale- though not because of a dedication to mischief, or an uncaring demeanor. But rather, these meetings always tired her, as they forced her to sit down and listen as she was talked at for however long. She preferred the field, the sea, being out there doing something, rather than stuck in here listening. She sat, one leg crossed under her, the other pressed out against the table, occasionally stretching out, careening her chair back. Her arms were, generally, folded behind her head- though she occasionally reached out, leaning over, poking either her brother, leaning into him, whispering some rasceous, funny or lewd comment to try to mine some amusement out of him; or Hale, out of jovial, impish childishness. Unlike the other Progenitors she was rather...unkempt. Her black hair mostly braided back, tied up, free strands trundling down in her face, quickly replaced back behind her ear. Her shirt, a plain, white button up, was loose, unbuttoned, pulled up above her elbows, showing off her musculature rather well. Her pants, pulled up and cuffed at her knees were loose, dark brown, pants you'd see on any workman in Iodenia. The sash around her hips belied her Covenants sigil, and their colors, and baubles and charms hung off it like collected trophies. Her boots were dark brown, coming to the knee, though, at face value, falling apart and patched together. But that suited Polluexia just fine.

Phaedira, resolute, prim, in her seat between Nyx and Reinhold- mirrored the former more closely. Her posture was keen, proper, lady-like; as befitting of a lady of standing as Vaelus' posture suited a businessman. Her ankles crossed, her shoulders properly squared, her head never lulling lazily to one side or the next- her eyes akin to a bird of prey on the occasions she leaned over the table to get a better view at the map. Her clothing, as always; in all of its metallic glory, reflecting the light in every which way, and against the crème yellow of Kovros' influence, it along with her headgear, gave her the appearance of an angel of war. It was a long, loose, dress like shift, with a cape attacked to its shoulders that trailed down in the shame of two, asymmetrical wings. Unlike Nyx's, it bared little skin, the neckline revealing her collarbones and little more. Phaedira always made sure to move and check her appearance, generally, nary so much of a hair was out of place. She, perhaps, was the most usefully vocal, adding tidbits of strategy, plans, looking about the table to see if it would work with the parties necessary- her eyes falling to Kovros more often than not. The intensity and conviction within her gaze was lost to no one; and none, not even Hale, was keen to interrupt her.

Nyhara, on the opposite, situated between Kovros' seat, and Vaelus, was not so....keen. In fact, her face shamelessly and unabashedly proclaimed her utter and complete boredom with the situation. Her marred, scarred face did little to hide how utterly unimpressed she was with these proceedings. Yet, she sat, mostly silently. Crossing, uncrossing, and recrossing her legs- shifting from side to side. Her posture, proper, yet relaxed, a bit of a hang to it that spoke to a rogueishness that everyone in the room already knew about her. Despite her restlessness though she maintained a sense of respect; not sighing, nor interrupting Kovros, or any of the parties involved, as they spoke. However she did tap her fingers occasionally, not enough to earn her the eyes from Vaelus or Kovros- but enough to make her disdain for the situation known. Her red suit was prim and professional, as always; it was her signature, after all- a uniform, of sorts; and her cloak, an addition, was draped over the arm of the chair, not quite trundling to the ground, no, Nyhara would never stand for such slovenly care of her ensemble. Despite her 'respect' for the proceedings, despite the protests of many, she smoked. The charcoal mist crawling, reaching up into the air with every calm, cool puff; the cigarette held calmly, cooly between her fingers, every drag a silent grate upon Nyx and Vaelus' nerves.

Nyx, particularly, looked, to anyone familiar enough with her, ready to use her magic to snuff the flame; but a hand from Phaedira, calmly, upon her arm, coaxed her down, and back into a less angered state.

Reinhold, seated between, Phaedira and Hale; was perhaps the most....villainous, in appearance, to most of the Progenitors. He sat, properly, his legs crossed, his long, white, fur lined cloak draped dramatically cross the arms of his chair, slung loosely over his shoulder. In his lap sat his cat; tabby grey, with eyes matching his- his familiar, Sebas. His fingers scruffed along and pet its fur as it curled within his lap, purring as one of the Progenitors hands smoothed his fur, scratched the underside of his chin. The cat wiggled, nuzzling against its owners hand, causing Reinhold to occasionally cast down his eyes with a smile; continuing to pet him calmly, not wavering in his almost villainous composure. Outside of the mild distraction his familiar provided Reinhold was not really paying much attention at all to the proceedings; smirking at Shahaeyl's jokes- even laughing, though, not going so far as to earn a dire eye from Vaelus. He balanced his charm somewhat evenly with his manners, despite not managing to give much of a care about what Kovros was talking about. There was, however, one thing that did somewhat command his attention...Nyx. Staring at her occasionally with the expression one might expect from a love-lorn teenager, or a puppy; his generally sharp case softening to the dullest, smoothest of edges. A knife worn to fluff. His eyes traced her fingers, her figure, what skin he could see- for moments at a time he was stuck on her. On a rare occasion when their eyes met, he'd smile at her, before her eyes could dart away, and he'd cast his gaze back between Hale and Polluexia- two sources of rather abundant entertainment. Reinhold, himself, was dressed- as he always was for these occasions, immaculately. His black, finely made clothing was not only stainless, but fit him perfectly. His shirt was double breasted, the first few golden buttons undone, giving view to his neck, his collarbones, and an abundance of jewelry. Matching; unlike Hale's, in a cacophony of Orange Topaz and gold. Crescent moons, fangs, and a centerpiece, his very own favored symbol, the ankh. His boots, much like Vaelus', were black, tipped and heeled in gold, clicking occasionally against the floor. His hair, his clothes, his visage, were all immaculately maintained; as always. Image was important, after all, though, perhaps, it was maintained more for one person in particular.

Unlike Reinhold, Castor, surprisingly, was rather attentive...outside of his blatant refusal to sit properly in a chair. He straddled the back of it, facing the table; and had done away with the armrests all together, much to Vaelus' chagrin. He may have worked hard on these chairs, however, Castor was known rather famously for his blatant disregard for anything Vaelus stood for. So here, he perched, like a gargoyle, or some feral creature, listening with utmost attentiveness to what Kovros had to say. As he straddled the chair, his sister, true to herself, occasionally elbowed him, slapping his leg- goading his attention to something impish and mischievous, lewd or crass that her, or Hale, had gotten up to. Castor smiled, as he was known to do with his sister, and answered her quietly, as to not disrupt the man speaking. Between the talks of the war, and the egging of his sister, Castor, proved the most...emotive. Shifting from smiles to his sister, to borderline scowls about the war. His expression brightened like the sun, darkening like a stormcloud- and would have clapped into the rage of a hurricane had it not been her sister and her almost psychic perception of her brothers moods. When the topic came to losing or abandoning borders, outposts, Castor immediately sprung from his seat, the clatter of the chair bringing the conversation to a viable halt until Polluexia managed to tug him back down, calming him in a way that perplexed most at the table. Castor, unlike the rest of the table looked.....less than immaculate. His hair still wet, his robes freshly changed. Only at the behest of his sister did he even bother showering before the meeting; with her telling him he 'smelled like balls' and demanding he change and clean himself as she 'had to sit next to him for hours'. He had, however, skipped on combing- his sister had no leg to stand on to lecture him about that.

Finally, there was Kovros. Standing, pacing, behind his chair. He spoke of battle, of territory, of war and inanis; the name rolling off his tongue coated in hardened spite. He looked tired, a man who was dead on his feet. He had just come from battle; shedding his armor only because it's weight would wear him down even more. On occasion, he grasped the back of his chair, gesturing to the glimmering map held together by his magic. Updating his fellow immortals on the status of the fighting. He spoke; he did not dither over them like a chastising school teacher- he was tired, and they had done this dance for long enough for him to know they, at least, took this seriously. He had no glares for Hale, he had grown accustomed to his old friend; immune to him. He had no scolding for Nyhara, everyone knew how she was. He had no quips for Polluexia, she was a fighter, and he knew that, like him, she'd rather be out there doing rather than talking. However, he managed a few glares for Reinhold; and his puppy eyes at Nyx. 'Man up,' He thought, moving on quickly from his disdain. His clothing, despite being flung onto him, was well made, fine, but not pretentious or noble like Vaelus'. The fabric was high quality, and you could tell he had defaulted back to it for years; dark browns, accents of airy yellow. But what was most striking was his cape. Pinned shut with a clasp that mirrored the symbol of his covenant, it was a flume of a noble, royal, yet muted red, it billowed behind him and held as much to his status as a progenitor as it did as a Knight Errant. It was noble, loud, borderline heroic; and as he wore it one could almost envision him wearing it, standing about a scorched battlefield.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JulietHasAGun on 17th March 2018, 7:47 pm

Kovros stood before the table, his hands placed at the back of the chair before him as he looked over the group with their usual behaviors and wondered what he would do to inspire them, this time. Keeping them interested in anything after all of these years was a feat in and of itself. Keeping himself inspired was even more so. It's been a long day. He's too tired to say anything inspiring today. So be it.

"I think that we can conclude the proceedings for today," Kovros says, "Unless there are objections?"

Vaelus, without missing a beat, lifts two of his fingers.

"I do believe I have something to add, Kovros. An 'objection', I suppose." Vaelus stands; his royal, peacock blue taking over Kovros' creme yellow on the center of the table as he traces his fingers long its surface. Now, it shows a rotating image of Hathe city, itself. "There is a matter about our relation to the mortals. The Council has some...concerns, that it would like us to adress. As the mediator, it has fallen to me to bring them to you.

Kovros sighs inwardly, wishing to be leaving, but understanding that if he "leaves it for next time," he won't wish to do it then, either. Better now, rather than to add to the list of things that they must do for the people. He cannot sit, though. His body is too weary from the fight and he knows that if he were to even consider sitting, he'd not wish to get up again. He looks about the room, making sure that no one protests--as they should know better than to do so, by now. At least vocally, anyway.

Then he nods, "Very well. Go ahead, Vaelus. We're listening."

Vaelus paces calmly, gesturing towards replica of the city. "First on their agenda of concerns are," Vaelus sighs briefly. "As it has been for the past few months, the Pravus,"

Polluexia, as well as a couple others, give audible noises of disapproval. "This again?" She mutters.

Vaelus understands their exhaspiration. It shouldn't still be an issue and yet, it is. "Apparently some of the low born are rather...heated about how those with money are enabled to, in their words, 'use and abuse magic to their whims'. When everyone else capable of using magic themselves must fight and die for that right; our covenants. They want us to 'deal' with the situation; and even though both I, and the council, have both agreed and been abundantly clear that we have made no plans to round up the Pravus and force them to war, they still demand some kind of response." He looks about the room. "So does anyone have any helpful," He looks at Hale tightly as he emphasises the word. "Insight into what could be done to quiet the civilians nerves and complaints?"

Nyhara shrugs, "Each coin that they waste keeping their magitek charged goes to a magi that needs to feed their families and fight in the war for us. So, they are wasting their money on tricks and gimmicks, but they are adding to the economy. They feed enchanters, magi, and smiths alike--what would they have us do? Upset that balance and allow others to go hungry? It's a frivolous luxury, but because they use and purchase it, they make such items available at a cheaper cost for our covenant members when they are injured and cannot afford to have limbs regrown. I've said it before, these fools help us, even though it is indirect and unintentional."

Nyx piped up, not keen to allow the situation to take such a cynical, jaded, and money focused turn. "We're not warlords, we've been tasked with keeping humanity safe, how much better would we be than bandits? Than Perimooras if we forced weapons into peoples hands and marched them out to die? Our Magi choose to fight, they choose to make a difference. Forcing people, civilians, into battle based on a rather...distasteful habit of magical pageantry would be tantamount to murder." She leaned forward towards the table, eyes keen, determined, sparks running through them like lightning in a stormcloud. "I'm sure we can all agree while some of us may find it distasteful, we're not ready to march them out to die."

"I'm with Nyxie, here," Polluexia butted in, gesturing openly with one hand. "Not to mention, we march a bunch of unwilling fighters out onto the field; how many will die? Our magi have to be able to rely on their brothers in arms to watch their backs- if we've forced half of them out there, they'll probably turn tail and abandon their teammates the moment things go south. It ain't right, and it ain't smart."

Hale wagged his finger in the air. "So, aside from the supposed 'ammorality' and depravity of it. It's stupid. And the mortals expect us to do it to make them feel better because they're too broke to afford magitech of their own? This sounds like a typical meeting," He mimicked a high, whiney voice mockingly, imitating the 'mortals' he spoke of. "'Nyoooh, progenitors, Danny from Hathe has a cookie and I don't. So outlaw cookies. What? You're not going to outlaw cookies? You're terrible dictators nyeh nyeh nyeh.' That's it, that's what this question sounds like. Move along, let the mortals be mad. The things they choose to be angry about these days are stupid. And not even entertaining stupid! The gall."

Castor scowls, "Tell them that we will happily settle their problem for them...after the Inanis have been removed from the equation. Until then, they will wait, like all other matters that result in war."

Vaelus blinks, slowly, had the man even been listening to him? "Castor, I understand you're very....adamant, about the Inanis. But we are fighting for the mortals, as well. We can't just ignore them until the Inanis are gone."

Hale leaned back in his chair. "Ooooooh, what's another few thousand years between mortals?"

This earned the man a momentary glare from Vaelus before his gaze flickered back to Kovros. "Thoughts, Kovros?" Him and Reinhold had been the only ones that hadn't spoken; but Vaelus knew Rein well enough to know he only bothered to offer opinions when he cared enough about the issue to have them.

Kovros sighs, "As always, the Progenitors are beacons of peace. The people will accept this and any attempts to start inner battles or wars due to their disagreements or our inaction will be stopped and severely punished in accordance with Iodenian Edicts. However...I propose one action that we can take to quell the cries at our feet.

I will select an Ascendant of mine that will create a sub-sect within my Covenant and other Covenants -- we will create an investigative taskforce that will look into substantiated claims and concerns between the Pravus and the lower class citizens. Any and all actions taken by the Pravus with their magictech that would go against our laws or edicts will be brought before Vaelus and they will be judged.

So long as the taskforce is convinced of wrong doing, investigations can be under way. So long as sufficient evidence is provided, Vaelus can be bothered with the case. Until then, these smaller issues need not interrupt the Inanis War."

Nyhara smirks, "We could them. It is a luxury and we could use the funds for the taskforce....or the war effort. Though, I would say to err on the side of a...small tax."

"Of course, Nyhara, you would find a way to make this about money." Nyx responds flatly, leaning back in her seat, fighting back the urge to glare a hole in the other womans head. Yes, the Pravus were...distasteful, spending money excessively. But Nyhara's warmongering, money hungry ways left a vile taste in her mouth.

Vaelus, cuts in, not wanting anything to come to fruition of this. "I suppose my main qualm here is that there are not individual cases of Pravus committing crimes, if there were, I assure you, I would already set my Ascendant on the case. However, the main problem people are having with the Pravus is their garish and distasteful waste of money. Money that they believe could be better spent helping people and helping fund the war effort than buying 'fancy new toys'. But, I digress. The consensus is that we don't draft innocent people into war." He looks to Kovros. "If you stand by your words, I can draft up a public statement for Kirst to put out by tomorrow morning, Kovros."

"Did'ja have anything else for us, Vael? Or are we done here?" Polluexia interjects, impatiently leaning forward.

Vaelus, once again, puts a hand on the table; this time, it formulates the shape of an orb, intricate, spinning, teeming with energy. The nexus of a star, radiating with the magical heat of a planets core.

"The Ues. The artifact I've been studying." Vaelus rights himself. "A highly classified research project that I trust will remain between us and these nine walls, yes?" Vaelus' words were not a threat, but a contract- and he rather detested being reneged.

"So? It's a ball. Go play magical soccer with it or something. Or are you fixating on it to compensate for something?" Polluexia snickered.

"Ah, yes, Vaelus. We are all quite familiar with how men like you simply love playing with your balls." Hale's double entendre was said in a toying, impish voice, smile clearly tracing his lips.

Vaelus' face was stony, his expression flat; the room was silent, outside of the thunderous noise of Polluexia low-fiving Hale, and a surprising snort from Nyx.

Vaelus closed his eyes. "As I was saying, my research with into the Ues. The artifact has been evidenced to have insight into the Inanis language; and, considering, despite the efforts and collaboration between myself and Reinhold in our project to coax language out of the purebreds, it is shown to be our best lead. However-" Vaelus opened his eyes once more, expression still placid, steely. "It is exceedingly difficult to research an artifact when it either kills anyone it touches, or drives them mad. With that, I implore all at this table for their...assistance. I understand that the nine of us all have different approaches, ideas- and perhaps my methodology is flawed. If any at this table have any insight or experiments they would like to attempt." Vaelus' eye fell upon Castor, flickering to Rein, then back. "My ears are open. After all, knowing your enemy is half the battle."

Reinhold thrums on the table with his two index fingers, "Haaaave you tried exploding it? Maybe if we just destroy it, it won't be a threat--and sometimes, destroying a threat is half the battle, too."

Castor almost growls, "Don't be foolish, boy."

Reinhold stands up, glaring at him, "You, of all of us, know that I'm no boy."

Nyhara giggles with disbelief, "Why don't you let me hold on to it and fiddle around, Vaelus? I could probably make some progress if I tinker with it, albeit carefully."

Nyx sights, resting her forehead in her fingers as she leans forward. "Can you two give it a rest, please. We're all thousands of years old, does it matter?"

Polluexia took a....different approach, puckering her lips. "Awwww, a few more quips and you two would be just like an old married couple." She punctuated her statement with kissy noises.

Hale barked out a laugh.

Vaelus looked as though he had lost hours of sleep in the past few minutes. "First of all, no, we are not blowing it up, Reinhold. It's a valuable asset. Second of all, Nyhara, I make an amendment to my statement. If any tinkering is done with the potentially lethal, enigmatic artifact with a penchant for driving people insane, it shall be done either in my labs or in my presence. Third of all, Castor, please make sure your comments, if they are offense, at least contribute to the discussion."

"Woah," Nyhara says, feigning offense, "Who said you're in charge of the orb thingy?"

Nothing else can be said before a sharp rapping is heard upon the door. It's the door keeper, no doubt. Only he could do that without being severely harmed. One simply didn't just get past the door keeper and the keeper didn't interrupt a meeting unless it was incredibly relevant. Reinhold's still standing, but now his eyes are widened with surprise, "It's Athalros and...another of mine. Fean."

He immediately moves toward the door to allow them entry, but stops himself. He then looks back to Kovros and Vaelus to make sure they approve. The others will get over it--after all, the keeper confirmed it's importance. These two, however....they always had the final say in meetings. Kovros simply nodded.

Vaelus starts, before looking up at the sharp rapping, as everyone did; his composure never breaking. His brow furrowed, he looks to Kovros, then to Rein.

Nyx is already on her feet, anxiously waiting for the go ahead for the door to be opened. If two magi interrupted a meeting, either the world had fallen to ashes while they had droned on, or something just as dire had occurred.

Polluexia jolted to her feet as well, but in her case, she was combat ready. Years of fighting and surprise ambushes had trained her already sharp edges to knifepoints.

Hale, merely looked around his chair, slouched lazily in it still, with a quirked eyebrow.

Vaelus spoke. "Open it."

At that, the doors creaked open; the magic from the room obeying the progenitors voice.

Athalros is waiting before the door keeper, who has stepped out of his way to allow entry. He is dressed as he usually is--fancily and barely at all. His bare chest was marred with dire wounds, deep scratches dug into his chest and luckily becoming more shallow as they moved downward to areas that would have penetrated his organs. Blood is splattered throughout his hair and upon his skin, but he walks inwards slowly, paying little attention to his wounds as he gestured for the woman behind him to follow. Fean.

Fean, a great tarp over her shoulder, turned away from the room and began to drag the corner of the tarp behind her. Someone tried to help her, yet again, but she didn't look at them, only snapping verbally as she fought back further tears, "Don't touch it! This is mine!"

Her possessiveness over the massive cargo that she dragged behind her explained the thoughtlessness of Athalros as he allowed her to do all of the work, dragging the great thing with all of her might as she quietly huffed and puffed with defiance and eventually dragged the great big thing into the room with success while leaving a line of blood in its path. The tarp was certainly bloodied, but this thing was far too large and shaped far too differently to carry one or multiple human bodies. What could it be? The marks upon Athalros' body hinted at something inhuman, something quite large in size.

It took great strength to come here without great reason and even more balls for anyone to enter here and dirty the place up with blood. Fean, too, was covered in the stuff, battled and bruised, damaged and worn, her armor and clothing tattered to the point where a sleeve was missing and a massive scratch matching the one on Athalros' chest had left a hole upon it, revealing the deep gash upon her naked back. She's crying, silently as she can, and Athalros beckons for Rein and Nyx to keep their distance from her with his gestures and his eyes.

Reinhold looks concerned, as any would when approached by one of their members in this state, but the girl says nothing as she turns to face the table of Progenitors with a surprising amount of anger in her eyes. She's never been before so many at once...she's never met most of them before in her life. And she's rarely spoken to so many powerful creatures like this, like she's about to. She's shaking, both from weakness and pain and fear. She's tired from fighting, but she's not ready to be touched.

Kovros looks upon the girl and he wishes to speak, truly, but this is Reinhold's child. None will know her as he does, none will be able to pick up her state through the connective sigil and shared soul shard. So he waits, allowing the boy to take point, to choose how to react as the girl known as "Fean" hesitated to speak, pushing back tears, wiping off her face, and struggling to even her breathing.

Finally, Reinhold moves a little bit closer, though she holds up her arms and hands to indicate that this is unwanted. Rein tries not to cry, himself. He can feel her turmoil, her loss. She is grieving and she has lost someone dear to her, but in a dark way that he does not understand. It has hardened her to her core, shifted part of who she is to the very point that she is ashamed of herself, ashamed to call herself a member of his Covenant. He wishes to reassure her, but he doesn't know what is wrong.

"I..." Fean tries, but she cannot muster the words.

"I was summoned by Fean," Athalros says, "Via the blessing. She had noticed that one of the pages--"

"I'll do it. I'll explain." Fean says bitterly, cutting him off. He crosses his arms, waiting.

Nyx falters, horrified, concerned, her hands urgently reaching out in anxiety, concern, flittering back like birds not knowing where to land. She is horrified, wide eyed; gazing at the mammoth, bloodied cargo- at Fean's barely veiled tears. She notes Athalros' expression, and, despite how badly she wants to wrap her arms around the girl, heal her, soothe her- it is better for her to remain distant.

Amidst her immediate concern, horror; she knew those marks- she'd known Rein, and his covenant, for long enough to wager a very keen guess.

She moved for Athalros', laying her hands upon him. "I've got you," She muttered soothingly, golden magic emanating from her hands; healing his wounds, but doing nothing to clean the blood.

She looked at Fean, her concerned gaze flickering to Reinhold, waiting for the girl to speak.

Behind them, Hale and Polluexia had stood up, Pol wide eyed, Hale looking more engaged and interested than he had the entire meeting. Vaelus had rushed forward, standing a few paces behind Reinhold, watching the scene before them unfold- his gaze flickered up, falling upon the gathered Ascendant, looking in through the doorway.

Aenewyn, Kovros' Ascendant, the one who had tried to help the poor girl with her burden, stood stalwart, on edge, at the ready, in full armor. Her intimidating helmet was tucked under her arm, and her eyes, full of concern, shone in the magic light.

Kirst, the Ascendant of Vaelus, looked on, face tense, brows furrowed, but composure still dauntless, a luxurious fur overcoat draped over her shoulders, and in dress far to expensive and fitting to be worn in battle. Her dark skin and short, curly black hair radiated in the light as she stood, flanked, by two of Vaelus' constructs.

Valhalla, the second closest to the doorway, looked on with an expression unlike that of his Progenitor, Nyx. He had started in Reinhold's covenant, known both Athalros and Fean. His spear was gripped tightly in his hand, and his black armor, gold plating, shone brightly against his dark skin.

Brien and Gil, Polluexia's, stood the furthest away, their forms barely discernible; their billowy shirts, and tousled hair available as only an outline; huddled close together, craning for a view of the action.

At the edge of the doorway sat Castor's ascendant, Kal, a dark figure, barely visible at the outskirts whose sharp eyes watched the situation with intensity, but her mouth belied no expression.

The closest was Glory; Reinhold's very own Ascendant- golden and shining in the light. Her armor polished to a radiant glow, her gilded cape flowing behind her as she stood behind the giant, bloody mound, her jaw tight, her eyes concerned. She wouldn't dare step foot into the room, and she wouldn't dare try to touch Fean's...cargo. But still, she looked on, lips pressed tightly together, eyes brimming with intensity and a keen....something, looking to her Progenitor for his next move.

Reinhold could sense no anger, no irritation from Athalros as he was interrupted. This much, alone, said much--so much that Reinhold immediately became uncomfortable. He realized the depth and gravity of this situation, whatever it must be. Whatever happened, it was more than traumatizing for Fean. It was severe to Athalros, as well.

"I keep books," Fean says, knowing that none of the other Progenitors would understand this as hers would. She holds up one of the texts at her side, opening up the pages to reveal thick writing in ink, flipping those pages with swiftness, but not too much, so that they could see. "I'm a summoner. These are my...promises."

She looks to them desperately, wanting them to understand what that word means in this case. She looks to Reinhold, lastly, knowing for certain that he would. Looking into his eyes, he can sense that understanding, knowing that he, too, holds the same kinds of contracts that she does. She pushes back the tears some more, looking back at her cargo.

"I had noticed one of the pages had gone black. I didn't understand," Fean says, "So I summoned with the blessing and I got Athalros."

Athalros shook his head, "Well, don't sound so displeased about it. I came, I helped, didn't I?"

Fean ignores him, "He waited and I summoned her--it was Yyamir, my friend. She-she's a dragon, a large one. Except that Yyamir wasn't herself at all."

Fean started to cry a little, moving to the tarp delicately as she folded open the material to reveal a bloodied, tattered wing, the wing of a great and powerful dragon that was blue and scaled but also black and twisted with veins all encompassing. The blue faded to black as the Inanis infection was revealed and Fean just cried, holding herself with her arms before her, "We had no choice. She isn't my friend anymore."

Reinhold's gaze darkened as he stepped forward to analyze the wing. No dragon or high-creature had ever been infected, not ever in the entire history of his life. Yet, here was proof of otherwise, just before him and he could barely belief it. His heart sank, the realization of what Fean had to do. She had to fight her own friend, violate her own promise and she blamed herself. He understood her feelings more fully and he looked upon her softly, "This isn't your fault, Fean. You had to defend yourself and the girl you made that promise with is gone. You did not break your word."

The entire room was....shocked, awed, horrified, as well. Vaelus, for his part, was stunned to silence. Polluexia's eyes were the size of saucers, her fighting stance now rigid in shock. One of Nyx's hands went to cover her mouth as her eyes widened, an airy 'no' barely quivered out of her lips. Hale had stood up, both his eyes now raised and it was he who finally cut the silence with his voice.

"Well, shit."

The words cut the room, and Hale sauntered forward, pacing around the wing, arms loosely crossed, finger scratching his chin.

Nyx, having healed Athalros of his wounds, set herself down towards the crying young woman. "Fean," She started, kneeling down beside the girl, hands slowly encompassing her as she looked the woman in the eyes; hers soft, tender, like her voice, soothing like a hug. "Let me help you." She said softly. "Please." The earnestness and compassion in her voice was palpable.

"Fean..." The word expelled from Glory's lips, coated in something akin to heartbreak, pity. The poor girl wanted to be strong, resilient; but there was no shame to be held in vulnerability. Valhalla had pulled up beside her, Glory raising a hand to his shoulder- a gesture of brotherhood. The two briefly looked at each other, then back at the scene before them.

Aen was wordless, staring at the scene in stalwart horror- She knew little about summons, but an infected- what- dragon? Especially that belonging to a summoner? Even she knew that was bad.

Kal was now fully in the doorway, alarm registering on her face, her back slightly bent, shoulders squared, like a curious woodland creature observing the body of a dead, fallen tree.

"What the fuck!?" The cry, emanating by the back of the room, was silenced, quickly by another.

"Be quiet, idiot!" The voice harshly whispered.

Kirst looked to Vaelus, who stared at Reinhold; whatever this was- they needed to figure out how the hell this happened- fast.

A brunette woman, one of the overseers of the doorway, presumably, was standing, tonelessly, with a face blanched and white, behind the crowd, hands cupped around her mouth.

Kovros looks to Reinhold, "How was Yyamir different from the other dragons?"

"She wasn't. Isn't." Reinhold says, shaking his head, "She's a dragon. Like all other grand creatures. How in the hell was she corrupted?!"

Nyx, when Fean nods, wraps her arms around the girl; her gold magic emenating from her hands, skin; filling the girl with the same blissful comfort that she had just used on Athalros. She pulled the girl into her, letting her cry, as her magic did its work. She looked up at Rein and Kovros; not engaging, merely stroking the girls hair, soothing her, letting her weep.

Vaelus walks up behind Reinhold, leaning down, muttering into his ear, out of Fean's earshot. "We need to study the body. Something must have happened- dragons have never risked infection before. We need to figure out what caused this."

"Did you kill her?" Reinhold asks Fean, hating to ask the question. "Is she--it fully dead?"

Athalros answers this one, "Oh, no. It's still alive. She and I couldn't take a dragon on our own. We just fucked the Inanis up. That's all we were capable of before escape. However...Fean could try summoning it again. That doesn't mean it will come,'s possible."

"Summon die?" Fean asks between tears, "Is that all you'd ask of me?"

"Hate to be the bearer of obvious news, little lady," Hale looks away from the wing, back to Fean with his usual cheeky bravado. "But your friend's already dead. Well, in all ways except physical. She's a zombie- her brains hashed, slashed, trashed, and probably infested from head to toe with Inanis fuckery."

"Shahaeyl-" Nyx warned, her eyes sparking with fury, her voice lowering to a growl.

"What? We're not going to lie to her, are we? Don't feel guilty summoning her, girlie. She's already dead. At least you might be able to give her some peace and dignity with the final one-two." Hale's eyes flickered back towards the wing. "Not like she could put up much of an aerial battle. With one wing and all. Or do you think they replaced it with a big, nasty, Inanis one? Hm." His 'hm' was light, airy, flippant.

Nyx, for her part, was steaming. Literally. It took all the restraint she had to not light his clothes on fire. "Shut. Up." She gave him a final warning, all he responded with was a glib, little, 'heh'.

"Sorry, lass." Polluexia had finally found her words, walking up regretfully to the situation. "It might be a mercy to kill her. Imagine if it were you it's....I'm sorry. I'm just....sorry." Her eyes were downcast, full of pity, laced in shame.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by xenolion on 23rd March 2018, 8:52 pm

A few weeks ago… Marisol was in the blacksmith’s shop with her dad. She was working on a delicate wire wrap pendant while her dad was talking to a customer pickup up a sword. The bell above the door rings as the door opens. In steps in a new customer, one that Valerian has never seen before. By the way he is dressed it is obvious he has money. The gentleman comes up to the counter and introduces himself. He is looking for a dagger to be made to his exact specifications and has heard from others that this is the best place.

Dagger Specifications:
The blade of the dagger should be ten inches in length, curved to a point. The handle must be of comfortable make, softened Anwar hide. The hilt and base metal must be gold. With runic inscription I have duplicated below. The blade itself must have indentations, as to catch blood or other such liquids. The pattern must be ornate, but practical. I expect a gemstone eye at the end of the handle; but leave the choice of which up to your discretion. The metal of the blade must be opalescent; traditional metals will not do. I trust you will make something that exceeds my expectations.

Valerian looks at the description. “Looks like this is going to be a job for my girl, let me call her over.” He steps to the side. “Mari, front and center.”

She comes over. She is wearing her leather overalls and has a wire wrapped pendant in her hand. “This better be important Dad…” She cut off when she sees the man.

“We have a dagger to make for this young man. So ahead and describe it to us again.” Valerian tells him.

Marisol listens closely and looks at the diagram. “Total I would say it will take about a week total to make.” The customer agrees and hands over a good amount of coins along with delivery information.

Everything goes as normal with making the blade. When it is turned over to Marisol for the detailing, she gets ill. Which is odd for her. She is afraid of staying home, not wanting to get her mom sick. So she stays at the pub. Even ill, she still finishes the blade on time. She hands it over to her dad to deliver it though. He walks her back to the pub and tells her to get some rest.

** current time**
A couple of days pass before Marisol is feeling better. She heads home and is greeting by her frantic mom. “Oh, it is you Marisol dear. Valerian told me you were not feeling well. Have you seen him at all? He has not come home from delivering the dagger. It is beautiful.”

“What, that was days ago. He should have been able to deliver that by now. Let me check the shop. I will be right back.” Marisol hugs her mother and rubs her pregnant stomach.

“Please be careful dear. I will have some food waiting, you must be hungry.” Tommiah wrings her hand.

Marisol goes to the shop, but it is empty, not only that but the fires are cold. Something she has never experienced before. She enters the small office and begins to dig out the paperwork from the client. They are meticulous with their records. She finds the delivery information and copies it on another piece of paper. She decides right then that she will have to search for him. It is not like Dad to disappear, especially when Mom is pregnant. He is usually doting over her or her in the shop.

Tommiah looks at her expectantly when Marisol returns home. “I didn’t see him their either, but I found the client’s information. I will travel to Hathe to look for him. Don’t worry Mom, I will bring him home. Who knows he may have found something for the shop or for you and the babies.”

“That would be like him. I try not to worry, but it is odd for him to be gone for so long. Make sure you get some food first. Then you will have to tell the pub that you will be gone for a couple of days.” Tommiah reminds her. “Don’t worry about us, we can take care of ourselves.”

Marisol goes upstairs to her room. She gets changed into a nice dress. She packs an overnight bag, but is sure to bring her weapon for protection. It has been a while since she has been to Hathe City. She puts the client’s information in her purse along with enough money to teleport and some extra. Who knows she may find something she likes.

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Thank you leah
Member:  Leah7, Aernith OC:  Mori Harubana Uteke Merrick  Anime:  Lance from Voltron,  Cheetara from Thundercats  Video Game: Jade Curtiss from Tales of the Abyss, Auron from Final Fantasy X, Quistis Trepe from Final Fantasy VIII,  Jin Uzuki from Xenosaga, Keats from Folklore.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by Luna on 24th March 2018, 4:11 pm

Information before RP started:
Aierus van Eoscarte is a member of the so-called "Pravus" that is not only well known among Hathe City for his extravagant imports, but also for his brutal honesty that he places into the faces of the "ignorant masses."  As someone with considerable wealth and power, as well as unique abilities that make him difficult to catch or keep up with, he often likes to personally deal with riots in the streets before magitech trader outposts, speaking out to lower-class citizens to remind them of their place.

This has not only placed Eoscarte in a place of notoriety, but also infamy.  He is not well liked, but he is well respected by others of his kind.  One of his many gifts of money and diplomacy is his ability to afford bodyguards, using a regular switch off cycle of people that he can trust on retainer that he pays more than quite well.  These bodyguards, of course, keep him quite safe, always, and since they are all magi, few have bothered an attempt on his life.

Unfortunately, such an attempt was made a day before the role-play's start and Alwin, who was currently on duty, was badly injured by another magi--a hired assassin of sorts.  The battle didn't end well for either party, but it did end with a promise--a sour, bitter promise against Alwin's life.  Although the assassin's name is not known, she had brilliant, green eyes and black, curled hair with a speed ability of some kind.  She had magic that increased the size of these shadowy-cast claws that had extended and cut him to pieces, but not before Alwin had frozen what was left of them and shattered them to pieces, almost shattering her, as well.

"I'll be back for you," She had promised him before she vanished, "Both of you."

Alwin received a bonus to his paycheck for his success in protecting his target while on duty, as well as an early leave so that he could successfully heal and recover.  Someone else protects the wealthy man at this time.

Alwin spat on the ground. Having worked under Aierus  had left a bad taste in his mouth. He was now injured and wanted to go back to his covenant but the doctor had recommended not traveling. He would never take another job from him again, even if the pay was good.

There were slashes all over his body and several would leave scars. He didn't get the woman's name but he remembered her face. Her face burned itself into his memory. He grinded his teeth together as the pain shot through him. He was going to make it back to the covenant whether it killed him or not. He would just take a teleport this time and get on with it. He could probably pay for it after the big bonus Aierus had given him.

His sore and tender body made its way over to the building that hosted the teleportation device. Once inside he asked the man at the counter how much it would be to go to Air Jaunt Battalion Convent.

"Sir if you're injured we recommend that you heal before traveling." the man said.

Alwin cursed and left to get himself a hotel room. He needed rest right now. If he had to wait a few days then so be it. He could see the doctor again before he left and then go back if needed. He slowly makes his way to the nearest inn.

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Luna's Claims:
Video Game Claims: Squall Leonheart From Final Fantasy 8, Rinoa Heartilly From Final Fantasy 8, Luna From Lunar Silver Star Story Complete Member Claims: Physis Xenolion OC Claims:  Akagi From Force Users Role Play, Claudia Lucroix from Dragaultia, Kalista Miranda From Pandora's Love Anime Claims:Lina Inverse from The Slayers, Inuyasha from Inuyasha, Excel from Excel Saga

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by MethosArchaic on 31st March 2018, 8:17 pm

[ATTN: Cardinal Crowe Company, Open]
[POV: Half-Dozen]

Donnie walked at a steady, comfortable pace as he passed past yet another group of people having a discussion outside a shop. The discussion wasn't important, this was the second group of what could be very loosely be called guards. Sometimes they would affectionately be called a Murder, but they could act at a moments notice if they thought trouble was brewing.

Normally most people tried not to pay attention to everyone and everything as they strolled into the Main Branch in Hathe but Donnie did. It was always important, as Donnie wasn't a universally liked member of the Company. Unlike many other guilds, the Cardinal Crowe Company was a bit more heavy in the in fighting just not always directly. For a group of brothers and sisters made up of competing business men and women (Donnie was using that term rather loosely) they contributed to the group first, but there was a fair amount of wiggle room for what was considered allowed. If it wasn't for his noncompetitive attitude, and his rounded set of skills then he might draw more ire then he already did. To many of the Crows he was an eyesore, but an eyesore that avoided getting on their radar and that was useful sometimes.

Entering into the main foyer of the Main Branch, he was let through with no real hassle except the noted tightening sound of a leather glove of the door man on the right whom Donnie was still placing. Since nothing came of it, Donnie had just looked at the man on the left whom didn't raise any complaints to him opening the door himself and going in.

Donnie wasn't yet in the Main Hall and by the large he avoided it except when he occasionally went to look at quests. Continuing on, he went to the receptionist and handed the man an envelope bearing a stamp of six cracked dice. "I'm here to make a delivery, a list of the contents as well as the client can be found within." Donnie said signaling the envelope before retrieving an iron bound case from within the rucksack strapped to his back and placing it on the counter.

The Receptionist was already looking over the contents of the envelope when Donnie had set the case on the counter. "We'll have to check the contents of the package Half-Dozen."

So it was going to be like that then? Fine. "I'd like a receipt of delivery, and I'd also like to know if any mail has come in for me Bertram." Donnie said having read the man's name off his name-tag. Donnie pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the case, while noticing that Bertram was looking past him to someone behind him. Turning it around, Donnie lifted the cover so Bertram could check the contents there, rather than take them out of sight.

Bertram once again read the letter of contents and then double checked that indeed there was two rods within as well as a replacement core for each of them "These will be checked for quality before being passed on to the client."

"Certainly." It wasn't any additional hassle on his part and Donnie was confident in his work. "About that letter of receipt." Donnie said not taking his hand off the case even as Bertram closed it and went to take it from him. Bertram attempted to take the case again, this time Donnie let him have it. "I know its a hassle but I really must insist."

Donnie knew that it was unlikely that Bertram was going to fuck him over, but that didn't stop him from covering his own ass if something did happen. Replacing the cores and rods was something Donnie could do, but he couldn't afford it. He might be able to make replacements but it wouldn't come cheap, not to mention he didn't have the time or the desire to piss off the client to not double down when it was a receptionist he didn't know firsthand.

So Donnie waited as he watched Bertram take the case to his superior, who glanced over the merchandise a second time before looking at Donnie. Noticing who was the maker he went so far as to check again for a Maker's mark, but Donnie never placed them on what he made as a common courtesy unless requested and paid extra. Content with his search, the Manager took the case from Bertram and disappeared out of sight with it. Bertram returned, gave him a receipt and told Donnie to have a
'Nice day.'

The receipt was genuine, the hand writing not particularly precise. Donnie took it and went to the postman to see if anything had come in for him. If not Donnie might look over the quest board to see what might be available. He was somewhat reluctant to do that as quests could drag him away from home and his boy. Old Lady Scrimshaw probably could watch the boy, he'd need to double check before Donnie went and made any promises.

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JerriLeah7 on 8th April 2018, 9:57 pm

[ATTN: OPEN; Jile's Fried and Fired Open Air Resteraunt]

Carla plopped herself down in a chair and settled in, her legs crossing together off to one side of the stool and pointed slightly away from the table. Picking up the menu from it's stand in the middle of the table, she held it out to her companion. "Happy Birthday! It's my treat, so don't you want to order something?" Carla wiggled the menu out before her friend. "Order, Or-der, or-der." she chanted playfully as she rapped her fingers to give it a bit of a drum roll.

Brooke had been here with Carla before.  Luckily, the girl knew her tastes well enough to know that she wouldn't eat seafood and this was one of the few places that didn't have a tiny speck of the stuff.  This mattered to Brooke because, although one could simply "choose" not to order seafood at a tavern or bar, would could also still smell the seafood over at the next table.  That alone was enough to make her incredibly ill.

Carla is trying so very much to cheer her up but, to be perfectly honest, it isn't working.  She snatches the menu from the boisterous girl and gives it another look over as she struggles to emanate even the slightest bit of joy as she is painfully reminded of what today is.  She sighs, dropping the menu to the table and shaking her head as she rests chin upon hand upon elbow upon table with a restless expression on her face.

"I'd rather bloodshed of the masses, my friend.  That's how you spend your birthday--burning monsters alive."  Brooke finally says.

Carla watches as Brooke takes a seat across from her and pretends to mull over the menu only to give it up in the end. "Well if you didn't do such a good job yesterday, and Gil didn't make us take a break; forcing us to come back to the Hall to check in, -" Carla said a bit frustrated herself, and hoping to get Brooke to jump in. " -then you'd be shoulder deep in it right now, I'm sure." She grinned, "INNNNNStead you can order a couple steaks or something extra raw and tear into those." Striking on a sudden idea she jumped on it, "Just pretend they're Gil."

Brooke glared at her softly, but thanked her, anyway.  The thought counts, and well, at least someone gave enough of a shit to be here for her on this day, anyway.  Not that she gave anyone much choice...she didn't exactly spread news of when her birthday was, anyway.  She still doesn't know how Carla found out.  "Yeah, fine.  Get me those.  And booze."

"Sure!" Carla cheerfully said as she grabbed back the menu and plopped it back into it's clip. Raising from her chair she shot her hand into the air waving it to get Jiles' attention, "Oi! Jiles! Sear us a couple steaks, some fixins and an 'all you can drink' coma package!" When Jiles looked back her way wondering what was up, Carla just played along.

"We've got a thirst! Come on! Help us out." Jiles chuckled and rolled his eyes abit but scribbled their order on a paper that he stabbed on a pin. He said a few words, and Carla plopped down happily, "See, we're next up."

Brooke sat there, brooding.

"Nothing?" Carla said watching her friend looking off into the distance. "Fine, I'm telling everyone it's your birthday." She even started to rise from the chair.

Brooke started, grabbing at Carla's wrist as she darkly glares at her and whispers heavily, "Don't you dare, kaird.   What do you want from me, exactly?  Happy joy dances?  I don't think so."

With a smirk, Carla sat back down. "There! Finally."

After going through everything to get away from Gil and the Pier, she wanted her friend to unwind. "No family, no Gil breathing up your skirt, I figured you'd be overjoyed." Jiles Nephew set their drinks down, forcing Carla to pause long enough to say "Thanks." to the kid, before grabbing her mug handle. "See, booze. If that isn't worth a flicker of a smile, I don' know what does."

Taking a huge gulp, Brooke downs a sizeable portion of the booze before burping quietly and finally leaning back within her booth and almost relaxing.  She breathes a little more calmly as she takes stock of her surroundings.  Things are far more calm here.  "So, when can we go back out?  You aren't grounded, are you?"

Pleased that Brooke is finally putting down the tough girl act long enough to try to make at conversation, Carla sipped her drink enjoying the smell and feel of the foam against her lips. "Kinda sorta." Carla said a bit evasively, taking another sip of her drink while hoping that their food would arrive and knowing that Brooke was going to press with that look of hers.

There it was... Carla shifted a bit uncomfortably.

"I'm waiting for some present from my dead parents..." It came out a bit darker than she intended.

With one eyebrow raised, she paused.  Then, she blinked and paused again.  "I'd take a present from my folks any day...if they were dead.  Good on you, girl.  I hope it's money.  Lots and lots of money."

Carla snorted her foam and started coughing. Fuck, Brooke. Just ffuuuuck. Still fighting a bit of foam she replied trying to keep the conversation going, "Fuck, I've got to pay for this somehow don't I?"

Carla took another drink and set her mug down, "Seriously though, I'd rather have nothing to do with them, but what can I do? Nyx is sending - Ah thank you." Carla said when they settled the stone platter down with their steaks and veggies still sizzling away. Stabbing a bit of onion and mushroom on a fork she brought it up idly to her mouth as Mich (that was the nephew's name) walked off. "Can't exactly just tell Nyx's Ascendent to fuck off." she shoved the bite into her mouth. Finishing the train of thought around a mouth full of veggies she muttered, "So I gotta wait a couple days."

"Wait," Brooke replies, ignoring the steak, "Woah.  You mean to tell me that your folks' covenant waits shit tons of years to give you you parents shit for some unknown reason...and it's being hand delivered to you by an ascendant?!"

"I know, right? I don't get it either. As far as I am concerned my Mom's are all the family I need." When Brooke opened her mouth, Carla quickly popped a piece of steak in her mouth with a "Gotcha!"

"Don't give me that, I'm not the one letting their steak get cold." Emphasing the statement by starting in on her's.

After the food was pressed into her mouth, her mind went blank and her face went beet red as heat steamed from her body and the atmosphere wavered.  She shut her powers down immediately, stuttering before silenced by the girl who's irritating habits have no caused her to want to rage, "Boundaries, woman!  Boundaries!"

"K, K." Carla laughed at how red her friend got while also accepting Brooke's boundaries for the future. "No steak in the future, got it." Brooke had had such a cute face when she was embaressed, and if Carla was into girls like her Mom's then maybe she'd see if Brooke was too. Not feeling one way or the other in particular herself, Carla didn't worry about it. Brooke was now legal to do whatever, excuse me: whomever she wanted.

"So what sort of mission are you interested in next?" asked Carla as she speared some peppers along with a bite of steak and continued to devour her dinner.

Brooke grinned, "I wanna go and kill some shit.  That's all I care about.  Not like I can fight the Inanis.  I am too weak, too reckless, and I don't do well with unit authority.  We could go for some village guard duty for a night or so on the edges, though, if you're up for it.  Very little Inanis there."

"Of course you'd say that." Brooke always wanted to prove herself, battle for her was a one-two punch to blow off anger and frustration. Guard duty could get boring, and sometimes you would end up fighting criminals. Carla didn't particularly relish the thought of killing her fellow Iodinians, a bit of steak was nudged around her plate. Did Brooke propose going towards the frontier knowing about how she attracted Inanis? Probably not, she hadn't yet had to explain that particular magic of hers.

"You just want to bash hoodlum skulls don't you?" she said pushing past the darker thoughts with a cuckle and a smile. "That's so like you."

"Tch," Brooke replies, "A job's a job.  As long as we get it done.  You haven't suggested any preferences, yourself."

"Hmmm." Carla entertained the thought while tapping her fingers on the table, then with a dismissive smirk and grin she said, "It's your birthday after all, so it's up to you, teehee." After all Carla was down for just about any sort of mission. "Besides, you're the picky one. I'm fine with whatever."

"Maybe when you get a few more missions under your belt you can fight some Inanis. I'd tag along of course, can't have you dying on me just yet."

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Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by xenolion on 12th April 2018, 5:20 pm

Marisol goes to the pub and is greeted upon entering. She walks up to her ‘uncle’. “Hey Robert, I am going to be gone for a couple of days. I am going to Hathe to check on an order. Do you happen to know a Harri Bremmer III?”

Robert shrugs his shoulders. “Nope never heard of the guy, but just a second you may be in luck.” He looks around the pub. “Hey Zarrick, come here for a minute.” He waves at the young lord who is about to play his lute.

Marisol looks over and smiles as he approaches. Both herself and her father worked on pieces for him in the past. Plus she has seen him in the pub before. Their relationship is strictly professional though. “I am going to Hathe to check up on a delivery for Harri Bremmer III. Do know him at all?”

Zarrick thinks for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know too many people from Hathe, sorry I can’t help you. Are you going by yourself?”

“I am meeting my Dad there. I better get going or I will be stuck there longer. I will let you know when I get back.” Marisol picks up her bag and leaves the pub. Her next stop is the teleport station. It is not the first time she has teleported, but she does not do it often. Most of her customer are in Capatan and teleporting is not cheap. She pays her fee, closes her eyes, and waits to be teleported.

When she opens her eyes she is in the Hathe city teleportation office. She feels a nauseated, yet another reason she does not like teleportation, but does not get sick.

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Thank you leah
Member:  Leah7, Aernith OC:  Mori Harubana Uteke Merrick  Anime:  Lance from Voltron,  Cheetara from Thundercats  Video Game: Jade Curtiss from Tales of the Abyss, Auron from Final Fantasy X, Quistis Trepe from Final Fantasy VIII,  Jin Uzuki from Xenosaga, Keats from Folklore.

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