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Found 10 results

  1. A large building sits in an out of the way street. Once in disrepair, the interior now shines brightly with stormlight. The walls are lined with bookshelves, and tables and chairs dot the room. A smaller building sits behind the first, also marked with the symbol of the guild. A large desk lurks in the back of the room, behind which the leader, Aln, can often be seen working. On the frotn window hangs the following sign: The Scholar's Guild Welcome to the headquarters of the Scholar's Guild. As an entirely non-combative guild, our mission is to gather knowledge and spread education throughout the Alleyverse and surrounding worlds. We strive to discover the true nature of the universe, through scientific study and research. All are welcome, whether you bring a question or an answer. If you wish to join the Scholar's Guild, and dedicate yourself to the gathering and spreading of truth, please enter and speak to the Head Scholar of the Guild, Alanis Sheneth [Rushu42]. Current Scholars: Deceased/Inactive Members: A neatly handwritten note was affixed to the door. "I can't hear you knock; please just come in."
  2. The building was large; three stories with a flat roof, the bricks washed a bright white. It was shaped like a giant cube, of equal dimensions on every side. Over the ironwood double doors that guarded the only entrance to the building menacingly was an enscription scrawled in splattered, crimson paint: The Bleeding Spike. Damon strolled into his tavern and looked around, nodding with satisfaction. The interior of the building had a low ceiling, of the same wood as the doors, with an expansive floor to match. There was a neat row of tables every three meters. The chairs were of low quality, for he had spent most of his money on every other part of the tavern before purchasing the seats. A massive oak bar wrapped around three walls of the room, the one at the far end well stocked with alcahol, that being one kind of saphire wine, two types of whiskey, thin ale, and a cheap red wine. The bar on the left contained assorted swords and daggers from the cheapest stainless stiletto to the finest aluminium-edged longswords. The bar on the right had scores of firearms stocked behind it on racks. The third wall had a stage for performers and executions next to a staircase to the rooms above. Damon smiled...alcahol and deadly weapons, the perfect mix. He was tired of life on the run and felt that there was nothing he would ever rather do than spend his remaining years a barkeep. He went back outside and pasted a poster that read "NOW OPEN AND HIRING" onto the bright wall. MENU* 1. CHEAP WINE PORT 2 C 2. HIGH QUALITY PORT 4 C 3. SAPPHIRE WINE 4 C 4. CHEAP WHISKEY 3 C 5. 15 YEAR AGED SINGLE MALT WHISKEY 5 C 6. DARK LAGUR 2 C 7. LIGHT LAGUR 2C 8. FIREARMS- INDIVIDUAL PRICE LISTINGS. 9. EDGED WEAPONS - INDIVIDUAL PRICE LISTINGS 10. ROOM FOR THE NIGHT - 100 C** *25% discount for members of the Ghostbloods. **Clips He threw open the doors and ran to the bar, where he waited, patiently. After all, if his tavern suffered the fate of a certain other tavern, he would be altogether destitute.
  3. At the end of an Alleyway, a nondescript building a haphazard sign hung above the door. Anarchy Incorporated Bringing down organisations Inside the building, there is a desk, and behind that desk, there is a swivel chair that spins around to reveal a person wearing a dark brown trenchcoat, scuffed boots, a feathered tricorne hat, a faded scarf, hobo gloves, and a black cloak. The outfit would have looked strange on anyone else, but somehow this individual pulled it off. A metal nameplate indicates that this person is named "The Anarchist".
  4. A Silvery Tower dominated the Night. At the end of a particularilly twisty Alley, next to a nooky building, stands the Silberturm. It is tall enough to impose its sight upon the horizon of the city, but the alleys, as is their nature, hid it from sight until it stumbled upon. Above the silver weathered door is a sign. Its Blood red resalting from the Silvery stone of which the tower was made. The Trader's Heaven If you seek to trade this is the right place Offer any service or good and we will give you customers. likewise, ask for any and we will get you a provider. Free membership. Confidentiality and Profit Members Lord-Son-Son-Son-Silberfarben -- Leader
  5. She was early. Zokora nearly cursed herself for not having taken the time to change into something else but her costume, but it was too late now. She had hurried to the Archives, had only taken the time to stuff her mask into her bag, not bothering to change into something more suitable for work. Her skin crawled when she imagined the looks at her cloths, probably everybody else would change first before coming here – despite being a member for nearly two years now, she still felt a bit left out at times. She knew many didn’t trust her, suspect she was nothing but a spy, when she was only looking for a place where she belonged, where she could live in peace and do something that was worth her time. The report. She didn’t know what it contained, probably classified. Or she had simply been left out as happened so often. Let her find out on her own, she was just an unwelcome addition and there were times when she wondered why she was even here. She could have stayed, done her job, it couldn’t have been worse than this. But it had been. And so, after long conversations with Althea, after deciding if it was worth the risk she had left. Had sworn an oath to keep silent about what she knew and had left. And surprisingly nobody had removed her so far. Her eyes moved over to the thick, Aon covered door that lead down into the Archives was, that whatever was waiting down below was dangerous. Dangerous enough that they had decided to call her in to that mission. A stoneward tended to be helpful when facing an uncertain situation. She leaned against a nearby wall and crossed her arms. As soon as the rest of the team had arrived they could start their descent. She had been told that they would need to pass by the first three floors. These were the ones that were used most regularly. Everything below though. She had heard that it was a maze, staircases and huge rooms, leading deep into the soil beneath the city. If there had been a map, it was lost, or at least it hadn’t been shown to her. She had never been down there before, only heard the stories about weird things taking place down there. About creatures and secrets that had been hidden for so long they had forgotten they even existed. Excitement rose like a flower inside of her chest. Excitement and hope. Maybe she could finally prove herself, show them that she was trustworthy.
  6. The city was alive. The thought crossed her mind while she walked through the streets, all around her laughing, celebrating people. The streets seemed to glow in the light of the lampions hanging everywhere, their shapes and sizes varying with the people that had hung them up. She knew there would be fires in the larger and smaller places, carefully watched by a few who had offered to keep an eye on the flames. A tiny smile touched her lips as she allowed herself to be swept along by the crowd moving towards one of the larger places nearby. They all had spent the day inside, had considered the last year, had pondered over mistakes had decided on things they wanted to do in the future. But now, now the time for silence, for quiet thoughtfullness was over. Now it was time to celebrate, to forget about the past for a moment, about the wars and the destruction that had happened so regularly for the past years. She could feel it, could see it in the faces, in the eyes of those around her. Tonight was dedicated tp the present. Tonight they were alive. She stopped in front of a stall and bought herself a drink that smelled like a mixture of lemon and kiwi and then continued, walked along the street, her face carefully hidden behind a green mask depicting a spren. Nearly everybody wore them, some faces easy to recognize despite their unusual adornment, others completely anonymus behind larger, more complicated ones. She saw the old figures of myth, the old gods of this world, new heros of the movies, creatures from all the worlds that came together in this place, some so weird she had no idea what or who they were supposed to represent. Despite the pleasant, festivious mood she kept her eyes open, couldn't quite suppress her instinct to look for a threat, to make sure nobody was trying to use the situation for their benefit. She couldn't see anybody, saw no sign of anything that tipped her off, but she allowed herself her awareness, didn't try to stop her eyes from covertly roaming over the crowd now and then. It had saved her live more often than not and she saw no reason to stop. When she stepped onto the place, she could see the fire burning in the middle, hear the music of some that had brought their instruments and played a quick dance. The city was alive, she was alive. And tonight, tonight she would celebrate, she would maybe meet new people, tonight her white hair would be part of a costume and not mark her as a freak. For once her red eyes, changed to crystals by years spend soulcasting, could be mistaken for a special set of contact lenses. Althea took a sip of her drink and looked around, the tiny smile still touching her lips. Tonight was a good night. One she had looked forward to for months.
  7. A little shop. Above the door, a wooden sign subduedly claims: The Silbershire Don't break anything or face our wrath Don't presume to know what something will do Something leaves the shop unpaid, and it will be forcefully retrieved If you can't find something, talk to the clerk, I will get you anything for a price Don't even dare bring fire into the shop, if you value breathing. The inside of the shop is not much better organized than the alley outside. Disorderly and crammed with outlandish inventions, it is a place of nooks and crannies, where everything seems part of a single, big and awkward body of wood and metal. Through the maze-like confines of the shop, stands a desk. Behind the desk is Lord-son-son-son-Silberfarben.
  8. Cassandra Adama's Metallurgic Emporium For all your Allomantic, Feruchemical, and Metallurgic needs Open Hours 8:00 AM to 8:00 PM Monday through Saturday *New location of Poller's Sweets and Treats* :-:-:-:-:-: :-:-:-:-:-: Cassie wheeled her cart of supplies back to her shop, a small, two-story spot within one of Alleycity's larger shopping complexes. Cassie had had a long day, out selling various metals, shopping, and Soulcasting. She deserved a bit of a break. She dragged her cart up the two steps and into the building. Inside was the wonder that she had built. A sizeable lobby, with various metal implements and empty metalminds on rotating displays accross the room. Steel bracers. Aluminum swords. Even a small display of the finest electrum jewelry. On the right-hand side stood a workbench with her metallurgists' equipment: a small anvil, several tools, a large set of heavy casts, large ingots of steel, even a smelting oven. On the left-hand side sat her and Poller's little experiment: a candy corner. It had evidently already got some visitors tonight. In the back, there was the main desk, and the main attraction: ten massive mixing tanks embedded in the wall, each containing a well-suspended solution of Allomantic metal flakes. Iron, Steel, Tin, Pewter, Copper, Bronze, Zinc, Brass, Aluminum, Duralumin. The remaining six were in smaller containers within the desk itself: Gold, Electrum, Cadmium, Bendalloy, Chromium, and Nicrosil were too valuable to keep in large quantities. At the desk, slouching in a chair, sat Poller, her new assistant. He snapped to attention as the bell in the door way rung. "Welcome to Cassandra Adama's Metallurgic Emporium! We can supply any metals, be it decorative or industrial, Allomantic or Feruchemical, Soulcast or natural! What can I do for you?" he recited. Then he looked up. "Oh. Hello, Ms. Adama. I thought you were another customer," Poller said abashedly, sinking back into his chair. "It's quite all right, Poller. And call me Cassie; everyone does," she replied, giggling slightly. Poller may not be a master businessman yet, but he certainly had the heart for it. Something about him just broke down any cold exterior she tried to show - he was just so kind and sweet, like the candy he sold. "Now, let's get this shop a little cleaner. I have a feeling we're going to have a lot more customers tonight." Store Catalogue:
  9. Dusk returned from his field trip. The tower was done. As a matter of fact, the 50 meter tall wall around the base was done to. The lifless had also set up several thousand tents and sheds across the top, and had started turning the watchtower into more of a castle. Maybe telling them, "Finish this place" was to unclear of an instruction? Well it worked. It looked an awful lot like a city, actually. The fiend returned. Dusk saw an eagle fly away from the docking release hatch. No matter. He had the lifeless remove the cannon and set it up over the watchtower, on a support system. It would be an anti-massive-over-powered-walker gun. He called the precursors, and told them that they were to police his city. Free labor is always nice. He posted an add on the Alleyzon add service. Citizens Wanted. He waited a bit, and had a large group of civilians at his door in a week. The citadel city was officially open! Hello! This is where all the Great game stuff will continue. It is a small city, and has a large amount of ores, and other resources coming out of it for commerce. Soon it will be massive interlocking multi floored city, but for now it is a very large town. Come and enjoy our massive bar, hotel, park, and stuffs. The admission test is below. Exposition Groups Citadel Construction Log Public Dusk Experiments Citadel Code of Laws
  10. It was strange, so very strange, in the land where the gods dwelt. A fell wind mournfully wove it's way through the air, as dark clouds painted forlorn landscapes against the horizon. The wind had a subtle chill to it that would slowly work it's way through everything, unnoticed till it gnawed at your bones. It was a lonely wind for a lonely land, and they suited each other well. But the wind was not the strangest part. The air was wrong here. It was thick, like water as you wade through it. It felt as if it offered resistance to those who passed through it, slowing steps and pushing against progress. At times it seemed to stretch and warp, like a tower in a hurricane. At times you could see glimpses of another world, flashing in the air like light off a falling glass. There would be a moment of perfect clarity, of total comprehension. And then like a glass, it would reach the floor and shatter. The reflections in those shards were of memories, lives, histories that perhaps never were.But the air was not the strangest part. For among the wind and the air and the reflections of ghosts, were two figures. One a survivor of the temporal genocide, the other it's perpetrator. There, before his great work, was the One-eyed god. The Stranger was transfigured, transformed by the power and the will he had channeled to rewrite the world, and warped by a thousand ideas of what he had been. He had grown, body stretching and expanding to huge proportions, taller than any man. His limbs were too long, his fingers had too many joints. His grey lab coat had become a ragged robe, with wide, drooping sleeves and many folds that all seemed to trail off into smoke. The spikes in his body had elongated, with their tips emerging like metallic spines from all over. Along his spine they formed a grisly ridge, and they emerged from his head in a mockery of a crown. His face was gaunt, cheekbones like blades sheathed within the skin, and his grin would give a crocodile nightmares. Across his exposed skin tiny spikes formed symbols and images, eerie tattoos of metal. His thick afro had become a wild mane, the black interspersed with silver, making him look ragged as his robe. And his eyes. His left eyespike had become a lance through his skull, runes and glyphs carved all along it's surface where it jutted out of his skull a good 20 centimetres on each side of his head. And his right eye had become a well of the Void. The dark ocular swirled and oozed, dripping inky black tears that ran down the side of his face and evaporated into smoke. They had called him a dark god, the true abomination of the Alleys. And so he had become that which they proclaimed him to be. He stared into the swirling air and beheld it all, grinning as he passed a hand through an after image, causing it to dissipate into light. He watched the lights for a moment, then turned his gaze outward. His expression seemed distant, like one who looked on something far away, and he spoke. "He suspects nothing. It all fits, it all makes sense." His voice was the stillness of a forest that had been ravaged by fire, it was the deepness of the sea where light can not reach. "Time continues to pass, and he only grows more comfortable. He knows not what he has been given, but he cannot but treasure the joy of restoration. Not only that," He turned to his sole companion and his grin was almost friendly, "but the city is at peace. There is no guild war, there are no abominations roaming the streets, the DA keep their work quiet and everyone is content. We have made the peace your guild sought for so long. But what do I know of peace, I'm only a scientist blinded by ambition. Isn't that right, Sudiov?" @Voidus