I think I am here.

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I think I am here. last won the day on October 9 2019

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About I think I am here.

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    I might be here.
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  1. As they trekked through the damp underground of AlleyCity’s sewers, Max stayed near the back of the group, keeping an eye on the way they’d come. A group was useless if no one was watching the back, keeping an eye out for an ambush and making sure no enemy could sneak up behind them. But as they delved deeper and deeper within the complex underground framework, and people started uncovering things, clues, the possibility seemed far-fetched. They hadn’t stayed, hadn’t planned an ambush. The Dustbringer had a friend, and they’d escaped together. “Why did he have a friend just hanging around?” He thought aloud. “Already here, in the sewers, waiting for our Dustbringer and helping him escape? Was it planned? Did the Dustbringer have some sort of SOS signal?” Both possibilities betrayed an intelligence Max wasn’t sure he’d seen in the raging Koloss-blooded. But appearances were deceiving. The grey, leathery skin was an oddity. Fake skin for some robot? Some Epic with a weird ability? A gunshot rang, sudden and sharp, and Max had to blink a couple times before it left. He was used to gunfire, but the echo in this tunnel hadn’t helped the situation. He looked up at where people were gesturing. “With Sethramir, I might be able to shoot a strong plume of wind directly up. That should dislodge it,” he said, summoning the silvery sword in his hand.
  2. Anger bled through Shana’s voice, and while she stared at him, Rob kept his gaze firmly on the retreating Voidbringer, the shrinking figure a lost opportunity, a pile of sand slipping through his fingertips, to be gone before. The Voidbringers woouldnt be so amateur again. They’d improve, learn something new, and when they came back they’d put up more of a fight. From the corner of his eye he could still see Shana staring at him, her stature strong and ready and unmistakably glowing. “He will leave,” she stated, and the way she said it assured Rob there would be no arguing with her. An ultimatum, then. A choice. Now, hesitantly, he looked away from the Voidbringer and at Shana, still keeping the demon in his periphery, as if losing line of sight would make him disappear. But now he could focus on Shana and he turned his body to her fully, crossing his arms and noticing the way she held her weapon, the way emotions leaked from every action she did and every word she said. Hurt, that he was doubting her. Staying perfectly still, he looked into Shana’s eyes. Was he clenching his jaw? He was getting sloppy in holding back his emotion, but this was a frustrating situation, and Shana didn’t help. Would she attack if he tried to subdue the Voidbringer again? Would they fight? For a moment a dark idea intruded into his mind, as if whispered into his consciousness, a thought that was gone just as soon as it had appeared: You would win. And then it was gone, and all Rob was left with was a friend staring up at him, hurt and angry, just wanting to let an unarmed prisoner go. Blinking, he looked to Shana again with new eyes and slowly, imperceptibly, nodded. “Sorry,” he said. This was wasn’t over, far from it. He would find answers. Even if his best opportunity was walking away, aided, of all people, by the friend he trusted the most in the house. The friend who was laying down a choice Rob knew he couldn’t make. He wouldn’t fight his friend. His frustration boiled in his core, a simmering, burning hatred just under the surface of his stillness. Sharply - maybe too sharply - he turned and stared at the Voidbringer, then at Shana again. She was choosing to let a monster go free, but she was still his friend and he’d respect her decision out of respect for her. “Sorry,” he repeated, uncrossing his arms and walking back to Cassie and James. @Sorana
  3. “Our ages. Personality?” Rob shrugged. Cassie was right, the Voidbringers likely knew all of that information already. And this had been their chance to get some information of their own against the threat. Their one and only chance, and he was strolling right out in the open, they were letting him free. But it just felt... wrong. As if they were helping the threat by giving the Voidbringers one extra soldier. If the Radiants needed him gone, why not just remove him? “He’s an important figure among the Voidbringers, right?” He asked and turned towards Cassie. “Would a ransom work?”
  4. The cat didn’t like Rob closing the door to his room, and promptly hopped out of his arms, racing down the stairs. He weakly tried to wave goodbye to it, but couldn’t help purge the sense of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him at the cat rejecting him. No, he’d have to stick to those online videos of cats. Online cats didn’t run away from him. He needed to rest. He was beginning to hear things. Whispers. He turned off his room light and held up the black sphere, it’s cloudy surface obscuring what was beneath. And Rob had to know what was beneath. At school, he’d felt genuine rage for the first time in a while, had come too close to showing it. And at the fight with the Voidbringers, he’d been needlessly aggressive. Why? He had to stay strong. That’s what a good Stoneward did. Stayed strong for his friends. But this sphere was an enigma that eluded him, and though he didn’t want to say it, he didn’t want Doc or James or Ben or Shana or anyone else to see it. It was his, he’d found it and he’d need to figure out what it was by himself. And it wouldn’t be like the others would notice a change, right? They were used to Rob not showing any emotions anyway. Moving to his window, Rob tried to close his blinds before he saw the Voidbringer exiting. And Cassie, James and Shana there, allowing it. If there was one person who knew about the sphere, it was that Voidbringer, and Rob would find answers. Departing from his room, Rob walked downstairs to where Shana and the rest were, near the garage. “What if he gives intel on us?” He asked to any of them, @Sorana @Wyndlerunner @AonEne
  5. Someone coughed. Marcel jolted himself awake, consciousness and memories floating into his mind, names and faces appearing in his vision. Wita, Lewis, Kira, Big Ben, the plot, the one they had to stop. He tried to move but sharp tendrils of agony flashed in his side and he collapsed again, taking deep breaths and clamping his eyes shut. With a shuddering inhale he placed a hand on his abdomen and felt a moistness. Cracking an eyelid open, his worries were confirmed when he raised a bloodied hand. Stab wound, he realised. One of the goons must have nabbed him before he could put them down. Looking up, he saw the rest of Big Ben tower above him. Wita and Lewis were up there, somewhere, putting an end to this. Somewhere along the journey he must have collapsed, and the battle had been too fierce to stop. But he was alive, and while he was almost dead, he wasn’t. Not yet. Slipping a hand into his pocket, Marcel brought out a piece of animal bone, and then his scalpel. Four parts to making a seal, Marcel, he told himself, as if he was back in that house, teaching Wita. First, what type of seal. Immediately, his shaking hands sketched the typical patterns of a conditionals. He took it slow and made sure he did it right, a single wrong stroke would mess the whole thing up. Only his years of experience kept him from messing up too many times. Next, what the actual condition IS. Now, again, his hands went to work, and another ring of markings were made, allowing the bloodseal to detect if his blood drops was far away from each other, indicating an injury And finally, the result. A few markings later, the seal was complete. It was shoddy by Marcel’s standards, a crude, functional stamp, all the artistry gone, but Marcel didn’t need art right now. Bracing himself, he stifled a scream of pain, biting onto the cloth of his sleeve as he pressed the seal to his side to get his blood, then stamped it on the ground, creating a raised pattern on the concrete. The seal flashed, and agony overtook him again as his blood swirled and moved inside of him, and as the blood he’d bled slowly gathered up, pulling back inside him. The bloodseal was the same one he’d made for Kira at the house, a healing seal, and it worked just as you’d expect the result of blood magic to: functional, but painful. As the last of Marcel’s blood pulled from his clothes and re-entered his blood-stream, he could feel his tiredness fading, and his death slowed. He’d medical assistance to patch up the wound, but at least he wasn’t bleeding out. Using the wall behind him for support, Marcel began to stand up, and slowly, but surely, he limped forwards, inching towards the stairs and Lewis, towards Wita and towards the enemies they had to stop. He’d come this far, he wouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves, he wouldn’t abandon them. Not yet.
  6. Rainbowgow. Reval stood on his toes and looked back the way they’d came, but the tops of random people’s heads didn’t help him much and he was left with another choice. The swarm of passing people seemed oppressive now, an obstacle, pushing Reval back and forth, instead of a refuge. He crossed his arms and prepared to tell his sister that there was no use, that this wasn’t as simple as looking around the house, that this was a crowded street and there was a mad gunman hunting them. Maybe he’d even buy another stuffed animal that looked the same and hope Vivi wouldn’t notice. But when he looked down to tell her, he saw her tears, the way she clutched her little backpack, the way looked to him, her big brother, to do something, as if he could magically conjure the stuffed animal out of thin air. But he had to do something. Kneeling down, he made sure to look closely at Vivi’s backpack to make sure she’d closed it properly this time. He stared up at her, at the tears in her eyes, and he sighed, rolling up his sleeves. “Don’t forget to zip it again,” he said quietly, and tried to soften his expression. “Go to the street you pointed at. Tell someone about the cultist. Some lawman. Not Mom or Dad. I’ll meet you by that jewellery shop, if you get lost just head there.” Then he tried to smile, as if that simple action would wipe away his worries, his doubts and his overwhelming fear at meeting the cultist. But he had to keep it in, he knew that. Had to hold it together. Had to know what he was doing, if not for his own sake, then Vivi’s. And if he encountered that cultist again, that shark in this sea of people, then... then he’d think of something when it happened. He stood up, and took out his painrial, the gemstone glowing vibrantly. Then, he pushed his way through the crowd the way they’d came. Towards the cultist. Towards Rainbowglow. @Nohadon *^* The group began to set off, and Max’s food - a sloppily made wrap - arrived just as he began to leave. He paid and thanked the server, even though he knew the wrap would probably contain some inedible Horneater ‘delicacies’. He followed the group to the scene of destruction, but before he jumped down that dark, dark pit, he looked back at Althea. The image of the Dustbringer remained fresh in his head. If he needs help, then we’ll give it to him, he said, then raised a finger. But this isn’t an Epic. Some people are just evil, Thea. And if that’s the case with this Dustbringer friend of ours... Max shrugged. I won’t have you - or anyone, for that matter - risk themselves on a lost cause.
  7. Reval nodded, his heart racing and his mind fully transfixed on the situation. Stupid, he’d been stupid. Taunted someone he could see was dangerous, who he knew was mentally unstable, let his anger hold of him and had crossed the line. And now, he knew he was too far away to attempt any sort of offensive. The cultist specialised in those guns of his, and charging forward would be a death sentence. Without looking behind he darted to the side, pulling Vivi behind him before a gunshot sent his ears ringing and they were immersed in the crowd. If the man wanted to fire at them, he’d need to risk hitting someone in the crowd, which... didn’t seem uncharacteristic of him, Reval decided. How typical, starting something and then backing away. You think that’s how a warrior fights? He turned to Vivi and hoped he hadn’t yanked her too hard. “Stay low, and stay in the crowd,” he instructed, then hesitated for a moment, biting his lip in frustration. “And... burn copper, okay?” He hated asking the question, but if the man could track them, they’d need to stay hidden. Taking deep breaths, Reval took the moment of time to let his heart still. Problem: Chased away by enemy. Solution for next time: pre-emptively strike before they do. —-+-— Max settled in a stool, listening to the others while he waited for his food. He thought about saying something, but they all were discussing strategy and filling in newcomers, and so he remained silent. If anything got too heated he’d try to solve the situation, but for the most part he was content to let Althea handle it, even if that Captain was a little annoying. The Captain. Max smiled when the discussion shifted to see if the Dustbringer needed help, instead of killing him outright. Max hadn’t seen the man with his own eyes, but he had Rioted him, and that had worked well enough. Maybe the man was unstable. The unstable were more susceptible to his zinc. See if the Dustbringer needs help. Like we did with Solace, ages ago. He smiled at the memory, and nodded. A good plan, indeed.
  8. To shamelessly copy-and-paste my previous answer to another person who asked this question: Now, you choose any thread you'd like (that's active, I should add ) like the Hospital or Masked Dance thread, then... write your character. Meet with other people's characters, interact, and viola! You're in the RP. Beyond that, it's (almost) complete freedom to do what you want.
  9. Correct! Apologies for not responding sooner Freya fits well within the point limits, being a first-ideal Edgedancer (85) and skilled with a quarter staff (35, since I noted it down as Average). Her weaknesses are good, and it’s good you’re RPing her learning her surges! Most Radiant characters start off with perfect knowledge of them (I myself have been found guilty of this ). Approved! @Lord_Silberfarben I really like the unique powerset here! I admit, the index doesn’t really have a point count for specific forms, but it does state it’s 20 points for being a singer, so I’ll add that, and I’ll add 10 points for basic enhanced agility and strength (but not pewterarm levels, I assume), and I’ll add another 10 points for the weak gusts of wind and the lightning (since he doesn’t have control over where it goes. If he did, the points value would obviously be much higher). The weaknesses are related to his backstory and impact him strongly, and so I approve this character!
  10. The words were angry and dripping with threatening connotations before Reval even saw the gun in the air. Everything after that seemed just ritual formality; the lantern light glinting off the polished metal, a dim light dwarfed by a fiery flash and a deafening boom as Reval leaped to the side, feeling a rush of air whiz past his leg and a bullet embedding itself into the concrete where he’d been standing. Though he knew he was in a speed bubble, everything seemed to be going in extra-slow motion. He looked up. The man was already a small distance away. Quickly Reval looked down, but the bullet had made a hole through his cloak, not his leg, thankfully. Still, he had a few grazes from throwing himself into the ground to dodge, and before he could think of a counter-move his mind screamed at him about Vivi, and he suddenly regretted starting a duel in the middle of a celebration, with his sister around, no less. Too many variables, reminded the little voice in the back of his mind. Too many variables to ensure a win, and you still threatened him. “Vivi!” He called out and jumped towards her. “We should run,” he said quickly. “Escape. No use fighting.” He glanced at the cultist and hoped the man wouldn’t give chase. But if he did — well, Reval would have to think of something.
  11. *sad Teft noises* Great roast!
  12. Max crossed his arms as the fire brigade arrived, the sirens’ echoes amplified by the alleys. He tapped a smidge of his metalminds and Rioted their determination, unsure whether it would work. Sometimes they’d have aluminium built in those helmets of theirs, so no bad guy could influence their mind while they tried to stop a fire. But Max had to try anyway. Those firemen deserved a bit of good Rioting, going around the city and doing their jobs on a night most were out celebrating. He turned to Brin’s offer and the new girl who’d arrived on the scene. Things were quiet now, finally. Peaceful, at least somewhat. He glanced to Althea’s acceptance and looked towards Brin’s suggestion of a Horneater place. “Sounds good to me,” he said, trying on a smile, though he was a bit top emotionally exhausted to make it genuine. But having a drink certainly sat well with him. “I might even get something to eat, despite your warnings. It can’t be that bad.”
  13. Could I request an extra day? Roast is on the way!
  14. Max nodded, though he knew Althea wouldn’t be able to see it. Smoke was everywhere here, but the bigger flames had been taken care of. And the rest - the professionals, the fire department or whoever else would deal with it. But the building was safe, mostly, and there was no risk to any of the tenants... unless that Dustbringer returned. Gone, she’d said. Max hummed to himself a little, happy that his Rioting had helped her, and began to make his way down the building, staircase after staircase. He could have cut a hole in the side and jumped out, cushioned his fall with wind, but although he knew the gist of Sethramir’s wind-controlling powers, he wanted to practise more in a controlled environment before doing anything too complicated. Gone. Max suppressed his anger with relief at Althea being outside and safe. He doubted the flames would be able to harm her physically, she was far too capable for that. But he knew how she got around fire. He’d need to thank the other Radiant who’d helped... even if it had ended up with them driving the Dustbringer into this building. Finally he rounded another corner and walked out of the building’s main doors, crossing his arms and walking towards Althea. She looked exhausted. We’ll find him eventually, he tried to reassure her. He can’t run forever. For a second the mission-oriented mask fell, his words about the Dustbringer feeling empty when he finally stood next to her. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice slightly hoarse because of all the smoke, and he cleared his throat.