The Abraham Gazette Are WE the aliens? In an official statement from the Redwood Naval and Air Base confirmed many strange roomers that have been spreading ever since The Flash had occurred. ‘’It had been confirmed that we been displaced into a new planet and that the local population of our new location include peoples who could be described as being other than human, as well as confirming that unexplained phenomena the locals describe as ‘Magic’ had been occurring among select individuals both American and otherwise. So far both seem to be of minimal risk to American life and property in these trying times. On behalf of all the brave men and women who are responding to this crisis, we once more express the importance to remain calm.’’
Such ‘local population’ appears to consist of a diverse array of peoples, with reports and images including everything from creatures akin to elves from works like The Hobbit to reptilian humanoid creatures that some have been calling ‘Mole-Men’ mixed in with a larger population that appears indistinguishable from the various races of humanity. Even the talk of ‘devilish people’ has been confirmed by the U.S. Navy personnel willing to comment on the situation we find ourselves in. Already several locals have encountered these strange ‘’Ozzlings’’ and here is what they have to say;
‘’By all indications, We should be asking these people to take us to their leaders’’ an anonymous source within the twin bases commented. ‘’All around us are islands and boats of these medieval magical people and they have stuff we need to survive. We do have a technological edge but so did Custer, we know how well that ended without this ‘magic’ being a factor’’
‘’I don’t know what these people are about’’ a fisherman shared while offloading he’s catch ‘’But we need to help ourselves before we help these magical refugees or whatever.’’
‘’They seem to be a good people among bad times’’ Scout Master David Miller stated after being helped by the Ozzling ship. ‘’Not unlike the pilgrims or any number of other people who fled from all sorts of deprivations. It was not to long ago our own for-fathers was on their own ‘Morning Flowers’-’‘ referring to the name of the sailing ship in English. ‘’-looking for safe harbors to call home’’
‘’We shouldn’t let these… ‘people-’’’ a disgruntled police officer who requested to be unnamed stated, putting air quotes around ‘people’ ‘’-Waltz into our islands. Hell- our laws and constitution was made with humans in mind, not some green skin freaks or lizard-creatures…. If one of them cause trouble I don’t know if we i should take them to the jail or the pound.’’
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 gates of Felcross are behind you now. The city where you were raised, the city of your first failures and rare achievements, the last great city on the way east. You look back, as if to say goodbye. There is nothing of worth left for you there, only your bickering family and your more successful peers.
You are a wanderer now. On your belt is a sword, on your back - a bag with tools, travelling gear, some money - whatever was left after your purchases - and rations. They won't last long, but you'll think of solving this later. Two javelins fit nicely in the quiver, slung over your shoulder close to the travelling bag.
Barely a man, not a youth, you start down one of the roads. You don't know much of the world, but you've had dreams. Dreams of power, people bowing to your might, of... freedom, to do what you want, however indulgent your desires may be. Of immortality, like in the tales of the Flower Harbringer and the Collector of Names.
They are far away, but one who doesn't begin his journey will most certainly never see its end.
You possess basic ability in the way of the sword and the javelin, having been given basic training for the militia, like any able man of the kingdom. You also know your way around the streets, courtesy of your upbringing. You can repair and take care of your weapon, and know the basics of crafting, having helped around the smithy for a time. You think you can survive on the road and subsist if need came. That's about all you are capable of.
You heard the road east leads to the frontier, the outlands. Not completely devoid of settlement, it is, nevertheless, a dangerous place - some of the monsters manage to sneak into the heartlands of the kingdom of Hien, not to speak of these wild lands, where they may have greater reign. Their distance from the heartlands means all kind of folk flock there, sometimes good in heart, but often dark. It also means greater freedom, whatever the cost. At least, that's what the caravans and travellers from that land told you when they passed through Felcross.
"Only madmen go east," your grandpa once said spitefully. "Those that don't know the worth of a family at your back or a proper home you can return to." Didn't stop one of your elder brothers from going there. Didn't stop you.
The road is calm for a few days as you pass by caravans going west. You didn't have enough money to buy your place in one, so you're going alone.
After the sun sets on the 4th day of travel, you consider making camp, like the previous days, but see a light further down the road. Approaching closer, you see a person sit by the campfire, a man, if you read their build correctly. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, tinkering with something in his hands. A tent is pitched nearby, and a spear rests by the fire. The faint scent of herbs and medicine drifts in the air. The smoke, too, of course. (1/2)
Since the arrival of the Eilistraeans, the entire Tenpenny estate has been refurbished, many of its rooms converted to dormitories and facilities all funded by Emitia. The girl spared no expense in providing for your people, ensuring that the building is staffed and adequately supplied, insisting that Sune will provide for them until the children are grown enough to provide for themselves. While you've not acquired the artisanal techniques of your people, there are many skills that you can impart besides fighting - the survival techniques from your ranger training and affinity for dance chief among them.
But you've a more immediate concern that demands your attention - impressing upon these children the culture of the Ilythiiri that was lost with their elders. They speak the local surfacer language, are ignorant to their illustrious history, and have no understanding of who they truly are, something that you have been working diligently to remedy as of late.
The old gallery, once filled with Tenpenny's vulgar paintings, has been completely redone into a library filled with fiction and realmslore. Rows upon rows of dark wood shelves sitting on white tile, surrounding a common area, the chairs arranged in a semicircle around yourself. In attendance are the children, who sit in anticipation of your lecture, their benefactor Emitia Rouzet, High Sorcerer Lael Lathalas, and his apprentices.
What, you wonder, will be the topic of today's lesson? >Today I will tell them the storied history of Menzoberra the Kinless, one of Lolth's most powerful priestesses and the founder of the city Menzoberranzan itself. >It is time for a lesson on Ilythiirra. They are learning the basics of our language well enough, but it is important to review regularly.. >I will tell them more of our homeland, the Underdark, Of its many cities and peoples that inhabit it. >[Write-in.]
All around the world, various individuals have been empowered by a mysterious influence known as the Incarnation system, granting supernatural abilities and strength designed to emulate the divine might of the classical pantheons. Even as humanity gained strength, another influence hellbent on devouring the universe, the <span class="mu-s">Uncrowned King</span> prepares to transgress into the confines of Earth’s reality using its foolish worshippers as a door.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin, though her title and its implications are now mostly in name only as she sheds the training wheels of the system to finally, truly enter the realm of godhood. Now, in the final days of Earth as she has known it, Atë makes the finishing touches to her new source of strength while enjoying what may be the rest of her life as a human.
Here it is– the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">end of the line</span></span>.
You and Pheme float down the ice-cold waters of the lazy river, warm sun wrapping your skin in a comfortable heat as you splay out on a double-floatie lackadaisically training your eyes on a couple (seemingly) bickering in the frozen margarita line.
“Drinking problem?” You take a shot in the dark, “The chick has a glass but the guy doesn’t. Might be a refill?”
“Swimsuit’s pretty skimpy, and she’s flaunting it too,” Pheme shakes her head, miming the tiny strings barely covering her sunkissed skin with her fingers, “Maybe jealousy.”
“Maybe it’s the guy, actually,” you continue her train of thought, “Promised he wouldn’t be jealous, changed his mind when he saw hotter guys drooling over his girl?”
“Maaybe,” she lets her arm flop down onto your face, forcing you to dip your own hand in the river and splash her in retaliation. She recoils like a cat hit with a spray bottle, nearly tumbling out of her seat and into the water. You see her begin to retaliate, but she changes course, instantly whipping around and covering you with her body as she cranes her neck to meet the person behind her. “She’s not interested,” she hisses at presumably a guy who was presumably staring at you.
“I’m not here to flirt,” a familiarly obnoxious British voice chimes back, “Unless, of course, she’d be into that sort of thing.”
An icy wind blows through the small, barred window of the interrogation room threatening to put out the only torch illuminating the small cramped space. The sound of dripping water patters to the ground in uneven drops as the icicle that had formed under the torch's sconce hours ago melted from the heat of the flame. It was an almost defiant sound as the water refused to return to it's icy prison. It was this battle of the elements that seemed to add to the tension of the small room. Across the table from you were a pair of guards clad in plate and chain mail. One of the two bore a full helm that he never removed. Part of you wondered why. With the temperatures so cold, it must have been incredibly uncomfortable to wear ice cold metal over their head. Or perhaps the helmet was slightly stuffy as most of the man's breath would be contained within the helmet thus keeping it warm.
The sound of something slamming into the table pulls you away from your thoughts. "I'm telling you. We know as much as you do!" Irene shouts as she glares daggers at the two men in front of you. The two of you had been in detainment for about an hour or so after the fight. The guard directly in front of you, a rather serious man who was clearly at the end of his patience speaks up once more.
"And we're telling you that it makes no sense that two foreigners, who just recently arrived, immediately find signs of heresy in our city. So we can only assume that you might have had something to do with this." He says, his arms crossed and hands tugging irritably at one of his sleeves. Irene throws her hands up in the air.
"What more do you want us to say? That we're here to kill the High Priest? Maybe burn the whole city of Valford and it's surrounding towns to the ground?!" Irene shouts back. "We've told you already! We're just travelers!"
"You'd do well to keep your servant in check, sir. Her outbursts look poorly on your house." The guard grunts out through gritted teeth.
"I'm not his servant! I'm his teammate! He's not even a noble!" Irene continues to shout. The two of them had been arguing in circles for quite some time and it seemed that the only thing you and the other guard had in common was that neither of you seemed to have the opening to speak up. Part of you found it very amusing and another part of you found it rather fascinating. Irene was never like this outside of the game. She was always far more calm and collected. As a matter of fact, you don't think you'd ever seen her angry at work.
Katya found herself in a small, well reinforced and rather dark chamber. The only source of light was a softly humming red light, her looking up at it and awaiting what would happen next. An alarm sounded from behind the metal door in front of her, before there was a hiss of air. The doors slid open, Katya looking a little uncomfortable as she blocked out the bright and sudden light with her wing. "Step forward, subject ATO-4013." A calm voice would say over the intercom, the young and still small owl subject doing as told. The chamber she was in was rather large, sterile and empty. Katya tilted her head and looked at all the tiny details she could spot. Dents on the wall, spots where large stains had clearly been, and even some bullet holes. And looking up and to the side, Katya saw some glass, behind which several scientists stood, including her very own father...
Katya would smile and wave a little bit, though would quickly feel a soft shock around her neck. "Do not interact with the staff, ATO-4013." Roraima's voice echoed over the intercom, Katya looking down and nodding quickly. Katya would keep looking around, soon noticing a metal door on the other side of the room. Katya quietly looked at it, already hearing that something was waiting behind it. "Subject ATO-4013, todays training will be different from previous trainings. Instead of facing off against mock targets or facility staff, you will now train with another subject. You are authorised to use any and all force to defeat said subject. Is this clear?" Katya looked horrified. Never before had she had to hurt a subject before. She was scared of hurting what was essentially one of her siblings. Though, she was also terrified of upsetting Roraima. She didn't want to be shocked, or worse. And yet, she also didn't want to hurt anyone innocent. "Y-Yes, Roraima." She said whilst trying to hide her fear. After all, she knew that Roraima hated seeing fear, even if this left Katya terrified...
Katya saw the doors open, her trying to remain calm, as her opponent revealed themselves. The subject in front of her was one she had seen before, but never really talked to. It was a completely dark subject. Her hair was pitch black, her skin a similar deep dark hue. She had three large dark horns which connected to her back which appeared similar to that of a beetle. Her hands appeared like large black daggers, almost looking reminiscent of a mantis' claws. She was a foot taller than Katya, but was still only 5 feet, small for a subject. Her white cloths which covered her torso were the only thing which did not appear completely black, along with her confident red eyes. The subject had a calm, confident yet reassuring smile, stepping forward as if they were just formally meeting. "Subject AB-90, you will fight against subject ATO-4013. You are authorised to use any level of force against her. So long as you do not hold back. Is this clear?!" Roraima said in a more agitated tone.
Of the sky, the wind running along your skin, whistling in your ear till you can't hear yourself think. Sometimes it's a storm with you at its center, watching it crush everything in its path, thunder rolling, lightning splitting the world. Or space, where there's no noise, nothing weighing you down. Just infinity punctuated by stars.
Your alarm drags you awake.
The same drab ceiling with paint chipping at the corner stares back at you like always. The room's humid again from sleeping with the windows shut. Your routine never changes: get up, eat whatever's in the fridge, shower, work construction for twelve hours, come home dead, repeat.
Your name is Arthur Carr. You live in a run-down apartment, work dead-end construction jobs. And tomorrow, your niece who you haven't seen in years is coming.
Your mother had four children; you being the youngest. None of you grew up well-adjusted. Your eldest sister Rosie married a cop who uses her for a punching bag. She convinces herself that getting abused is part and parcel of the "good life," whatever the hell that means.
Irene, second oldest, grew up hating everything about herself and her family—-an ambitious overachiever, always with a barb loaded behind her tongue. The first chance she got, she fled with some rich boyfriend. Last you knew, she’d gone to school and divorced her boyfriend turned husband, she defends pharmaceutical companies for enough money that she can afford to forget where she came from
April was only a few years older than you, but when you were a kid, you sometimes imagined she was your mother. She was kind and reliable in all the ways your real mother wasn't. She stayed the longest, because of you. You don't let yourself think about her anymore.
It's April's daughter who's coming to live with you. The social workers made it clear you weren't their first choice, so you can only imagine how bad things must be with Rosie and Irene. Though Irene probably refused outright—that's her style.
You're halfway through a cup of coffee when a knock at the door comes.
You open and the social worker stands in your doorway. Her raven hair reaching to her shoulders, she's wearing that same unreadable expression as in all your previous meetings.
Your niece stands at her side. You got the date wrong. <span class="mu-i">How dammit?</span> "Hello, Uncle Arthur."
The girl's voice barely makes it across the threshold. You've met her three times— once when she was born and two supervised visits where the social worker did most of the talking while you sat there just listening.
It takes you half a second too long to respond. Uncertainty worms into her eyes.
The worker shoots you a look that breaks you out of your stupor. You get down to her level, smile wide and do your best to give a good impression.
You are a wizard of the Tower. You have come of age and are now considered a journeyman of your order. You must go out into the strange and alien outside world for the first time to learn from it, take from it, and give back what you will.
Wizardry is a vast collection of arts and disciplines that amount to more knowledge than any one man could learn in a lifetime. However, all are roads that join together into the singularly divine path of magic. Your time in the tower has started you down the path of three. Each of these pursuits represent a lifetime commitment and will never be abandoned or added onto. The Tower emphasizes singular mastery above varied mediocrity.
>Path of War: You can kill and defend yourself with magic. You wear magic armor and carry a mystical blade crafted by your own hand. Your dragon is similarly armed and armored, and has likewise been trained in the arts of war to serve as your flying war mount. Other disciplines can be bent to a more martial application when used in conjunction with this one.
>Path of the Healer: You can mend wounds and cure the sick and dying. You are versed in various methods protection against maligned powers. You know much of the secrets of herbs and animals. Your dragon is larger and healthier than others of his kind because of the beneficial powers you have surrounded him with since hatching him. He can share his life force with you when you're in need of it. Other disciplines can be bent towards a more constructive and beneficial end when used in conjunction with this one.
>Language of the Spirits: You know how to commune with the elements. You carry in some form a sample of True Earth, Fire, Water, and Air by which to work with the four pillars of creation. Other disciplines gain immense power when used in conjunction with this one.
>Necromancy: You commune with the souls, remains, and remnants of men and beasts that have since moved on from this world, yet still linger. Great wisdom and knowledge, as well as power can be learned from those that have come before. Threats by which no mortal power can overcome may be dealt with more directly when using this strange and darkest of arts. When used in conjunction with other magic deeper meaning, greater insights, and mysteries undreamed of by mortal man open up to you. Your dragon may take you to the borders of the afterlife, but not even he can move beyond them.
(To everyone who signed up, I hope you are ready. I know I am. I have decided to start us south of the entrance to Eirenopolis (One of the largest cities of the north, lead by the priesthood of Selene). Your path takes you north, running parallel to one of the world's major mountain ranges. To your left, you can see foothills and vast plainlands. The group is abord an airship, by direct order of Mechaine. You are being sent to verify the strength of the Men of Iron. They are situated near a great breach, which leads directly into the prison which holds the blacklight. An esoteric field is all that holds it in, and the machines which maintain this field draw all matter of creatures which must be held off. Please enjoy!) You have each been picked, to reasons known to none but Mechaine, to operate one of the very first prototype airships. Speed is of the essence, which is why you use this vehicle. However, to avoid being spotted, you are forced to go around the long way, and approach the great breach from the north, where Bellatist territory does not span. As such, you will soon be passing by Eirenopolis, and will travel east through the Northern Mountain Kingdoms, before once again heading south. Your ship is somewhat low on supplies, and you will need to stop to get more soon. While you could likely reach the Northern Mountain Kingdoms before you ran out of food or fuel, the area is harsh, and finding supplies is likely to be difficult. Accompanying you are a few ship hands and engineers, who are responsible for seeing the ship in good maintenance. Who are you, and what do you wish to do?
