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MATURE RPG


May, 2010... Fantasy became reality. Worlds overlay for the briefest moment. Outworlders became stranded on earth as more than half the human populace vanished. Our World, our universe, was transformed.

Fiction is now reality. Humans and those now bound to this world will either learn to coexist, or battle for supremecy.

ALL SITE ACTIVITY

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  1. Yesterday
  2. Ryan Harker

    Chasing Ghosts

    “Mhm.” The woman leaned back in her seat, dark almond eyes felt like they were trying to see through him. Ryan set his cup down on the counter and plucked the whiskey bottle from the tray provided. The agent flashed his hostess a sly grin. He added a sizeable splash to his coffee, filing the cup to just below the brim. Setting the bottle down, Harker picked up his cup and placed it to his lips. “ARMA business?” Rorye asked as he sipped from the mug. He winced happily and then let out a soft, blissful gasp. The drink was strong, but it wasn’t the coffee. She had already deduced he was from ARMA. She was smart, he would wager clever even. Perhaps she recognized him from around ARMA as well. “Do I need to turn in my decoder ring?” She teased, her tone warmer than her eyes had felt just a moment earlier. “Or, are you here for something else?” The inquiry was inviting. Harker was surprised she had shown such hospitality so close to the day's end. He suppressed his desire to assess her motives, and instead focused on answering her question. “Like I said, business and pleasure are hard to keep separate these days.” Ryan leaned forward on the counter, resting his elbows on its surface. He cupped the coffee in his gloved hands. Ocean blue eyes meeting Rorye’s chocolate hues. “I’m here for two reasons I suppose.” Ryan savored another sip of his coffee, “First, I am here to see if anything new has hit the streets that could be useful to me, or cause problems for ARMA.” He paused for a second. Considering how to phrase his next words. Alistar was dead. ARMA was finally coming to accept this fact. A fact Ryan had come to accept just a couple months after his disappearance. No Soldier goes missing in action for over a year and is found alive. Surely, Roryre had come to this realization as well. Ryan wanted to know how she was handling life but risked opening old wounds. A risk he would take cautiously. Especially, since he still didn’t know the full extent of their relationship. “Second, I came to check on you.”
  3. Just an FYI- going out of town for work until Monday, so posting will be a bit slower for my chars.

  4. Ryan Harker

    Begin to Be

    “Father del Santo does not hold confession until the evenings.” Another priest had entered the hall through a side passage. This one was much younger, and he carried stacked boxes of votive candles in his arms. Ryan recognized him from the picture in his file. Rhome Del Santo, rogue assassin of the First Order. “But maybe I can help you.” Del Santo seemed genuinely unbothered by Harker’s appearance at the church. The magus kneeled before the church altar, presenting his back to the Cloak operative. Then, as if in a therapeutic trance, the priest began cleaning the vigil candles. One by one. Ryan could end the rogue’s life before anyone else in the room had a chance to act. His draw from the holster was without match, and at this distance even a novice could aim true. He wondered if Rhome welcomed death, or if he just falsely believed Harker wouldn’t kill him in a house of the Lord. Perhaps the priest was a fanatic. Believing himself an instrument of God, and thus protected from the unrighteous. Or, maybe he was just that arrogant. The ARMA agent glanced back to the elder Vicar. His hand glided along the edge of his coat, sweeping back the garment to reveal the pistol holstered on his right thigh. “Please leave us father, I would like to speak to the priest alone.” Ryan walked forward and seated himself in the pew directly behind the church caretaker. There was an audible “click” as he drew back the hammer on his double action pistol. He rest the weapon on his lap, it’s barrel pointed at the priest, his finger pressed to the now featherlight trigger. The operative spoke calmly, “I’m not from the Order.” He smirked at his own triteness, “and as cliché as it sounds, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” A conversation between two professional killers was about ensue. Such discussions were usually quite civilized… until the killing started.
  5. Matteo Carducci

    CLASH OF THE TITANS

    “And if I said none of the above?” Then I have to wonder if you are up to no good.. Smirk again had that devilish charm. For all the polish of the Bakkhos "uniform" of mob perfect suiting, the man's rough around the edges, thrill seeking persona bled out into his aura. Matteo had a natural magnetism that made him perfect for heading up such a huge venture as Satyr. Dark liquor came up again, light bouncing to catch its amber glint in his eyes as he sipped the rim watching the cheers ripple through the entire club. The energy manipulator got cocky, letting himself get too close and therefore hammered by the hulk. The cloaked form thrown halfway across the ring in a heap. Fight might be coming to a close if Kirren couldn’t get back on his feet and toss a bomb at the freight train roaring his way. The Capo couldn’t complain, this had been the longest clocked fight to date. It gave real hope that this Clash of the Titans series would really bring in the hauls. “Honestly I was invited by a friend, but he wandered off. So since I was already here I decided me and the bar should get better acquainted. “ Gaze slid over to her as she hopped up onto the barstool, chuckle dark and rich in his chest. Bar always makes the best acquaintance. "So far it’s turning out to be a pretty good decision. How about you?" He was used to flirtations…. lots of flirtations. "I’m guessing you’re not here for any of those either." Chuckle bubbled up again like rum in his chest as he noted her surprise at her empty glass. She had acquainted herself a bit too much with the bar it seemed. If she wasn’t careful, she would make an easy mark if someone was looking to warm their bed. Warm tones rolled from his tongue as head shook gently. I am here for them all of course. The glass drew up to his lips as the smirk danced across them again, feline focused gaze watching the monitor again as the elemental saved his own hide with only a breath to spare. The attack messy and disoriented but at least managing to throw the tank off his course to hit the cage instead of the man that was still struggling to get to his feet. The Capo suspected the elemental had only prolonged the inevitable, the guy's bell had been rung too hard that last time, he wasn’t getting his wits or legs about him quick enough. Amber watched the newcomer as he came to the bar as if he owned it. Cloak caught his trained eye. Someone had come in with his weapons still in tact. The Capo was a bit annoyed that this hadnt been caught at security, unless the guy was NYPD… the blues were allowed in with weapons to show they were legit, but this guy didn’t feel like a blue. Flick of the pupils to the heavyweights at the door was all that was needed to ensure the man was now tagged by the entire Bakkhos security. Smile returned to the woman next to him. You need another… Glancing over his shoulder he nodded to the Champion behind the bar to refill her again.
  6. Rhome Del Santo

    Begin to Be

    Sometimes being a priest, was harder. He’d gone through the entirety of the storage room. Starting on one side to find more votives, then finding something else, that led to something else, then something else, six hours later the entire storage room was reorganized and mentally catalogued. He dusted off his cassock, lifting both boxes, glass clinking in them quietly. Some of the votive glass cylinders needed replacing as well and he’d found beautiful new ones, the top box full of votive candles being balanced by his chin. Steps were nimble, each foot placed carefully. Worn steps, long cassock, double boxes, chin balancing one, somewhere in-between he heard the doors boom shut in the building above, making a mental note on the never-ending checklist of to-do’s to keep the place running. Seems fixing the tension on the hinges had been on there already. Damn. It was his name spoken that drew the busy list making to a fine pinpoint. He didn’t have to look to see everything, or listen to know exactly how many were in the vast building. It just flicked on, like some damnable curse that couldn’t be purged no matter what he did; training beaten over and over into a shattered mind that would think for him. Stepping through a small side door, the balancing continued, using his heel to quietly close the door behind him and continue his path down the shadowed side to the vestibule under the old choir loft. Despite the imposing stature of the new occupant, the world didn’t cease turning and he had to get these boxes to their destination before he dropped them. “Father del Santo does not hold confessions until the evening,” he said quietly, answering the need with calm. Silver eyes flicked to the older Vicar emerging from the small transept chapel. He knew the Vicar was intending to work his charm on the newcomer, but the magus had cut him off at the pass. With all the times the man had hidden him from the world, it made him wonder if he really was the old priest he claimed to be and not someone like him before the world came to an end. Such was life, and the magus was actually more approachable than the boogeyman ARMA made him out to be. He took orders from no one. Not anymore. People just couldn't seem to leave him alone. Vanguard. Order. The unseen threat. They knew he was here, it had been ages since he'd heard a whisper from any of them. Why now? “But maybe I can help you,” the quivering of the glass was urgent and he lifted his chin, balancing to set them carefully on the floor next to the shelf of flickering candles. He began to carefully collect the empty ones off the shelf, moving the flickering lit ones toward the back and opening the top box. A small hand towel was pulled out, and he began to wipe the soot from each empty votive glass. One by one. This was going to take forever. He had the patience.
  7. Rorye Shannon-Kearney

    Chasing Ghosts

    “Of course,” Brow quirked briefly at the answer, amiable or just trying to placate? Interesting. Here’s to interesting. “These days it feels hard tell one from the other.” “That’s because you don’t put enough whisky in your coffee.” Lips curled upward at her own quip, soft footsteps shuffling up the few steps into the tea house addition. Behind the counter she added a refresher to hers and poured him a fresh one. True to form, she reached into the cupboard above it and splashed something into hers, then actually made up a small tea tray. His mug, her mug, interesting looking fancy-pants sugars and cream… “Aw fuck it,” she said under her breath and clinked the small whisky bottle on the tray too. He might like whisky. He might like it black. Cream. Sugar. Who the fuck knew these days. New customer, better to be prepared. Trot down the few steps was light. She set the tray on the main counter where she’d been sitting and handed him the cup. “Thank you,” “Anytime. Help yourself, cheers,” she tapped her mug against the whisky bottle and took a drink, wrapping her hands around hers for the warmth. The fireplace in the library room needed to be stoked. “It’s Royre, right?” "Mhm," she nodded, sitting back on her stool, lips pursed and eyes a bit cynically curious. There were no qualms about studying him. He was ARMA, sure, but she didn’t know which one of the many flavors this one was. She'd never paid enough attention to learn them all. “ARMA business?” she asked quietly, taking another drink from her mug. “Do I have to turn in my secret decoder ring?” The quip was amused, but warm. She hadn’t been in contact with them since the young gentleman came in with his intriguing item. Since then, old regulars of the not-ARMA-friendly variety had been pressing to resume business. She wasn’t sure if the white knights were keeping tabs on her like that. Honestly, she didn’t give two shits if they were. “Or, are you here for something else?” she took another drink, settling in for what seemed to be shaping up as a rather interesting conversation.
  8. Last week
  9. Ryan Harker

    Begin to Be

    Ryan parked his car on the street to the front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Polished onyx paint, dark leather interior, matte black accents, the 2010 Dodge Challenger was something of a rarity these days. It was the last year the muscle car was produced before the first Resonance. 5.7 Liter V-8 engine, race track suspension, the machine wasn’t the fastest on the street, but she could certainly hold her own. There were no plates on the car, no vin, no identifying marks on any kind. It was one of several vehicles Harker used for work, but this was his favorite. The sable clad operative emerged from Challenger’s driver side, adjusting his coat before gently closing the car door. Harker was armed with his usual weaponry; Sig 226, portable wards, enchanted blades, and extra magazines of enchanted munitions. He wasn’t looking for a fight today, but considering the type of creature he intended to confront… he was certainly ready for one. Ryan paused for a moment to breathe in the fresh morning air. Then he made his way toward the church. His coat swayed as me strode calmly through the church’s courtyard. His head swiveled as he assessed the environment. The stone around him felt tired, it had seen better days. When he reached the entrance doors, he gripped the handles with worn leather gloves and pulled them open. The ARMA agent stepped into the chapel’s main hall and allowed the doors to slam shut behind him. The bang of metal and wood echoed throughout the corridor. Ryan stood motionless for a short time. An ominous figure standing in the church door’s shadow, he invited the stares that fell upon him. It was not his intent to be hidden. He wanted them to feel his looming presence, he wanted them to be afraid. He was here to send a message. Harker walked purposefully down the church’s center aisle. He had nearly made it to the alter before one of the priests mounted the courage to approach him. “Can I help you my son?” inquired the old cleric, a hint of apprehension in his voice. “I’m here to see father Del Santo,” Ryan’s eyes were piercing and his tone cold. “I need to make a confession.”
  10. New Member Handbook - Requests - Advertise
  11. Ryan Harker

    Chasing Ghosts

    “Always new and interesting, but never free, even for flattery,” the shopkeeper replied, turning her attention to Ryan. For a moment, he was taken away by her beauty. Even with her hair in a braid and bundled in a comfortable sweater, the fact she wasn’t trying made the allure feel even more genuine. “Of course,” Ryan said with a nod of his head. “Something for business or personal use?” Rorye asked. The woman was acting nonchalant on the surface, but Harker suspected thoughts were racing through her mind. She was almost too at ease with his appearance. It felt like an act. The agent wondered if he was just being paranoid. Always looking beyond the surface. Occasionally, chasing ghosts. Phantoms created by his own pessimism and hyper attention to detail. Ryan braced his hands against the counter and stood up straight, letting out a sigh, “These days it feels hard tell one from the other.” “Coffee?” Rorye picked up her coffee cup and turned away from him. “Its on the house,” she said over her shoulder as she moved toward the café adjoining the store. “Yes please.” Harker waited for her to return. He looked about the store, staying near the counter and making sure to keep the woman in sight. His thoughts wondered. Alistar had been missing for nearly a year. Surely, if Royre had any connection to his disappearance it would have been discovered by now. Fighting past his cynicism, Ryan thought for a moment about the impact the disappearance likely had on her. If they were together, had anyone from ARMA reached out to her? The operative thought back to his time as a Soldier in the United States Army. The vows he and his brothers had made to each other. A promise to look after loved ones, should some of them never make it home. Had anyone done that for Alistar? For her? Ryan gave Royre a gentle smile as she returned to the counter with coffee in hand. “Thank you,” he said taking the cup from her. His curiosity getting the better of him, “It’s Royre, right?”
  12. *beats laptop and internet* why, why, why must you keep dropping my connection

  13. Rorye Shannon-Kearney

    Chasing Ghosts

    Halfway through the next cup, the heel of her hand slid over the ledger with ease as she did her books for the week, cursive barely readable to anyone but herself. Everything was always by hand, she didn’t trust computers anymore. Punching a few buttons on the register to pop out the drawer she went back to writing, hitching her heel up on the rung of her the stool when the glittering chimes of the door sounded. She was an attentive host, but she wasn’t a nosy one, preferring to let visitors shop themselves. This one, was familiar. On the rare occasion she had visited Alistair at headquarters to bring lunch and usually a beer, she’d seen this one. Great. Fucking great. On the eve of quitting the team, the team shows up. She closed the drawer with a quiet click. Pencil slid behind her ear as she pulled her hair over her left shoulder and braided it quickly into a thick plait, tossing it back behind her again. Cold air from the outside prompted her to slide on a comfortably frayed large knit gray cardigan over her silky deep blue tunic, the sleeves long enough to reach her fingertips. Oversized and bohemian, it was her favorite and it definitely showed. Brow quirked at his greeting, but her expression was amiable, pencil plucked from behind her ear to continue the book keeping. Eraser tapped as she paused. “Always new and interesting, but never free, even for flattery,” she said quietly with a soft smile, sliding off the stool and closing the ledger to put it under the counter. “Something for business or personal use?” The question was a logical one. She knew who he was associated with. Every ARMA member also had their own personal interests too. It was a thing with them. Always in search of a bigger, faster, stronger weapon. “Coffee?” she asked as she picked up her coffee cup to go retrieve the third refresher from the small cafe on the other side of the shop, “It’s on the house.” She was going to add some whiskey to hers. ARMA here meant a problem, a complicated need, a complaint, essentially a long night.
  14. Ryan Harker

    Chasing Ghosts

    Ryan knew he could go to ARMA for all his supernatural supply needs, but he enjoyed touring the local occult shops throughout the city. Often, he could find intriguing trinkets or amusing charms, and occasionally he stumbled upon items of true magical merit. Another benefit of visiting such establishments was to maintain relationships with the shopkeepers. They were privy to much within the supernatural realm and often overlooked by the major players. Eyes and ears of the magus community can be an invaluable asset for a covert operative. Ryan walked casually into the “Book of Kells,” the bell at the front door chimed excitedly as he crossed the threshold. The hunter’s attire fit naturally in the shop’s mystic ambience. A long black jacket, dark garments, and black boots; all were aged from travel and war. His brown hair was short and kempt, but not clean cut. A days’ worth of scruff still clung to the agent’s face. Blue eyes nonchalantly scanned the business as he made his way to the counter. Harker recognized the beauty behind the counter, though they had only ever spoken in passing. Rorye had been an associate of ARMA’s for some time. Rumor had it she was romantically involved with the faction’s founder before his disappearance. Ryan hadn’t been tasked with finding Alistar, but if he had been, she would be a good place to start. He wondered if ARMA was even keeping tabs on her these days. “Hey gorgeous,” Harker said with a warm smile. He leaned against the front desk as he spoke, crossing his hands one over the other. A familiar face was likely all he was to her. “Anything new or exciting in stock?”
  15. Ryan Harker

    CLASH OF THE TITANS

    The Satyr Stadium was unlike anything else in New York. Harker had been in awe the first time he had visited the venue. The sheer size of the of the arena, the intricate spells woven into its structure, the security measures emplaced; it took a lot of clout to establish something of this magnitude in one of the most prominent cities in the world. Of course, the stadium was owned and operated as a “legitimate” business by the Bakkos criminal syndicate; which made its existence even more impressive. The Satyr Stadium represented a Bakkos foothold in the city, ground that Law Enforcement agencies would likely never take back. Harker strode calmly through the crowd on the pavilions second level. He was draped by a long, black leather coat. Its material swayed naturally with every casual step, but concealed beneath it was an arsenal of weapons designed to combat the supernatural. The ARMA operative’s attire was aged, giving his black undervest, pants, and tactical boots a rugged, less uniform appearance. Before the Resonance such an outfit might have drawn attention, but these days such an ensemble was not uncommon amongst magus, marauders, and the like. Ryan’s blue eyes surveyed the rotunda as he seated himself at a table near the bar. He had no interest in the fight. He was here for work, or that’s what he told himself at least. It had been some time since he had received any specific orders from ARMA leadership. Without a defined task, he was forced to find his own way to contribute to cause. This was a recon mission. The stadium was hosting a hi-profile event. Several of Bakkos’ key players were in attendance. ARMA intelligence also suggested the venue was a likely target for terrorist attack from multiple extremist groups. Harker was at the stadium to see how all the players interacted, and to see which groups might show to reconnoiter the event for their own purposes. Harker leaned back in his seat. A hand donned with a fingerless glove casually rubbed the brown scruff on his chin. He watched as two Bakkos gangsters descended from their VIP lounge to walk amongst the commoners beneath them. One was Matteo Carducci, Bakkos “baby boss” and owner of the Satyr Stadium. He was joined by Thomas Gallo, Bakkos fight champion and owner of another one of the syndicates “legitimate” business fronts. Both gangsters were dangerous men. ARMA was aware of their criminal activity. However, the organization the Bakkos established within the criminal underworld actually reduced crime in New York. So long as they continued to serve that purpose, and didn’t stray too far from the path, they would be safe from ARMA. Out of the corner of his eye Ryan saw a woman who appeared to be assessing the venues security. A ball cap hid her face, but the jacket and jeans she wore did little to hide her slender figure. She was an attractive woman. She tried to look inconspicuous, but she loitered near doors and entrances, seemingly to check if they were secure. She wasn’t Bakkos security. Her casual dress was far too relaxed for their “professional” standards. When Ryan finally caught a peek from under the brim of her hat, her face seemed familiar. After a moment he recognized her as an NYPD officer, maybe from the 10th precinct but he wasn’t certain. The Arma operative had seen her around more than once, back when he worked for the department. A man came through one of the pavilion doors quite suddenly, nearly knocking the poor girl down. Harker ginned lightly. Words were exchanged between the two and the man walked away. At first Harker thought nothing of it. There was nothing extraordinary about the man initially. However, as he pressed through the crowd he moved with a purpose. The man made a straight line for the bar, his eyes trained on the bartender standing behind it. Again, this by itself was nothing extraordinary. The man glided across a balcony full of cheering fans, without slowing down, and without so much as brushing into another person. To a trained observer like Harker, that was extraordinary. This appeared to catch the attention of the cop as well. Because after a moment she moved to join the man at the bar. Purple shirt, gray slacks, the man looked like he belonged in the VIP lounge. Ryan doubted the peace officer knew what the man was, or even the danger she might be in… but he did. The operative couldn’t identify the exact kind of creature that sat beside her, but he had hunted enough to know supernatural when he saw it. Harker glanced back at Carducci. The Bakkos baby was chatting up another girl at the bar. Based on their body language, he quickly determined the engagement was not work related. Sharp eyes did another sweep of the balcony. Finding nothing of note, Harker rose slowly to his feet and made his way to the bar. It seemed like the place to be. Ryan took the seat beside Raeden, opposite from Kai. As he gripped the barstool he became acutely aware of the woman’s gaze. She interested him, but he always got nervous when talking to beautiful women. He had seen the horrors of war, fought countless battles, faced unspeakable evils, and even now he was surrounded by a thousand threats that could kill him. Yet, in that moment, the little Asian woman sitting beside him, she was the scariest thing in the entire coliseum. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Ryan said as he sat down. He looked down at Raeden’s coffee and gave a lighthearted frown. “Working huh?” His ocean blue eyes met hers and he smiled. All the while he remained keenly aware of both were-creatures joining them at the bar.
  16. Earlier
  17. Rhome Del Santo

    Begin to Be

    He'd not lost his penchant for silence, it had been beaten into his core by the Vatican, but even before the world fell apart he'd been quiet and kind. Unassuming. Cups didn't make a noise as he moved them, coffee poured without a splash. He'd heard the Vicar several moments ago making his way to the small kitchen to get his breakfast. The old man's movements had changed over the last six months, gate had slowed, breath was more labored. The assassin studied things most people didn't, and he knew the Vicar was either getting significantly weaker, or something was wrong. The old man wouldn't hear of it though, and the thought of losing the only one who believed in him even after he found out he was essentially the devil broke the magus' heart. Rhome was by far the youngest in the building, the aging half-dozen that lived there with him had clustered together after the Resonance destroyed their own buildings. Strength in numbers he supposed. He was their caretaker now, and of the building by proxy. Errands. Repairs. Even laundry on some occasions. The building was equipped to withstand so much, and it mostly had. He'd almost finished rebuilding the side courtyard that had been destroyed by the Resonance. He'd also replaced the eaves on the alley after he'd melted them to rain molten metal down on several aggressive idiots bent on harassing a fellow fugitive. There was a protective streak a mile wide buried in him, but it was a compass without a north. Those within his immediate daily life were easy to know, those outside... he never knew who to trust, so they all were enemies. The Vicar was carrying something, hooking it on the top of the door as he came in. Rhome reached up to button his shirt collar, the formal dress donned in favor of the clothes he wore outside and under the cathedral the night before. Inside, here in the sacred space, he was seen a priest. He could pretend he was a good man. *npc* Paper collar too, the seated Vicar said quietly as Rhome placed coffee on the small table in front of him. Blink was quiet from the gray eyes up at the hanging coat. It was a cassock. He'd given up his vows, but the Vicar kept insisting. Lips opened to protest, again, but the older man's finger came up to stop him. *npc* Argue with me after I've had my coffee. In the meantime, collar, and that. Older man nodded toward the clothing. Rhome paused. He hadn't worn a cassock since the Vatican. *npc* I know it will fit, you have no excuse. The Vicar sighed softly after a long drink of coffee. *npc* You're just worried if you wear it the girls won't be able to tell us apart. Smile was slight, he was fiddling with his paper collar, "it's just..." *npc* Just nothing. You are here, you are family, I will not treat you like an outsider. Older man put the newspaper down on the table he'd brought with him. It was from yesterday. Rhome could only make out part of the headline because it was folded, but it was a story about the magus murders. He reached up and pulled the cassock from the hanger, sliding it onto his shoulders and beginning the buttons. *npc* I will tell you this until you believe it, you are still a priest because I say so. I can forgive sin, remember? You also need to stop working so hard in the courtyard. Healing knuckles hurt. He swallowed softly, yah those were hard to explain.... smoothing the front of the cassock before flexing the brazen knuckles. Moving toward the sink, the long coat swished, resulting sound jolting electricity up his spine. There was an honest to god flinch, vaulting him into another place and another time. Making that noise would have gotten him beaten at the Vatican. Assassins made no noise. Turn back after dropping off a spoon had found the footing drilled into his muscles. His movement now was eerily silent again. He didn't like this thing, irritation squashed because it made the Vicar happy. "I'm bringing votive candles up from storage today. We don't have many left, I have to find somewhere that has more. I'll clean the shelves too." The Vicar nodded, taking another sip of coffee as he opened up the paper. He caught the headline as he left the kitchen to retrieve the votives from storage downstairs. It was his doing. The paper. That headline. One more Order magus had been assassinated. This one had fought fiercely, but a well placed double strike into the spleen and then between the ribs had been simple. The pattern from his Order signet ring burned into the man's flesh had been just an extra. A message, to those that would listen.
  18. Rhome Del Santo

    Begin to Be

    St. Patrick's Cathedral Vaults and Catacombs 2-14-22 3am That tiny little thing on those whistles… the plastic… those leather half circles with the tiny piece of metal and a tambour of plastic that you could put on your tongue like a wafer and press to your palate. The high pitched whistle they could squeal was piercing, penetrating through your sinuses like a fire alarm, itching the center of your brain like whipping rain against a window of tissue paper until it popped. It was all he could think, hear, see, feel- that vicious searing sound crescendo through his every sense. Gasp was immediate, the uncontrolled reaction unusual as the world that had spiraled to a pinpoint of focus was broken by some shred of consciousness from somewhere. His hand was on fire, and the dirt floor room was vibrating, fist closing to stave the blood. He snapped the towel from around his neck and swathed it over the flames to extinguish them and muffle the blood that had almost just created something catastrophic. Breath seethed through his teeth at the first look of the split knuckles, then the ancient load bearing beam he’d been hitting. Wood was also spattered with his blood, quickly wiped off as well. His blood was like gasoline. Once he bled, his spark could ignite a firestorm. When his consciousness this time had fallen into seizure and errored, he’d no idea. Meditation was not new to him, physical training and focus were not new to him. Together, was most definitely not new; it was what gave him the intense control he had. This crack was getting bigger, and he was starting to lose longer moments of time. Under recent intense reflection, he had pinpointed it just to before the binding, before he walked into enemy territory of his own free will. His consciousness had bucked even the strongest of cuffs, and ever since then there had been a tiny leak in his brain. Enough to drip over years, testing his patience, his sanity… breaking open a crack that was swiftly destabilizing an already volatile mix of skills and magic. He could see his past so clearly before the Resonance. His hell after. Then numbness as he was a machine, and now. Now was this person he didn’t recognize. He was calculating, and angry. An angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other. The angel he knew and still loathed, but this devil was seductive and unknown. Now as this person in the deep bowels of the cathedral where even the Vicar didn’t go, he was training again. Why? A deeply thought out plan. Physical training was at the forefront, his specialty was quiet and slick death. He needed to inflict more damage, be able to take more damage. The more damage he took, the crack would split further apart. The more he focused on it, the angrier he became, the angrier he became the more darkness flashed in his field of vision. Somewhere else, something else, and he couldn’t hit hard enough to make it either go away- or find the white rabbit. In the wane electric light of old brick, dirt floors and cement tombs, he just kept hitting, letting the fire flush up from his feet and over his form as his hands fell to his sides and chest heaved before it extinguished. Growl preceded the heels of his hands smacking together and palms thrust forward, the fierce blade of flame from his hands turning almost white as it scorched a brick wall, extinguishing as quickly as his temper tantrum had started. Knees hit the floor and he fell to sit, pushing himself back against the wall with the heels of his Tims. Elbows rested on his knees as he tried to knead the tension out of his skull. It felt like he was splitting apart, and all he wanted was another throat to cut. Or a world to burn.
  19. Working on post & PM replies today. Sorry for delay - only mobile 3 days of the week.

  20. Rorye Shannon-Kearney

    Chasing Ghosts

    January 3, 2022 Evening The Book of Kells Occult Shop Lips pursed as she blew out the flame on the Nag Champa stick. The scent was her favorite, it always clung to skin like a sensual swath of warmth... bringing her back to center wherever she was. The smoke curled upward, then spun in a tight coil as she placed it into a gold burner. She lifted tea to her lips, eyes still on the smoke that left her bookshop of the arcane always in a lazy and intoxicating haze. Almost the end of a long day, the regulars in the teashop the next room over were deep into books and late day conversations. She, was on her favorite stool behind the main counter, eyes wandering over the Sky Disc on the wall she'd risked her ass... Alistair's as well, to go retrieve. Her addiction to collecting everything dangerous and powerful hadn't abated, but without her 'partner in crime' the task had been much less fun and a lot more dangerous. Magus had the ability to kick ass. She on the other hand, was just... fast. Enhanced her ass. Lately... she was regretting throwing her hat in with Arma. A lot. The entrepreneur dealt everything to anyone, if they couldn't use it safely that was their business. Arma had kept her straight. Gave her a code to honor. That code hadn't been seen in over a year. Long sigh preceded her rise from the stool, taking her empty tea mug with her as the pillar of Hell's Kitchen went to retrieve another cup. She needed to pay Arma a visit. Soon. Time to sever ties.
  21. ~CLICK BANNER TO ENTER~ PLOT | SPECIES | CANONS | FACE CLAIM | FIRST LINK | LINK BACKS | DISCORD
  22. Ryan Harker

    An Introduction

    Hey again! I have updated my profile information to reflect my character I am submitting for approval. An FYI for whoever is Zeph's back up approver. That ARMA history shouldn't conflict with my character at all. Though it will probably make him one of their darker agents, operating on the fringe of what is considered "acceptable". At least if they are as conservative as you mentioned. Don't get me wrong Ryan is definitely a guy who doesn't want to kill if he doesn't have to... but once he decides it has to be done, he doesn't hesitate. I didn't specify too much in his profile exactly what he did during the war, but still explained his role in the ARMA / OFL cold war. Understanding now where the factions currently stand shouldn't effect my characters past, but definitely his future. Thanks! I will read your profile and PM if I have more questions.
  23. Cassandra Greene

    An Introduction

    The Cold War truce would've been how it was before(the whole keeping things out of the public, only going up against the OFL if they come at them/endanger someone etc after the win in 2016), which was technically unofficial, but the actual truce called in 2019 was a legitimate one. No deception, no Cold War stuff cause like I said much bigger concern like mutual enemies killing magus of both factions, kidnapped magus, etc. None of that has to do with the direction I'm aiming to take the faction, it's just established details over the years across characters and threads that is pertinent to how ARMA operates since they don't behave like the OFL so essentially if they say there's a truce they're not going to be the ones to break it cause it'd make them look bad. It'd also make them no better than the OFL. Cloak though still has a lot of potential options especially with this Outworlder stuff. Also pertinent details to the ARMA timeline(working on making one so I can put it up for people to reference, but Cass's profile under About Me has some references): Cloak became a thing in IC 2017, it started as an idea then presented by an air magus named Lydia and then developed throughout that year into an actual division basically. Then in early 2019 Aura Edler's(she was a dragon, but not sure how many people beyond certain ARMA folk and her older crew knew) Silverwings(an old faction) merged with ARMA. She became the Overseer, Ali moved down to Commander, and the SHIELD division became a thing. You still have freedom to have your charrie have done stuff during the Cold War thing where stuff might've happened involving OFL magus(though ARMA doesn't kill unless it absolutely comes to that; they're more likely to imprison cause otherwise no better than how the OFL behaved), but when the actual truce comes into play in 2019 that'd have to stop obviously cause OFL magus wouldn't attack either. Anyways, hopefully that helps. Feel free to bombard me with questions in PM or in DM on Discord if you have any others. =)
  24. Ryan Harker

    An Introduction

    Hey Tabs! I am still working on getting Discord up and working... I used it years ago, so its giving me issues with my account now. Anyway, I had a similar understanding of the ARMA / OFL relationship, except I viewed it as more of a Cold War style of truce. While publicly and in part operationally, there is an armistice, a covert Cold War still exists. This war is not by any means the top priority of ARMA. However, it still exists and its primarily the Cloak Division that maintains this front, while simultaneously carrying out missions in support of ARMA's other priorities. I figure the activity of the Cold War has reduced significantly, but probing and espionage still takes place as the two competing factions keep each other "honest." If this works into your plans for the faction, let me know. If not, I can make the minor adjustments to my character, shouldn't be any issues. I am excited to be part of the vision you have for ARMA. Looking forward to working with you. Respectfully, Harker
  25. Thomas Gallo

    Poison in the Well

    Really? Tom didn't think Cassandra could read minds, but the petite Arma agent appeared to respond to an unwitting summons. He'd have growled if the cold hadn't clamped his mouth shut. The badge brandished with the unwritten words, 'We're going to talk.' popping from it. "I know why you are here. Please come inside." Tom held open the door to invite her in. Tom and Cassandra had helped each other in the past. She had been chasing a fugitive that happened into the doors of Thyrsus, assuming that it was some sort of criminal sanctuary. It had seemed like a simple calculus to not stand between a criminal and a police force full of mages. The collateral damage was not likely to be worth it. The fact that this fugitive wound up hurting women and children regularly made even easier. He was fairly certain that Tom was 'left alone' due to this unofficial cooperation. Maybe she could help him with his magic-poison investigation. Once inside, he nodded to Roderick and said, "We'll be in my office. Unless Gaspari himself wishes to speak to me, send whoever comes away." Tom then entered his office and stood behind his desk while motioning to a seat in front of it. "Please, assume I am wrong. What can I help you with, Cassandra?"
  26. Cassandra Greene

    Poison in the Well

    Winter was both welcome and unwelcome to Cassandra. She loved the atmosphere, the layering of clothes, the holiday season, and even the snow, but she could do without the abominable cold. At least this winter — while definitely much colder than previous ones — wasn’t as bad as the winter of 2020. Though that one hadn’t particularly been natural. Of course, it was easy enough to forget the cold when situated before the fire in the library at her and Alec’s place and asleep in his arms when they were both not working, or hidden inside HQ — when the heat decided to cooperate with a building full of magic — doing paperwork and training. It wasn’t quite as easy though when finding oneself out wandering through the blustering winds and flurries cause duty called. It’d be nice if everything could go along peacefully during the cold months, but that was rarely the way of life. Instead another body had dropped on a case that’d been on her desk for a little while now and given the lead that just popped up in connection that meant a little trip to a particular liquor store. “What has you out in this awful weather, Mr. Gallo?” Wouldn’t it just be serendipity that the owner of that connection was himself just stepping out into the chilly night. Cassandra gave her most charming smile as gloved hands tugged down the thick, heavy scarf that wrapped around her neck and shoulders to cover the lower portion of her face. Her long brown hair was contained by a thick, bright yellow beanie that matched the scarf itself, and she was wearing an unbuttoned deep green military coat that reacher her knees over a heavy sweater just a shade lighter and black slacks. She wore her ARMA badge on a strip of leather about her neck so that it hung just below her scarf for anyone that was unsure and anyone with a brain knew that she was armed — and not just with her magic. The ankle-high winter boots she wore today did nothing to increase her 5’5” frame as far as height and that meant having to tilt her neck to look up at the man who was considerably taller. A visit from ARMA wasn’t necessarily bad though sometimes not viewed in a positive light especially by the criminals of New York. Given that they at least had a prior relationship that was built on something akin. . . or perhaps more in the neighborhood of mutual respect she knew that at least he wasn’t going to attack her or do anything stupid. He was level-headed enough not to overreact just cause she approached him on the street. Though the way she planted herself at an angle between him and the door to Thyrsus while casually tucking gloved hands into her pockets would let him know that she wasn’t just passing by the establishment.
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    MODERN FANTASY COLLABORATIVE WRITING RP CATERING TO OLDER PLAYERS (25+) WITH A SLOWER, MORE RELAXED PACE. IN 2010, THE WORLD DRASTICALLY & PERMANENTLY CHANGED BY WHAT BECAME KNOWN AS THE MULTIVERSE RESONANCE EVENT. IN A SINGLE BREATH, OUR WORLD CROSSED WITH AN UNKNOWN NUMBER OF ALTERNATE UNIVERSES, BLEEDING INTO EACH OTHER. EARTH WAS SUDDENLY A REALM OF MAGIC AND MONSTERS. THE STORY IS CENTERED IN NEW YORK CITY BUT EXTENDS ACROSS THE WORLD. IT BLENDS A VARIETY OF GENRES; A MOSAIC OF OVERLAPPING REALMS INCLUDING ELVES, LYCANTHROPES, ALTERED HUMANS AND,OF COURSE, MAGIC.  

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