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(SE) i like your voice
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(open) you hit like a gir...
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[SE] still wild
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fire and ice
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a rare sight, the light
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a spark to a flame
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  horseshoes & hand grenades
Posted by: Nate - 2 hours ago - Forum: Ruins - Replies (1)

As far as Nate’s concerned, this trip is already garbage. If it wasn’t for the triple threat of unfortunate necessity, nagging guilt, and the paralyzingly fear of starvation he wouldn’t have bothered.

He’s trying, as much as he can, to keep to himself. He knows he’s on edge, knows he’s a swirl of twisted emotions that he can only make sense of with anger, and he knows it’s not fair to explode on someone else, no matter how satisfying it might be. He can be rational, and mature, and whatever the fuck else he’s supposed to be.

And so far? This approach is working. Nate ignores or avoids anyone who happens to come too close, not that there are many left in the Grounds right now. He just about thinks he’s going to make it through this trip without incident when a too familiar figure catches his gaze, the world suddenly flashing red.

Before he knows it, he’s stalking the other man, Pemota drifting just ahead of him, as if to offer a fair warning. Honestly, Nate isn’t even sure what his palm is, he knows there’s nothing truly effective he can do to Remi, just like he knows he’s angrier and more focused than he’s been in a long, long time.

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  Before the Lobotomy
Posted by: Nate - 3 hours ago - Forum: Shrine - No Replies

Back in the Grounds, sooner than what Nate wants. Gods, after Longnight ever coming back to the Grounds would be too soon, but beggars can’t be choosers. At least Pemota is a boon, hovering around his shoulders and settling the worst of his tensions.

After everything, all the trauma and tribulations, there’s really only one thing left for Nate to get off his chest, no matter how unwilling he might be to do it. It might bring some ease, he tells himself, might make him feel better.

Or it might just cover his ass for the future.

He chooses the most remote shrine he can think of, hopes he isn’t interrupted anyway, and bows his head. [say]”Hey, I... I wanted to ask about the shrine in Torchline. Fixing it. And...”[/say] The word stretches out, Nate shifting uncomfortably, trying to work the nerve up. [say]”And I need to tell you something.”[/say]

He just hopes this time, he reaches the Voice, and not a terrible spider beast.

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  my place in life
Posted by: Samuel - 4 hours ago - Forum: Oasis - Replies (1)

Once, Sam had been caught bare-ass-out in this Oasis; he'd learnt from that encounter, and so chose to wear a pair of shorts for his swim this time. He was, perhaps, a little conscious of his body nowadays - with more slender curves and small bumps of breasts on his chest, he knew some people would have things to say. But as he saw himself in the moonlit reflection, he actually found himself smiling. He looked like himself.

Self confidence was a relatively new thing in Sam's life, but he felt he was wearing it pretty well. It had occasionally abandoned him, but it returned more often than not, and ideas about what he might do with it were beginning to surface. Stepping into the Oasis, he felt that the water was cold, but since it didn't bother him, continued to sink in deeper.

In Longnight, he had been so sure he was going to die and oddly at peace with it, and he was angry about a lot of the things that had happened there...but he found that he was happy to be alive under the moon on the water. Floating with his limbs spread out on the surface, he stared up at the sky and thought, probably looking like a weird giant bug to the fish below.

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  [se] absence of light
Posted by: Mabel - 03-06-2021, 12:14 PM - Forum: The Settlement - Replies (7)

The darkness pressed, and she finally went home.

There was no explanation for why it had taken so long – save for some measure of dread, of apprehension, of being afraid of what she’d find. The house was its own haunting parallels, from times where she’d had family, then nothing at all, hallmarks of what used to be, what once was, and couldn’t become again.

But pressing her bare feet on the outskirts, staring at the gaping holes in the side, glancing at the burnt edges, made her heart sicker than she’d ever come to realize.

The barn was destroyed and gone, felled into pieces of timber still smoldering, and others merely ash. Like bones and decay and naught. While it had been leaning at the best of times, to see it completely succumbed made her inhale, sharpen a breath she didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t need – clenching and balling her fists.

The structure within seemed to have held together by sheer will and tenacity – for it was the roof that bore the most damage. Windows were blasted out. The rooms seemed virtually untouched, save for the place where her parents had once resided; charred marks settled on the walls. Their gods didn’t save them again.

Surveying the disastrous wake meant she wouldn’t be able to do this on her own. As much as she detested asking for assistance, especially in the heavy losses suffered elsewhere, if she and Aamu were to remain here, the shelter would have to re-established. So she penned a few marks upon the notice board, with directions to the farmhouse nestled in and amongst the trees.

Sighed, then began sorting through the timber of the barn.


[say]PQ to help salvage and repair Mabel’s farmhouse! Feel free to have your characters’ see a notice board post indicating she needs help!

1. Aamu

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  step by step until we're there
Posted by: Adam - 03-04-2021, 11:28 PM - Forum: The Outskirts - Replies (4)

It was not an easy journey by any means. Adam had avoided looking over the edge to see if Sunjata had lived by going to get Nate. He felt he owed something to the man, after their friendship prior to his own death; they were similar souls, bound by lives of rough families and drink and now by Ascension. Even though approaching Nate he felt scared, as if he was getting towards a wild animal (he was fucking growling), he began to guide him away, promising he knew where to go to get him help.

At first Adam had tried to get to the shrine in Torchline, only to discover it had been completely and utterly fucked. The swears that had left his lips were too blue for most sailors to repeat; that he continued with his hands on Nate's shoulders was a miracle of his will to see his friend better. Even as Nate seemed to try to take bites out of him, he just laughed as if it were funny and kept trying to force steps out of him, through the portal and into the Outskirts.

[say]"The shrine -- It's just in the woods. Not that goddamn far, and I know you can do it. You can't go looking for Jata in this fucking state, can you?"[/say] He asked, continuing to yank Nate down the road.

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  (se) (o) sometimes you sulk, sometimes you burn
Posted by: Aisha - 03-04-2021, 04:47 PM - Forum: Infirmary - Replies (6)

Aisha was in the grounds for the week, returned from Halo to spread the word about the guild, as well as to help rebuild and salvage. Reparations, dealing with constant destruction and charred remains, it was taxing. But after what she'd been through with Henry she had no plans to back down and give in. She was done running from the things that didn't work out, she would face head on anything that came.

She'd just finished tacking up her notice, and wandered the temple. Hands worn from helping clear rubble, boots blackened from stepping through soot. Somehow she found herself outside the infirmary, wondering if there were any familiar faces inside, upon cots being healed or already gone. She hovered at the entrance, stoic, uncertain, resolute. A humming near the window caught her attention, pulled her from the morbid draw of the infirmary.

She moved to the glass pane of the temple, staring out at a skeletal tree and the budding green around it's roots. There was a swarm of something small and quick, they sung a beautiful chord in a minor key, buzzing at a frequency that seemed to vibrate at her core. They too were rebuilding, a hive or nest or something like that, landing on the bark of the tree and adding to the small waxy structure.

Something about them made her smile, broke her from her solemn thoughts and the weariness of her hard worked bones.

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  walk through the fire
Posted by: Azrael - 03-04-2021, 12:46 AM - Forum: The Artist's Sanctuary - Replies (4)

There had been some recovery period once LongNight had ended. Why, might you ask? Because in their attempts to try and heal their family… Well, they’d blacked out. They’d malfunctioned and everything had gone black and they were prone and useless if it weren’t for their father. And for a new child? A new adult that is met when the sun finally rises again? Well, that was a terrifying feeling.

It was something they’d never wished to do again if ever given the chance.

And it was a terror that they were still coming to grips with, running through their system scans over and over again in the hopes it wouldn’t happen again. Yet, here they were, alive thankfully, and as grown physically as they can be. So they tread down the stairs of the Artist’s Sanctuary, seeking out their father with bright brown and blue hued eyes, standing just a few inches shorter than Bastien now with that final growth spurt that had overcome them the last few weeks of Deepfrost. “[say]Papa, are you painting?[/say]” They call out as they descend the stairs, ducking their head into the main room where their father typically kept his easel.

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  (se) Keeper of the Dead
Posted by: Aamu - 03-03-2021, 09:07 PM - Forum: The Settlement - Replies (5)

The Hollowed Grounds are not his; he can live with seeing them like this. Rubble and ruin, burnt and broken. He could turn his back upon it and spare it no further thought in his unnatural life.

But what litters the ground between burnt-out hollows, and what's trapped under caved-in roofs, and pitifully half-hidden under rocks and in crevasses—that's his. Some are barely more than ash, but some are bodies still, albeit slightly unconventional ones at times.

Sunlight dies, and he thinks the darkness will never be the same again. There's no way to not think about what transpired in the week of it, and remember all the things he did his best not to feel at the time.

He waits by a hand-cart that survived decently, a couple of rusty shovels in it.

He's not sure if anyone will show up. To the people of the Grounds, the prototypes were monsters: killers, a scourge, a plague. And it is true, they did set out to kill them, but somewhere in the process of it—

When he realized

Aamu links his fingers together and folds them against his thighs. There's no excuses. There's no one else to blame. Stupid, naive—the charred debris that was once life too does not need this post-mortem kindness.

But it's the only thing he can do, so he'll do it all the same.

This is a PQ to gather up the crispy dead bodies and give them a proper burial. As many spots as there will be interest (and if there's none I'll just write a novel on my own!). :) I hope it counts for the SE in case anyone wants to join and use it for that, otherwise an admin can bonk me on the head

1. Isla

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  self-inflicted scars
Posted by: Aamu - 03-03-2021, 08:48 PM - Forum: Infirmary - Replies (5)

He hesitates upon the soot-flecked doorstep to the Temple: his pale hand ghosts against the massive doors, fingertips questing for details, for texture, but it all seems so muted after the vibrant senses of the dragon.

All around is death and destruction.

It mirrors his heart.

Slowly, Aamu pulls the doors open and slips inside. It hides the mess from sight, but he knows it's still out there. Within, the Temple is better off, the stone having spared it from much of the fire. Filthy footprints track this way and that but Aamu pays them no heed, knowing where he is going already. After all the work they put into cleaning up the clinic, and the joy it brought her, he hopes it's mostly untouched by the destruction.

He looks as he feels: disheveled, messy, streaks of soot and grime on his fingers, face, in his white hair. There's a strange sheen to his eyes, an oil-slick shimmer at their corners, because let it be known: Aamu cannot look at the destruction of those who came before him and not feel anything.

[say]"Isla?"[/say] he calls hesitantly into the clinic once he's pried one of the doors open, peering into it with trepidation.

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  [se] ashes, ashes, we all fall down
Posted by: Wessex - 03-02-2021, 07:40 PM - Forum: The Settlement - Replies (6)

So much fire. Everywhere. It saved them, yes, but why had the Sparkbird been so angry? Why hadn’t Morgan put out this fire, let someone else lend a hand, as ghost-Mara had suggested? Why hadn’t the Warden stepped up, when it was apparent she was was the only one with leadership experience in the room? Wessex shakes her head, letting her thoughts ramble on and on as her arms cross over her chest in the slightest of hugs.

Mara and Ezra, dead. Not much to be upset about, she’d concluded in the dark, lingering days of sitting in the Jail. They hadn’t prepared as she’d advised and whether or not they took the task seriously was also debatable, given her last glimpse of Ezra. Wessex washes her hands of their deaths and looks to the future, instead.

Burned out husks of buildings, no longer smoldering, stand as ugly scars in the still, frosty dusk of Flowerbirth. She sighs to herself and steps across the threshold of the Barracks, beginning to move charred beams to a pile to one side. Azrael might get their wish after all, she muses to herself, trying to imagine what might replace the Barracks.


This is a PQ to clean up the Barracks! Open to as many as want, but know there will need to be many other PQs to clean up the Grounds. Don’t burn yourself out!

Pick something to do - move beams, collect potentially unmelted weapons / other training items.
1. Aamu
2. Henry

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