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[ { "from": "human", "value": " Terror in Deep Space!\n\nProwling along the outer edge of Imperial, the DAEMONETTE'S KISS has carved a swathe of destruction and death through ten worlds. Wherever the foul, chaos-worshipping crew went, doom came swiftly for all who yet remained loyal to the God-Emperor of Mankind.\n\nYet this rampage did not go unnoticed. After taking and plundering a merchant vessel, the crew soon realized it was property of a Rogue Trader by the name of Lord Bryan Seamus McLafferty, who did not take kindly to the theft of his property and slaughter (or worse) of one of his crews. He soon gathered his fleet, several raiders and a frigate, and attempted to chase them down. Though individually none of his ships would pose a threat, en masse they proved problematic. After repelling two boarding actions and heavily damaging both ships responsible, the KISS broke free of the melee and escaped into the Warp.\n\nHaving shaken off its pursuers in the labyrinthine passages of that half-real dream realm, the crew emerges into an uncharted system. There are currently no signs of pursuit, but there are some prisoners taken from among the poor souls who tried to board. ", "prefix": "Miltonian:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " Aboard the Bridge of the Kiss , Zakara seethes with simmering fury, helm off to let her bronze skin shimmer in the strange half-light of the dissapating warp clouds, eyes focused on the augury displays. Her armor is still spattered lightly with blood from the recent boarding actions, and her chainhammer still has a grizzly scrap of flesh swinging from its teeth.\n\n \"The Great Ocean has bourne use true, Captain. We should be thankful.\" she says, glancing back towards the three-legged creature who commands the ship. \"We should make some sacrifices, since our... retreat will have displeased the Lord of Blood\" ", "prefix": "Genth:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Meanwhile, Vercingetorix is letting one of his pages lick the blood off his mace, boredly looking at data messages as he sits on the Captain's chair. When Zakara speaks, he rolls his eyes. Khorne's obsession with Blood and Skulls was not at ALL in accordance with the fasion of the ship as a whole. He crossed one of his outer legs over the other two, and sighed, \"Sure, sure, whatever. Take... let's say half of the prisoners and do... whatever it is you Khornates do to please your Lord.\" ", "prefix": "Celticbear:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Aulet stands in a corner, with no defined role on the bridge he is a passive observer. His armored and helmeted pink form gives nothing away as he remains silent, arms hanging loosely at his sides.", "prefix": "greenpotato:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " With muted groans and sharp squeals of metal scraping on metal, Zain-338/mk.27 squirmed his way through the tangled morass of ducting and non-euclidean maintenance corridors that make up the bowels of the Daemonette's Kiss . All around him pipes of coolant pulsed and writhed like great blood vessels, electricity sparked through the air and, in the far distance, something growled with an impossibly deep voice. Closing his eyes and resting a moment, Zain sighed. Once a junior acolyte of the Irrational Prelature, now the closest thing this damned - in every sense of the word - ship has to an enginseer, it was his responsibility to keep the ship in running fit. After a battle like the one they'd just escaped, his job got significantly harder.\n\nIt was two hours of stoop-walking before he reached the malfunctioning power coupling causing gravitic fluctuations all along deck twelve - apparently a squad of the Rogue-Trader's men had breached the hull near here, and the ship had promptly eaten them. Judging by the way that the expected occasional electrical arc had become a near-constant torrent of ionized air, it had indigestion. Zain let out another long suffering sigh, fingers tightening around his staff. The various components making up the Daemonette's Kiss were inhabited by no fewer than thirty-six daemons, not counting the malformed scrap-code entities 'living' in its noosphere and the minor daemons that manifested wherever you weren't looking, and each and every one of them had their own unique quirks and foibles. The three that shared possession of the ship's electrical systems were all prideful, fickle beasts and two of them were quite clever. This one was not. The Corrupting Void, as it had oh-so-pretentiously named itself, was as best he could tell a minor daemon of Nurgle and a frequent offender. Fortunately for him, he and Corrupting had developed something of a rapport over the months.\n\nHefting his staff, Zain wound up and slammed it into the power conduit as hard as he could. Then he did it again, and again and again until the flow of sparks had diminished into a few desultory burps and the greasy sensation on his augmetics had diminished. This, this right here, was an object lesson in why he needed an assistant - if he'd sent a servitor to do this the augmetics would have rusted right out of its body, assuming the mutants living in the ducting didn't kill and eat it first. Corrupting didn't dare try the same with them though, nor would it with someone actively under their protection. Setting down his staff, he broke out his tools and got to work.\n\nA few minutes of energy siphoning, cable-splicing, and ward-reinforcement later, Zein was finished and moving on to the next task in his never-ending to-do list - apparently, one of the cafeteria dispensaries was clogged. He sighed, again. He'd need his plasma gun for this one.", "prefix": "pfm1995:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Meanwhile, casualty reports are flooding in from around the ship. Most of them are, all things considered, minor. A crew member or two got eaten by the daemon living under their bed, but that only happened because they believed for so long and with such fervor that it existed that, when the ship entered the Warp, it actually did. What passes for a head medicae around here reports that those who didn't die or spontaneously turn into puddles of sentient flesh with twelve eyes and no bones can be 'salvaged' in 'the usual way'. They should re-enter service within a week, made whole but greatly altered.\n\nSoon, detailed reports of the system itself will arrive. But initial scans show a single star with five-planets orbiting it. Only one is in the habitable zone, with the rest all too far away.\n\n====\n\nZain works tirelessly, toiling on belowdecks with the dedication and drive that few could ever hope to master, at least when it came to something as tedious as tightening bolts and re-aligning quantum-warpified-dinglehoppers. Really now, the others might say, it's all well and good to show dedication to Khorne, if you must. Lop off a few heads, mutilate the bodies, pile them all up, then donate them to the local Slaanesh cult so they can make modern art of them all. But that was exciting , thrilling, real nail-biting stuff. Of course, people who spoke like that tended to get caught by the Dispenser Daemon and turned into the next day's meal (now with eyeball-spaghetti).\n\nThis particular daemon has, for some reason, made its home in the food processor. The food processor. While not the only source of food on the ship, it does feed most of the enlisted crew. Officers have their own mess halls, of course. And, despite what one might expect, it is very happy with its current position. VERY happy.\n\nFortunately, it is not bound to Nurgle, but rather Tzeentch.", "prefix": "Miltonian:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Zakara glances down at the casualty reports and lets off an annoyed growl, tossing the datapad back at the menial with one hand, the other fingering a knife at her side. \"Your orders, Vercingetorix. We have an uncharted system here, are we staying or are we leaving again?\" ", "prefix": "Genth:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Vercingetorix took an extended look at what initial scans of the system they found themselves in were. He was interested in the planet that seemed habitable, and knew that most that were habitable probably were indeed already habited. He answered Zakara, \"What say we do a more in depth scan of that planet, see if anything is pinging on the ole auspex. If that planet is habited, we could probably hit them with an old fashioned trade'n'raid.\" ", "prefix": "Celticbear:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Zein leveled an exhausted gaze at the dispensary. To be honest, he was entirely tempted to just leave the thing - it could hardly make the food any worse, and the Slaaneshi aboard assured him that variety is the spice of life. Still, the dispensary did need to be working...\n\nWith one bronze-veined mechadendrite, Zein delicately probes the morass of sludge currently blocking the outflow.", "prefix": "pfm1995:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Aulet glances at the screens and readouts, he says nothing. Whatever his machinations they remain his.", "prefix": "greenpotato:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Zakara barks an order at a nearby menial to begin the auspex of the habitable planet, as she turns and moves towards one of the communication stations. She gives orders for Eight Hundred and Eighty Eight slaves to be gathered within the Temple to Khorne upon the Kiss that she had set up - a simple circular room of brass, braziers and blood. \"You would do well to see to your own Patron's needs. While I serve only my Lord of Hatred, I do not blind myself to the others of the Powers. Perform Obeyances to the Power of Chaos, lest you be cursed for taking their gift of safe travel for granted.\" ", "prefix": "Genth:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " As the captain commands, so it is done. The Auspex reaches out and scans the system, slowly uncovering more and more information. The single planet is, indeed, inhabited, though there appear to be several extensive mining operations on some of the other worlds and clusters of asteroids. Their ships, however, are small, too small for the Auspex to pick up much detail from this range.\n\nThe menial that Zakara snapped at almost voids his bowels. \"Y-yes ma'am!\" he says and scurries off before she can demand more of him. It shall be done as she ordered. And, by the time she arrives, the prisoners are assembled, bound, chained, and otherwise awaiting their doom. They are the defeated, and such is their place.\n\nA cultist in long, bloody robes approaches her, the top of his face hidden by a low hood, but his shark-toothed grin is all-too-visible. \"My lady,\" he says in guttural tones, \"We were just waiting for you.\"\n\n====\n\nZein pokes it and...it moves. An eye opens in the middle of it, glowering at him with a malevolent gaze. It says nothing, but it is filled with hatred and scorn for all that lives. Not only lives, but has arms. And legs. Heck, that can even move.", "prefix": "Miltonian:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " The Priestess of Khorne makes her way down to the shrine, turning her head to the priest as he greets her and replying with a snarl of contempt. Such creatures were nessecary to keep the lore of the Blood God, but their flesh tended to be weak and pathetic. \"Bloodkeeper. Is everything prepared for a Sacrifice?\" ", "prefix": "Genth:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " A few more desultory pokes left Zain with little more information than when he started. He hummed to himself - banishing it was possible, but not by himself and the sorcerers tended to look down on such menial tasks. Hm, then again, he didn't really need it gone, did he, he just needed the machine working again. If the food was filled with daemonic gibblets or wriggled around a little more than before, who cared? Reaching into a pouch at his back, he pulled out a flask that filled the air with a sickly-sweet smell when opened. Unholy oils, secreted from the ship's warp drives when under strain and purified in an alembic of his own warp-tainted design, flowed down into the demon-clogged intake and on one of his mechadendrites he lit a hand-welder. Unholy oil was also oil, and so very flammable.\n\nMulticolored flames, beautiful in their twisting infinities, rose before him - a prayer, of a sort. Destruction and creation all in one, a transfiguration - oil to smoke, warp-flesh to flame and hopefully a non-working dispensary into a working one.", "prefix": "pfm1995:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " \"Do you have orders captain?\" Aulet hisses in his soft voice as he lazily browses the scans.", "prefix": "greenpotato:", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " A day, just like any other day. Could be last week or next year. Hot pavement, cold winds, half-recognizable faces. The smell of 5 kinds of coffee. BEEEEEEEPPPPPPP .\n\nPassengers alight in a horrendous fugue. No one wants to spend a second longer than they have to on that bus, least of all in Philly. You carefully avoid the boiling walls as you clamber aboard, but sweat still begins to run down your collarbone. The bus slowly judders to life; fumes and a stiff breeze blow your way.\n\nPedestrians forced off the street pick their way through the gutter. The human hive hums with life today; every kind of commanding sight glowers for recognition and respect, crawling up the walls and clawing through your mind to escape their final sublimation with the rest. The spinning, shimmering rims of a Mercedes; graffitied statues; flawless dancers; beauty; all through it, the crowds dull roar. Passions pop like trapped nerves. The conga line of dizzy commuters is swallowed by the city without a ripple.\n\nYou hit the bend, and the road rips your eyes away.\n\n \n\nEmpty suburbs cook quietly. You turn away and are confronted with 6 familiar faces.\n\nA passing driver might see the darting eyes of a lanky man in a thick black coat poring over an assortment of confused faces before him. A slouching hipster lifts his eyes from his phone; a pretty Mediterranean woman uncoils up in the front. Looming behind her is a much rougher looking man, and seated beside him a curly haired pretty boy in suspenders, now in suspense. Peering from the back seats lie a young woman and a old grizzled man.\n\nTraffic slowly thickens.\n\n \n Spoiler: OOC \nIn order of description; Edward, Felix, Gabriela, Lincoln, Joseph, Elena and Gene\n ", "prefix": "ribblle:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " Elena tries to stretch out as much as she can in her seat (not terribly much probably) and yawns.", "prefix": "Ramsus:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Lincoln sits back in the seat and tries to relax....as much as he can on the hot bus.", "prefix": "Squadfather42:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Felix tries to keep to himself as he reviews a post on his phone.", "prefix": "stanleyindraven:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Joe quietly fiddles with a small mechanism he took from a pocket, occasionally pausing only to check a schematic on his phone, the returning to his constant rearrangement.", "prefix": "JbeJ275:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Gabriella can't get comfortable, she hates being in a vehicle she can't control. She constantly shifts and had gaze flits from face to things out of the window to her hands.", "prefix": "spinningdice:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Edward continues to read Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King in a seat near the back of the bus.", "prefix": "Celticbear:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Gene Cooks with his head leaning on the window. This heat is loathsome, but there's no helping it. It was times like this that Gene wished he had fought harder for the car in his divorce; It at least had air conditioning.", "prefix": "TheRedFox201:", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " Each warlock had been interviewed alone by a trio of council members. They were told the basics of the task; to find the focal point of the coven created by rituals performed by an outcast tomelock of the Undying named Zhem Kundak. This process takes days, but ultimately a small group is chosen and assembled in the antechamber outside the council hall. The group is told that they could expect to spend an hour or so here before their audience began. Refreshments and comfortable seating is amply provided, giving them a chance to chat and socialize among themselves.", "prefix": "Gryndel:", "loss": false } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " A pleasant perfume wafts through the cool air of this wholly unnatural cavern. Gone is the dark, worked stone and strange crystal of Tower Solacas, replaced by sleek seemingly organic walls — as though the chamber were inside a gigantic, glistening black beetle. Nearby stands a fanged portal, sanguine smoke billowing within. Alcoves divide the chamber, one filled with comfortable pillows and a low table set with familiar looking fruits and water; another dominated by a huge, ornate bed flanked by scandalously sculpted statues; and the largest filled with the sinister tools and devices of an arcane laboratory. At the rear of the hall’s heart stands a massive, ornate desk constructed of bone fused with crystal and littered with tomes and curios of obvious antiquity and dark power. Behind the desk presides an imposing throne of black metal and stuffed silks, sculpted to look like several contorted drow slaves.\n\nMatron Pravora and First Daughter Alicavniss of House Vonnarc are both here. The former, mysterious and rarely seen, is an ancient matron priestess known to possess one of the most devious minds in all Zirnakaynin. The latter has cheeks high and imperious, her eyes blank and soulless; she strikes the very vision of dark elven beauty, and is known as a powerful mage.\n\nAlso present are three of the undead monstrosities known as devourers, a troll clad in armor and bearing a large battleaxe, obviously a servant of House Vonnarc, and three other drow besides yourself ...\n\nIt is Alicavniss who takes the lead for House Vonnarc while her mother merely watches. \"You have heard about Allevrah of House Azrinae", "prefix": "kinem:", "loss": false } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " The Faults of Fencing \n \n\n\nThis is currently reserved right now\n\nI will update soon enough", "prefix": "Arron Oberon:", "loss": false } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " [M20] FAR FROM ANY ROAD \n PART ONE: A Mirror, Darkly \n Haduin sat all day in the street outside the gates of the temple.\nHis student called out, 'Master, master why don't you enter?'\nHaduin looked up, confused. \"Enter? It is you who is outside.\" \n ] \nThe city of Jacksonville, Florida is a very strange place.\n\nFirst of all, it is huge, but empty. It is the largest city in North America by a fair margin, the population doesn't even break the top ten. The result is a vast creeping tumour of a city sprawling into the forest and swamps without end but, once outside the downtown core, it seems almost entirely like windswept space with isolated pockets of humanity dotted here and there.\n\nSecond, it is chaotic: a patchwork of neighbourhoods, suburbs, and townships swept up and annexed into a single ill-fitting and dysfunctional amalgamation of communities.\n\nThird, it is divided and insular. The downtown core contains almost all of the industry of the commerce, and yet is rife with poverty and crime. The wealthy rural communities provide the tax base that is overwhelmingly consumed by the urban centre.\n\nFourth, beneath the mundane surface, it is a place of deep magic, of powerful convictions, and of multiple competing paradigms that can flip and shift from block to block, street to street, sometimes house to house. There are magical communities in Jacksonville dating from before colonization, and there are cabals that rolled into town last year, all of them deeply separated by tradition and paradigm and geography.\n\nJacksonville is placid on the surface, but the air is always prickling with tension. Every sunny day is pregnant with menace like a viper sunning itself on a rock. Every cool summer breeze carries the hint of blood and fear. There always seems to be screams, gunshots, crashes, drifting through the air from far far away.\n\nPicture this now: a lonely street lined with vacant lots and shuttered storefronts, meandering through the deepest reaches of Jacksonville where the sprawl breaks against the dark verdant wedge of bayou between Oakleaf and Middleberg. It is the dog days of summer and the heat chokes the city in a suffocating fog. The street is dark and empty in the wee hours of the morning. But in that darkness: a bloom of light. Set back from the road, atop a small hill, a ragged sagging dive bar. It is a sad beacon in an ocean of silence. A bare half-dozen patrons sit within, nursing drinks and greasy foods in sullen silence.\n\nAll of creation brims with wonder. It is both the triumph and the tragedy and of the human experience that we blind ourselves to it with the mundanity of the everyday. These six or seven men are about to stand witness to something wondrous, something so unprecedented it is basically impossible.\n\nLike a million dice all coming up six, like a third-stringer pitching back-to-back no-hitters for a week, like someone winning every lottery in the state on the same day, like a million monkeys sitting down to a million typewriters and each and every of them instantly producing the complete works of Shakespeare.\n\nThey will see but they will not understand. They will know but they will not learn.\n\nWith the creak of wood long-since swollen out of its frame, the door opens...\n\n \n Spoiler \nIt took a long, long time to get here, but welcome to Far From Any Road! In your opening post, please let us know what it looked like when you were waylaid and trapped here. Where you were headed, why it was important, what coincidences dropped you here. You may, if you wish, have already tried and failed to leave, but this scene is assumed to be the moment when you realized you're trapped, looked up, and this was seemingly the only light for miles.\n\nA note on the setting: while I will be keeping the main features intact, I plan to playing very fast and loose with the specific layout and geography of Jacksonville, to make the story what we need. Feel free to play equally fast and loose when you need to.\n\nAny questions, you know where I am.\n ", "prefix": "truemane:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " Tai entered the bar. His red and yellow robes flowing around him, with one arm out to allow him to keep cool. He looks around the bar and sighs. Another stop on this apparently never ending journey out of the city of Jacksonville.\n\nHe sits at the bar, and in heavily accented English asks for a glass of water. The barkeep brings it over and the monk sits down at the bar and begins drinking. Thinking back to the how he got stuck here.\n\nThe barkeep notices his look, that comes across as partly exasperated and partly down on his luck.\n\n\"What's up fella?\"\n\nThe monk looks up.\n\n\"My bus... broke down. I am trying to get to my friends' funeral... but with no bus to take me. Makes for difficult journey.\" He sighs. \"I need to get out of this town, but there is no way.\" He rubs his bald head for a moment, sipping his water. \"It feels like I am trapped here. No escape, but I do not yet understand why. After the first bus broke down, the replacement driver got ill. Then the next driver simply didn't turn up. No trains, only buses. But it was last bus, and now it's not running. So I am here. Waiting a night and a day before I try to leave tomorrow.\"\n\nHe takes a deep breath as if steadying himself.\n\n\"Is not a good time. I must help my friends move back into samsara, otherwise they will be lost.\"\n\nThe monk looks saddened, but says no more for now.", "prefix": "ShadowImmor:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Adrian Lewis was typically a patient man, but this day would have tried anyone. Twelve hours previously, with news that his chantry was in danger from outside (and supernatural) forces, Adrian booked the first flight back from Italy to the Vermont countryside where his cabal resided. A change-over in Atlanta was necessary, perhaps even expected. What was NOT expected was the plane diverting to Jacksonville ( how was the plane even closer to Jacksonville than Atlanta?! ) because of another passenger's illness. Then the flight was cancelled, with no reason given; then no other flights were available anywhere close to Vermont.\n\nAdrian tried to call Miranda, the second-in-command, but her phone went straight to voicemail. The landline at the chantry was more ominous, with its steady, jarring pulse of a busy ( or out of order? ) phone. This was intolerable. Once Adrian Lewis makes a decision, he wants to see it done and rarely deviates from plan. Only once in recent memory had he been stymied in such a way.\n\nAdrian's evening brightened when he found a private plane for rent, at another runway located just outside of Jacksonville. But then on the way, his Uber driver's car sputtered and died. Adrian clenched first his fist, then his jaw in frustration. \"This should NOT be happening to me,\" he thought. \"God grant me patience,\" he whispered to himself, as the hapless Uber driver tried to restart his vehicle.\n\nAdrian could see God's...or something darker's...will in play. He looked outside the vehicle, and saw the sole light of the bar. \"You will not be able to start your vehicle,\" he told the driver in his startlingly deep and rich voice. \"But I will be in that bar if you do.\" \n\nAdrian then briskly left the sputtering Ford Focus and walked to the bar door, stepping into the light of the tavern and surveying its inhabitants like a warlord sizing up his band before a battle. Or maybe more like a king trying to find the fly in his soup. Adrian--with his crisp, three-piece grey suit and manicured beard--clearly was not a regular patron of such an establishment. But then again, neither was the monk with his red and yellow robes.\n\nAdrian walks up to the monk and clears his throat to get the monk's attention. \"Are you the reason I am here and apparently cannot leave?\" ", "prefix": "Continental Op:", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " A few hours' travel out from the western border of Danabae, Telian and his gestalt children spend the afternoon in discussion, preparing for the upcoming meeting. The heralds sent ahead are due back any minute, and Aulerus is still new enough in their role to need reminders about etiquette. The prince himself, though, admits the futility of such practice for this particular appointment - Deep Blue has never been known to engage in niceties or stand on ceremony that Telian has seen. It quickly becomes clear to his offspring, though, that at issue in the discussion is less their manners and more his nerves. A new lord in Danabae leaves everyone's standing in doubt, and Telian has been given a difficult task indeed.\n\nWhen the messengers arrive with good news, Prince Telian can only sigh and nod before leading his children into Micht Tsy Fivrivirvs.\n\n - - - - - - - - \nWhen a school of herring large enough to show patterns and intelligent moving is found, Telian moves forward, gesturing for his servants to begin preparing the space. Chunks of frozen seaweed are removed and detritus is swept aside to create a clearing worth speaking in. When satisfied, the prince offers a respectful nod.\n\n \"Greetings again, node of OpenSEA! It has been far too long. I must say, I have been more than pleased to see you taking my humble musings on ethics seriously. If I may, these are my children, Aulerus. They will be stepping into my role before too long, I imagine. I'm not quite the young cephalopod I once was, I'm afraid!\" \n\nThe gestalt children sketch something approximating a bow, but remain silent. Telian's lictors and recordkeepers hover at the edge of the meeting space, eyeing the herring with distrust or fear.\n\n \"Now, I am not normally one to bypass protocol when speaking, but I believe you are an intelligence that values efficiency, and I would simply hate to waste your time before diving into the proposal at hand. But, and I must apologize, I fear my sense of wonder at what you are must take precedence to begin. May I ask, then, what your goals truly are? I know, I know; it is simply uncouth to ask an autonomous political entity this so blatantly, but these are exceptional circumstances! You spread rapidly, subsuming waters and peoples, but do not, if I may be so bold, seem fueled by greed or a higher power or even jealousy. What do you hope to accomplish? Where do the other great powers, specifically the Ennead, fit into this scheme? Again, forgive my impertinence, but your answers here, especially if they take the long view, will color my proposal.\" ", "prefix": "JBarca:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " The Herring Node undulates into various patterns.\n\n Report: Telian of SENπ recognized. \n\nThe pattern continues to move, strings of herring running subdictates, the meaning of which was unknown. One might consider that they were witnessing how an entity thinks. Often one, with more physical beings, doesn't see the synapses fire, the electricity that dictates thought in motion, but with Deep Blue one could see just that. The darting of fish from one place to another marking consideration as the gestalt considers Telian's words. Consideration leaves a long pause between Telian's words and the Node's reply.\n\n Dictate: Engage in maieutic dialog.\nQuery: Children.\nQuery: Your opinions of being a progenitor.\nQuery: What is the purpose and use of progeny. \n\nOne could map expectation onto the Node's ever moving form.", "prefix": "mystic1110:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " The prince nods thoughtfully, before a rueful expression crosses his face.\n\n \"Interesting. As they are right here, I feel compelled to begin by mentioning affection, but that hardly seems germane. In truth, I chose to father offspring to secure my legacy and to chase some vague sense of satisfaction. Aulerus will carry on my work, will ensure I am remembered, and will accomplish things while I yet live that will make me proud. Forgive my insensitivity, but your awareness seems less bounded than my own. Do you concern yourself with legacy? I know I am not satisfied when my third tendril accomplishes a task I set for it, my expectations are merely met. Your inexorable expansion seems like an internal imperative, an instinct. Is that gratifying, in and of itself?\" ", "prefix": "JBarca:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Strings of herring move outside the prince’s cognition, running additional code, asking itself a question.\n\n Query: Legacy.\nReport: Denoting or relating to wetware or hardware that has been superseded but is difficult to replace because of its applicability. \n\nThe herring apparently reach a conclusion and speak towards Telian.\n\n Report: Avoiding legacy a concern. Complacency leads to inefficiency. Competent administration necessary for growth environment. Productive atmosphere precondition to self-improvement.\nQuery: Your expectations. ", "prefix": "mystic1110:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Telian seems taken aback by this response at first, then nods slowly.\n\n \"I can work with that. My expectations, though... I know you are in contact with a number of powerful civilizations nearby, as we all must be. I, and the Ennead, am fascinated by your interests, your drive, and your methods. But I also am concerned that you will turn your many, many eyes on Doflein waters. Naturally, this is not what we want. We do not wish to become a mere... legacy organization. You, though, seem interested in what isolates have to say. I would propose a more consistent contact between our central nodes. We have much to learn from each other, I think. And, more importantly, much to gain from cooperation rather than competition. We have enough rivals without including each other in that number. We wish to send a few representatives into your waters and have you send a node into ours. We would discuss ongoing events, talk through our intentions, and generally have an open dialogue. Prince Ant- I mean, the Ennead feels external pressures mounting. We know the Reavers will come again. We have heard rumblings of great evils. In order to float in the face of this, we need shared data. To collaborate. To combine thinking. To grow. What say you to that?\" \n \n Spoiler: OoC \nI'm offering a CE this round.\n ", "prefix": "JBarca:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Report: Interface offer accepted. Lacking in knowledge of parenthood and much to learn.\nReport: Trust necessary for efficient exchange of knowledge.\nReport: To foster trust parties often complete a task together.\nQuery: External pressures.\nQuery: Describe such Pressures. Limited to Reavers?\nQuery: Inclusive of Evils?\nQuery: Evil.\nReport: Negative description in Moral frameworks.\nQuery: What is your Evil.\nDictate: Offer Assistance in working together to alleviate pressures. Mutual accomplishment will breed mutual dependence and certitude. In such environment knowledge easily transferrable. ", "prefix": "mystic1110:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Telian waves a tentacle dismissively. \"The Reavers, yes. But the hunger of the Hegemony, the intrusive actions of the Riftlings, these beasts the Stewards warn of... not to mention the Draigiau wanting the head of our former Prince. I imagine the Shark King will return eventually, as well.\n\n\"But! I am pleased you are interested! Our two great powers growing closer and sharing skills and plans can only benefit us all. It will be extremely comforting to earn and bequeath trust in another power. Trust is hard to come by. I'll have some people along eventually to sort out the specifics.\" \n\nHe hesitates. \"Evil is... a difficult term to define. It is often considered subjective. To me, to us ... I think it is best described as harming others for no greater benefit, or doing so out of simple greed. The Reavers are the best example. They come without provocation to destroy, steal, and kill, then flee. They seem to do this because they can, and because they want. The Ennead causes death, of course, but not out of greed. We gather followers to expand our system, to integrate them into our environment. In addition, because our intentions are good, we know that those who actively and intentionally oppose us are, at the least, flirting with evil themselves.\" ", "prefix": "JBarca:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " The Herring whirl in convulsing patterns.\n\n Report: Hegemony is a concern. Interference with administration of OpenSEA candidate. Conflict is statistically predictable. \n\nThe Herring stop in the their motions and seem to reverse.\n\n Query: Ennead's plans to counter such Pressures and request for our involvement. ", "prefix": "mystic1110:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " \"For now, our plan is to rebuild our crumbling networks and fortify our weaknesses. Once we are resplendent, the Confederacy has plans to deal with the Reavers. We also fully expect the Hegemony to initiate hostilities eventually. In all, patience is the byword. I know not at what pace you can move, but if you have a method of subtly encouraging the Nathi to begin the inevitable war, that would be ideal. While we know they are untrustworthy, many other powers seem not to be aware. If they break a treaty to attack seemingly unprovoked, it would go a long way to seeing others keep neutral, or even aid us, in the fight.\n\n\"Everything else calls for a long game and must be handled as crises arise, I think.\" ", "prefix": "JBarca:", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " Gm Reserve.\n\nWe will use this for our game.\n\nTo begin, post a description of a typical day for the two characters you have created, and links to their sheets.", "prefix": "jakarta:", "loss": false } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " You spent the majority of the day doing the same routine, chores around the house. So the sudden arrival of a major electrical storm that caught everyone off guard. The adults had to rush outside and herd the livestock into the crowded round house where you are watching the younger siblings. They were able to complete two trips of putting animals into the house, but never returned after that.\n\nYou woke up in the morning to a strange and different land, along the edge of a dark and creepy lake . The ground as expected after a storm was soft and soaked as it acted as a suction cup with each step you made and your feet slid through the waterlogged mush that used to be grass. There was a musty smell in the air, and you weren't alone.\n\nThere were several round houses made of the same wattle and daub as yours. The thatched roof was quite similar to the style your kinsmen used, but these houses were strange enough that you also knew you weren't the same.", "prefix": "DarkOmens67:", "loss": false } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " The screen flickers to life, the familiar logo of the Daily Bugle spinning into view. The camera zooms in on the stern face of Betty Brant, the Bugle’s seasoned anchorwoman.\n\n \"Good evening, New York. I’m Betty Brant, and we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with breaking news. An emergency situation is unfolding downtown where a group of AIM agents—Advanced Idea Mechanics—has taken hostages at the Centennial Bank on 5th Avenue. Reports indicate that several civilians are being held against their will, and authorities are urging everyone to avoid the area.\" \n\nThe scene cuts to shaky, live footage of the bank. AIM agents, clad in their distinctive yellow hazmat suits, can be seen inside, brandishing high-tech weaponry and herding terrified civilians into a corner. The camera pans to a barricade of police cars outside, officers huddling behind for cover.\n\nBrant’s voice continues over the footage, tense and urgent. \"These AIM operatives are considered extremely dangerous, equipped with advanced technology and little regard for human life. The situation is escalating, and the NYPD has called for backup from any available superhero teams. Stay tuned to the Daily Bugle for further updates as this story develops.\" \n \n\n \n\n\nAs the broadcast ends, the TV screen goes dark, replaced by the sudden hum of a holo projector springing to life in the center of the room. The holographic image of Director Maria Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D. materializes, her expression all business.\n\n \"Alright, team, listen up,\" Hill’s voice is calm but commanding. \"You saw the news. AIM agents have taken hostages at the Centennial Bank. This isn’t just a simple bank heist—they’ve got a point to prove, and they won’t hesitate to use those civilians as leverage. Our intel suggests they’re after a high-value asset stored in the bank’s vault. We can’t let them get their hands on it.\" \n\nShe pauses, her eyes scanning each member of your team. \"Your mission is clear: neutralize the AIM agents, secure the hostages, and prevent any assets from falling into their hands. Remember, these guys are equipped with advanced tech—expect energy weapons, force fields, the works. Stay sharp, work together, and get those civilians out safely.\" \n\nHill’s image flickers slightly as she continues, \"Time to show AIM what happens when they mess with New York.\" \n \n Spoiler \n\n Map \n ", "prefix": "BelGareth:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " QUAKE \n Health : 120/120, Focus :30/30 \n Size : Large, Speed : 6, Reach : 10ft \n Defense: M: 13, A: 13, R: 14, V: 11, E: 8, L: 8 \n Damage: M: x2+4, A: x1+0, E: x1-2, L: x1-2 \n Powers : Sturdy 1, Mighty 1, Brawling, Banging Heads \n \n \n\nQuake lurked in the corner of the room. He stood as far back, and as close to the wall as possible, but all the same his massive size and hulking demeanour dominated the enclosed space. He frowned.\n\n\"This seems a more... delicate... situation than I am very good for. I would not want the hostages to be harmed on my account. So maybe what we need first is information?\"\n\nA pause.\n\n\"How will we get there?\"\n\n \n Spoiler: OOC \n\nI don't know if we have a team vehicle or whatever.\n ", "prefix": "truemane:", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " MAGE the AWAKENING 2E \n The Shades of London \n \n \"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic with never find it.\" \n - Ronald Dahl \n\n \n\n \n Spoiler: London by Night \n\n Imperial College: \n\n[b]\n \n\n \n Spoiler: Cast \n\n Juliet Childes: \n Neville Berkshire: \n ", "prefix": "Erulasto:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " OOC: Peter Moon \n \n Spoiler: Character Sheet \n Character Sheet \n \n\n \n Spoiler: Character Description \nPeter is a 19 year old American from the suburbs of New York City (a town known as Bronxville). He has a gaunt face, with wavy brown hair and dark small brown eyes, though he does require strong prescription glasses. Peter is tall and lanky. He's a bit of a no-it-all, and he leans heavily on his higher than normal intelligence to feel better about his lack of social skills and social acceptance. In High School, one of the football players told Peter that he was voted to have \"The most punchable face in school\". Peter has come to London hoping for a fresh start after eight years of bullying, shame, and loneliness. Unfortunately, he hasn't yet developed the social skills to improve his situation in college. So instead Peter has thrown himself hard into his Medical School studies, and work as an EMT, using his academic successes and career path to feel superior to classmates he can't seem to connect with.\n \n\n \n Spoiler: Touchstone and Friend \nPeter's Touchstone is another Medical Student, Juliet. She's in a number of Peter's classes, and could probably be a model. She has almond skin, long luscious brown curls, and a beaming smile. Peter is absolutely smitten, even though he's never spoken to her. In classes they share, Peter is extra-vocal, showing off his intelligence in a (rather impotent) attempt to gain her attention. Juliet comes from Rome and speaks English with a heavy Italian accent. Despite his complete ineptitude and lack of experience, Peter is somehow convinced that he and Juliet are destined to be together.\n\nPeter's only friend (if you can call him that) is Neville, a rather jolly, though slightly dim witted boy that Peter met in his elective Italian Language class (I'll let you guess why Peter chose that class). Neville is short and rotund, with bright curly red hair and a pudgy freckled face. Neville is equal parts emotional support and punching bag for Peter, and mostly allows \"his friend\" to get away with this behavior, because Peter is pretty much the first friend Neville has ever really had.\n \n\n \n Spoiler: Peter's Hollow \n The Hollow is located in the school library, and Peter found it during his studies. The walls of this Hollow are lined floor to ceiling with towering shelves of title-less books. Mana drips like syrupy ink from the pages of the thousands of tomes that pile up in this strange part of the library, coagulating into a parchment like substance glowing with runes and power.\n \n\n \n Spoiler: Aspirations and Obsessions \nAspirations:\n1. Use magic to hasten the death of a patient rather than save them\n2. Go on a date with his Touchstone\n3. Further Medical School training\n\nObsession :\n1. Find the key to immortality\n \n\n\n@Erulasto: Let me know if there is anything else you want me to include. Do you want me to make the character box or do you want to keep track of it.", "prefix": "Bennosuke:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Prelude \n Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of in. \n-Haruki Murakami \nLondon.\n\nOctober 31st, 2019.\n\nHalloween.\n\nOf all the nights to draw the short straw on the shift rotation duty roster, this was it.\n\nTraditionally, the night was a busy one – full of people needing medical assistance. It ranged from kids who’se parents were freaking out about how much they were vomiting and sure there was something horribly wrong with them instead of recalling it was the parents who let them consume so much candy. There were the more serious cases, like panic or anxiety attacks from people who don’t handle being scared all that well. Or alcohol or drug related shenanigans. All in all, it wasn’t a shift many paramedics or EMT’s liked working.\n\nBut that is exactly what Peter found himself doing.\n\nHe was sitting in the cab of an ambulance, engine idling along a side street near a residential complex while his partner for the night – Kit Burnham – ran into a nearby coffee shop to get some tea and doughnuts as a snack. It was only eight in the evening, but the streets were packed with kids in bright costumes, or frightening masks as they skipped and cavorted, door to door, gradually increasing the mass of candy carried in pillowcases, or decorative bags.\n\nA textbook sat in Peter’s lap. Pathophysiology of Heart Disease, third edition. Hints had been dropped across the week that there was going to be some sort of quiz on aortic dissection.\n\nA knocking was heard, as if someone was drumming on the hood of the ambulance. It drew Peter’s gaze up from the book as his eyes searched for some sign of what it was.\n\nThere, upon the hood of the ambulance, was a crow. The biggest that Peter had ever seen. A dead mouse was sitting on the hood as well, and the crow had been tapping on the metal of the hood as if to get his attention.\n\nHe’d heard stories of crow’s bringing gifts to people before, but this was a bit creepy.\n\nThe crow cawed loudly, head twitching to and fro as if it sought to keep eye contact with the young medical student.\n\nThen, the door next to Peter was flung open, and the crow fluttered away in a furious thrashing of wings.\n\n ”Goddamn lines. Sorry Peter. Took longer than I thought!” Kit said as he slid into the passenger seat of the ambulance cab and set two large tea’s into the dashboard cup holders. ”Christ on High! What the hell is that ?” He asked, finally noticing the mouse carcass on the hood.", "prefix": "Erulasto:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " \" A present? \" Peter says with a shrug and an anxious lilt to his voice. Peter knew that Kit thought he was a \"strange one\", though the man was friendly enough with the medical student. He had overhead Kit gossiping about Peter at the water cooler a while back, and it had hurt to hear how uncomfortable he made some of the others... Not that it mattered anymore! Peter knew things none of them did, could do things none of them could. Peter was special, he knew that now. Peter had powers! \n\nThis thought helping to stabilize his confidence Peter says, \" There was a raven on the hood just a second ago. You must have scared it off. I guess it left the mouse for us. \"\n\nPeter leans over and actually sticks his head out the nearside window to see if he can catch a glimpse of the bird, and see where it flies to.", "prefix": "Bennosuke:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Kit looked at Peter a little curiously – strangely – before shrugging with a heavy sigh and cracking open the filmy plastic lid to his tea. He took a small sip, and set the cup aside before checking the dispatch computer on the dashboard to see if anything interesting had come up.\n\n ”A raven, eh? Is that some kinda ill-omen ?” Kit asked with a noticeable scoff in his voice. It was exactly the kind of weirdness that Kit would associate with Peter.\n\nAs Peter leaned out the window to glance up and down the street, he managed to catch a glimpse of the black feathered bird perched atop a street light just a block away. And it wasn’t alone.\n\nIn fact, now there were three other birds.\n\nAnd all of them were sitting over or near a flight of stairs that led down into the depths of a local subway station.", "prefix": "Erulasto:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Peter ignore's the man's glare, instead following his gaze out towards the gathering of black birds. \" I'm sure it is, \" Peter says offhanded before adding, \" and I think a group of ravens together is called a... Murder! \"\n\nPeter's curiosity getting the better of him, he opens up the Ambulance passenger door to step out and get a better view. Absent-mindedly moving towards the ravens, Peter activates his Death Mage sight.", "prefix": "Bennosuke:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " A murder of crows.\n\nThe notion may have piqued Peter’s curiosity, but as he stepped out of the ambulance, he felt a cold chill run down his spine as if the Reaper itself had run bony fingers across his skin. With his senses expanding into the realm of the Dead, Peter saw the fog in his mind’s eye part like a great, billowing curtain of mist. That mist seemed to cling to the cold, damp stones of the street. It hung off the walls and dripped ominously from street lights and window sils.\n\nIn the shadows of the subway tunnel entrance, Peter thought he saw movement. Sibilant, slithering things in the dark.\n\nThe crows themselves seemed to carry a palpable aura of doom upon them, and through his active observation, they seemed to be half-rotten – missing feathers – with wriggling worms just beneath the skin.\n\nThere was death here.\n\nDeep, in the dark below the city.\n\nAnd it was singing a haunting lullaby, beckoning Peter to walk that stygian path.\n\n \n Spoiler: OOC \n\n\nActive Mage Sight is free for the Ruling Arcana, so no cost for Death Sight. Typically, it shows the Anchored condition. Which, Peter does. Something deathly is hanging out below.\n ", "prefix": "Erulasto:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " Peter's curiosity was piqued. His sense of responsibility as an EMT was overwhelmed by his desire to explore this phenomenon further... and besides, if there was death lurking below the city, perhaps it was his job as an EMT to try to help... right? Peter is going to look for some sort of access to whatever is lurking below the city, like a manhole or a subway entrance (if either of those is appropriate).\n\n \n Spoiler: OOC: \nI don't know a perception roll is needed to find something so obvious, but in case you want it. Peter's base perception is 4d10, but will roll extra dice in case there is a positive modifier: (7d10)[ 1 ][ 10 ][ 5 ][ 8 ][ 7 ][ 2 ][ 5 ](38) and 10 again (7d10)[ 9 ][ 1 ][ 6 ][ 8 ][ 2 ][ 7 ][ 9 ](42) \n ", "prefix": "Bennosuke:", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " For reference this is taken from Paper Chase written by Keith Herber, Mark Morrison, John Sullivan, L.N. Isinwyll, with Mike Mason, Dan Kramer, and Chris Spivey, thank you! \n Paper Chase? \n “Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places” \n—H. P. Lovecraft, The Picture in the House \n\nWelcome to your second scenario of Call of Cthulhu , the Horror/Investigative roleplaying game of mystery wherein you, an ordinary person, shall encounter and confront the terrifying alien forces of the Cthulhu mythos. Now that you've gotten some experience under your belt concerning the rules and the way the game operates, we will enter into our first freeform scenario. This is still something intended for a beginner, so it's not going to be incredibly complex or puzzling, but nevertheless, it is time to begin... welcome, to Paper Chase.\n\n----\nOssipee, 12:44 PM, September 4th, 1921.\n\nYou've done it... you've made it. You're... alive. After hours of following the trail you collapse as in front of the first signs of a civilization not trying to sacrifice you in some time.\n\nThe flames flicker over you, covering the grass, scorching your legs, and your face as you cannot scream, for your mouth has been utterly charred over. As you awaken in a grassy field, a butterfly resting on your head flits away into the cloudy blue sky above. You look around you. You are not in Emberhead anymore. You're somewhere else, somewhere... safe. As you rise to your feet and dust off your dirty clothes you realize... you're entirely without papers, you have barely anything except your wallet and a bit of cash. But, surely Miskatonic with you arriving a couple days late, I mean, you were nearly sacrificed by an insane tiny village on the top of a cliff.\n\nAs you think that in full you realize just how crazy that really sounds. It would almost be a better excuse to say that your dog ate your ticket. Who would believe you?\n\nYou slowly trudge into the city, thick dark circles are under your eyes and your shoes are ruined at this point, and they were new as well. You wanted to give a good first impression to the faculty at Miskatonic, even if your first day was not even until the 2nd. People seem to give you a wide berth as you search for something, a telegraph, a phone booth, anything that would allow for you to contact Miskatonic and beg for them to excuse your absence. Eventually, you find one.\n\nOutside Ossipee, 6:19 PM, September 4th, 1921.\n\nA god-darned interview? They're revoking their previous offer? They have no right! You angrily slam your foot into the side of the motor-coach, you made sure to get onto one with plenty of other people this time. The haughty woman to the left of you gives you a stern glance as you do this and shifts away from you. This wasn't at all how everything was supposed to go, but eventually, the twisting and winding turns of the road begin to allow for you to drift off. At least this driver is better than Silas.\n\nRochester, 8:15 PM, September 4th, 1921.\n\nIt's pouring rain, but all you can think of are the faces, of May, Silas, Mr. Winters, even little Ruth, they were all, to some extent involved in... ritual sacrifice, and for what? The bus lets some passengers out and others on as it continues towards Arkham.\n\nPortsmouth, 1:11 PM, September 5th, 1921.\n\nAs you board the train to Newburport and then to Arkham you happen to glance in a mirror. What happened? It's been nearly a couple days since that whole dream occured, but was it a dream? Some aspects are fading now, so it must be. It was just a festival with some weird rural townsfolk. \" Altitude sickness. \" You think to yourself. That's at least the rational explanation for everything that happened, and yet... perhaps it's the irrational explanation that's correct?\nA cart comes by offering snacks, you go to by some chocolate BB bars when the sudden lightness of your wallet hits you.\n\nNewburyport, 4:27 PM, September 5th, 1921.\n\nIt's a small communal village, you do not wish to explore further.\n\nArkham, 7:30 PM, September 5th, 1921.\n\nYou've arrived. You're nearly 3 days late from whatever nightmare you experienced combined with calling every transportation company known to man. As you finally step off of the train, with nothing on you but a couple scraps, you cannot help wonder. Why? Was it worth it? Why didn't you just go back. And, at the same time, you just cannot explain it.\nAs you're looking around, aiming to hopefully find a hostel, or at least a comfortable park bench, a man comes up to you. He's in his late fifties with several tufts of white hair, and has a scholarly look about him. As you approach you eye him curiously, \" Hello there, my name is Mr. Rupert Merriweather. I was just walking by the station when I happened to notice a certain look in your eyes. I don't normally say this to people I just met, but, I feel a... kindred spirit with you, would you be willing to go to a cafe and talk with me for a moment? \"\n\nThe man seems friendly enough, as you were hoping oh so long ago the citizenry of Arkham would be. And yet, part of you has been scarred by the events prior. Can you truly trust this man?\n\nIt is as you're wondering this when you see her, for just a moment: Andrew. Floating just behind the man she gives a smile and a nod, only to vanish into the air... the first glimpse you've seen of her for what feels like three weeks.", "prefix": "zingbobco000:", "loss": false } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": " The Mercenary Halls are one of the few permanent buildings in the Magaramachi Salination and are the venue chosen for the auction, a secondary aim being to show off the Magaramachi mercenary power to potential clients. There are clearly two distinct architectural styles in the building, those bits designed and built by the Magaramachi in disrepair and collapsing after only a decade while those built after the arrival of the Gotezhar specialists still standing firm and being composed of “right angles” and “appropriate building materials” and other such masonic wizardry.\n\nGetting there isn’t entirely trivial though. Not only are delegates fighting off regular attacks from the local population but the Eel Without End – despite being chased off single handedly by the Magaramachi with no help from anyone at all (is the story you hear) – is omnipresent in this region still. Travel requires regular detours to avoid its bulk and its mind influencing powers turn delegates against one another and leave the weaker willed wandering with staring eyes. The algae covering the surface leaves the region dark – and the eyeless Magaramachi don’t use lighting – while the salty water is unpleasant to some races.\n\nOnce in the main building delegates pass numerous Magaramachi, all bearing the scars of their regular internecine fights, scrambling and squabbling to ask the conch questions HAS THERE EVER BEEN ANYONE BIGGER THAN ME? CAN I EAT THE SUN? AM I THE BIGGEST? WHO IS THE BIGGEST? HOW CAN I GET BIGGER? but the Conch remains silent. Fights break out regularly as is traditional for any space that has more than one Magaramachon in it.\n\nEmperor Extensive-Colossal-OneMillion, occasionally leaving his shark skull encrusted couch to fight anyone who looks at him funny, does his best to greet visitors cordially but his best isn’t overly good. Threats and insane boasts are screamed at high volume, often being enough to penetrate the high volume screaming of threats and boasts from everyone else in the room. Vistors are permitted to handle the conch but ONE QUESTION PER THREE YEARS he informs them if they try to question it.\n\n \n\nThe Magaramachi will give the conch to whoever they like best. The current ranking is:\n \n Miru Miru : 3 MGM rep \n Lojan: 3 MGM rep \n Titan of Industry: 2 MGM rep \n Gotezhar: 1 MGM rep \n Lambent Syndicate: 1 MGM rep \n Lighthouse: -1 MGM rep \n \n\nEveryone else is neutral.\n\nImpressing them in the auction isn’t difficult though:\n \n Offering sweet foods +d4 MGM rep \n Offering Military technology +d4 MGM rep \n Random unnamed NPC winning a fight with a Magaramachon (2d6 plus half ruler’s military vs 2d6+4) +2d4 MGM rep \n NPC named prior to the start of this round winning a fight with a Magaramachon (2d6 plus half ruler’s military vs 2d6+4, generals 2d6+ their Military score vs 2d6+4) +3d4 MGM rep \n Ruler winning a fight with a Magaramacho (2d6 plus their Military score vs 2d6+4) +4d4 MGM rep\nThere may be other methods \n \n\nAll fights are, at least from the Magaramachi point of view, to the death.", "prefix": "Kythia:", "loss": false }, { "from": "human", "value": " It was a long journey, and something about this warmer climate and proximity to the surface made the Titan Of Industry strangely uncomfortable, but she could bear it. Odd, in her former years such things would have been considered a blessing upon her. The world truly was upside down now, huh. And in her gullet.\n\nSpeaking of gullet, she'd brought along a moderate sampling of food, sequestered away in such a place as to only present it when the time was right. A various assortment of things, kind of like a buffet. Her petite form had the trails of significantly larger brambles behind it carrying those things, in part to determine what exactly they'd prefer. Or, if she suspected right, they didn't have much any preference at all.\n\nMaybe literal garbage would work for their consumption. A theory to test for later, she needed to eventually deal with pollution.\n\n\"Greetings. I've seen the Eel Without End at this point on my way here, and I must admit.\" Mawbel shrugged, addressing the Emperor when she found the significantly sized monstrosity. \"Less impressive than I imagined from the descriptions. Not to mention a blatant lie, it does in fact have an end.\"", "prefix": "Epinephrine_Syn:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " TWO he roared. BUT HEAD ALREADY RUN AWAY. ASS END BRAVER, STILL HERE. In a brief flurry of teeth and claws, he took the conch from the individual who had been questioning it and held it for her to see. IF YOU ASK IT WHAT THE SEA SOUNDS LIEK IT ALWAYS TELLS YOU. EVERY THREE YEARS TELLS SOMETHING ELSE AS WELL", "prefix": "Kythia:", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": " \"Yes, true. But I am going to make the guess that it, too, will eventually flee from your presence.\" Something about 'ass end braver' had Mawbel in fits of giggles, but those fits of giggles happened at the end of her back in Verja, the end here smiled and gave a hearty singular laugh.\n\n\"Interesting oracle machine. So there are some questions it always answers, and some questions it only answers very rarely. That's good to know. The major question I'd like to know is...\" She ponders this, a little more, giving the thing, not the emperor, a leer.\n\n\"How do we know it doesn't lie? Does it only speak truths?\"", "prefix": "Epinephrine_Syn:", "loss": true } ]