i really can't do it myself. Please come to me and remove me, if you know what i mean. Write me via Gmail(see the name of the thread) or telegram (+38 097 574 1911).
Updates will be attempted daily! At worst, expect an update every 2 days instead of one. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.
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<span class="mu-i">In the year 1884, within a world much like our own, the country has fallen under threat from all manner of otherworldly creatures!</span>
Demons have begun laying waste to our great United States! They wield powers matched only by nature's own, combatting her natural fauna with their own unnatural forces! Control over fire, lightning, even one's own perception of reality... such creatures are not to be trifled with, and best avoided!
Yet, despite this common-sense advice, there exist people eager to ignore it! Walter Roy Buchanan, an aspiring naturalist from New York state, is one such person. He believes not in these demons' immense danger to human life, but in their utility to humanity! He sees them as more than mere threats-- instead, he considers these "neofauna" to be the key to humanity's future.
Walter carries with him four such creatures: a wounded sheep with the power to rend Heaven's lightning unto earth, dubbed "Mary"; a gentle silkworm five times the size of his earthly ilk, dubbed "Taylor"; an anxious young elemental with the power to paralyze his foes, dubbed "Florian"; a fiery young stallion with a mane made of flame, dubbed "Aster". He is joined, too, by two human companions: a wealthy state-and-businessman known as Thomas J. Steele (with his own demon, dubbed Indiana), and Thomas' hired bodyguard: a man by the name of "Andrew," whose own interest in demons almost seems to match Walter's enthusiasm!
These three gentlemen belong to a group of rebels named the Staters, brought together by State Governor C. P. Huntington's atrocities and kept together by their intimidating leader: Aaron Muyr. They have recently suffered multiple consecutive losses: their headquarters were compromised, several of their members were killed in a raid on their base of operations, and the entire city's military presence has been strengthened in response to their activities... all within merely a few days! The Staters exist now as a motley band of young men and other disgruntled citizens, working to dethrone Huntington and save California state from his murderous hatred of neofauna, never meeting in the same place for longer than an evening so as to avoid further disaster. Walter has become an invaluable asset to the group, working to boost their morale and teach members about how best to befriend and utilize neofauna to their advantage while personally tutoring Muyr in the matter for payment.
>The human king has declared war on the Inchling Kingdom to take their land and people for himself What will you do? How do you plan to help the Inchlings, or shall you help them at all?
Some jackass with blinged out shades and an afro just ran you over with his bright red sportscar
Your body got sent flying into the air and crashed into a dumpster, but that wasn't what killed you.
Nor was it the coyote living in the dumpster. Oh, it mauled you real good and made you question the state of society, where dangerous animals like that roamed free in the city streets, but despite everything you <span class="mu-i">were</span> going to make it.
Even getting hit with a splash of corrosive acid - thrown by a fine young gentlemen who was probably aiming for the nearest unaccompanied woman scurrying about in violation of his peoples' religious law - would not be enough to kill you. Scar you and melt some of the flesh off your face? Of course! The pain was agonizing.
Deadly? Nope! As a proud Brit born and raised in London, you of course kept a stiff upper lip and did your best to keep calm and carry on. Even the local urban youth, who put a pause in their beatings of that poor oriental woman to come put a few more bruises could not get you down. For King and Country you would endure, just as your old man endured the bombings of blitz!
At least, until, the worst thing imaginable happened. You said something bad on the Twitter... wait, no, it's the X now that a certain Boer gentleman purchased it from the Yanks. Well, he is a Yank, but still.
"Oi!" five and a half seconds after you posted that, a bobby came up. "You got a loisence for that hate speech?"
"Blimey old chap, didn't mean nothin' by it," you tell the bobby, but he ain't having it. Sure, there's blood where the coyote bit you, and your shoulder's still a bit dislocated, and the bruises from the lads with the bats, but he's got a point. Complaining like that on the internet is just no good. "Just havin' an off day is all. First a bloke with a car near ran me over, then a coyote tore right into me, it did! Where'd that even come from, ain't those from across the pond?"
"Mate, I get your meaning, but still," the bobby claps you on the shoulder, the one partially melted from the acid. "You can't go sayin' that sort of thing on the Twitter... or the X. What have you. Let alone the new Brits who might think ya <span class="mu-i">did</span> mean sommat by it - an' I know you didn't, but the optics mate! - you might hurt the politicians' feelings."
"Oh shite, well now I feel right awful about meself," you apologize to the bobby. "No, wait, that's the acid. Think your clap got it into me bloodstream and now it's melting me heart."
"Right then, my mistake, shoulda just clapped ya in irons and brought you to the Yard," the bobby apologizes back to you. Unfortunately, you can barely hear him, as your consciousness has already begun to fade. "I'll let you off with a warning this time. Steady on!"
You are L2S Trollslayer Fiona Jarnafeldt, and you have so many better things to do with your time. At least, such you thought as you rode down the elevator to the most secretive corner of the Helsinki Stormwatch, a deep underground coven of researchers and inventors known as the Undercroft.
You have so many better things you could be spending your time with right now. For example, you were injured in a fight earlier today against a <span class="mu-i">giant living breathing tree</span> that was a rogue member of a seclusive cabal of researchers and exmilitary brandishing a shotgun with an axe bit strapped to it, and you still powered through and chopped its head off. Your mother has just returned from a wild and outrageous journey around the north pole for the last twenty years, and has finally returned. Tomorrow you'll have a mission to rescue some people from cannibals in the stormdrains under Helsinki and you need some sleep. There's a great number of reasons you should be in bed.
But now, that very same day as all of these things occurred, Katriina Jousten, the Stormwatch Director and woman who was shot and savagely mauled by the tree from earlier, has decided it was time to orchestrate some bullshit tests based on whatever tech she has cooked up.
And you can't even complain about it, because with you is your fellow Stormwatch agent L2 Manhunter Saemus Fahy. an Irish guy who has zero concept that you, Katriina, and several others were fighting a rogue government agent that's coincidentally a fucking tree. You can't spill the beans, and neither can she. Talking around the cause of both of your injuries is going to be annoying.
But Katriina should be resting too. She was injured, <span class="mu-i">grievously</span> injured, and she has decided to run some tests late into the evening? What's gotten into her?
Growing up hearing stories about adventurers, you always wanted to become one yourself. Their tales of glory and defeating fearsome monsters to acquire riches have always held a great fascination to you. In your sixteenth birthday, once you became an adult, you decided to go out into the world!
Your great grandfather was once a Flame Knight, the order that protects the Emperor. His old sword is still laying around the house, shiny and sharp as ever - perhaps it is even magical!
Your father would never let you take the family heirloom, so one night you just grab it and run away. It would be yours, one day, so why not now?
Besides your prized sword in its scabbard, you only have a backpack with a week worth of food and a dagger.
Where do you wanna head next?
> To the north lands, to test your steel against the barbarians > To the west port of Mithrail, where you can travel to distant lands > To the east towards the capital Flamenherz, to seek your destiny > To the south towards the elven lands, to find worthy companions > Write in
