Inter-Era stories

[Truthless of Shinovar]

On 10/17/2019 at 3:45 PM, Silva said:

She laughed. "Nope. I don't think I'm quite the right material for it. At least not right now." It occured to her that because she was tapping, the brand on her forehead did not exist and wouldn't confuse things anymore. It was a nice thought.

"But you don't have to be in a guild to end up involved someway or another. Even a sibling is enough to trigger trouble. Or simply your Investiture." Pry. Then Lusk. Both of those connections ended up with a building exploding at some point. 

Freedom fidgeted with an atium mind bracelet on her wrist, then eyed him. "Are you a Ghostblood?"

Tels simply raised up his sleeve, revealing a Ghostblood tattoo on his bicep. “It’s a dangerous life, but it’s probably the best I’ve found right now,” Tels said. “Not to mention the pay. A promotion is coming soon, hopefully, so that holds some promise for me.”

[Silva]

On 10/18/2019 at 9:40 PM, Truthless of Shinovar said:

Tels simply raised up his sleeve, revealing a Ghostblood tattoo on his bicep. “It’s a dangerous life, but it’s probably the best I’ve found right now,” Tels said. “Not to mention the pay. A promotion is coming soon, hopefully, so that holds some promise for me.”

"Yeah. It probably does," she stretched and stood up. Freedom glanced around. The man with the dog had gone. The girl was still focused on the ants. The couple were only watching one another. The TUBAists had moved on from the park. 

No one was looking their way. Good.

She stored away some age, jumping from fourteen to mid-twenties for better oratory skills, then held out a finger to signal for him to stay quiet. "I don't know why, but I like you," she said softly. "It might be the fact that you're the first person I've had an interaction with in this city that hasn't ended up in an explosion or just the fact that you appreciate things that don't involve violence. Either way doesn't make a difference.

"Just understand, in a place like this there always will be trouble. New or old. Everyone has trouble following them. What they don't have, though, is help. People who will help them out. You know?

"So please, if you ever need help, try and find me because I will, in whatever way I can. There aren't nearly enough decent folks around so we can't afford to lose a single one," she said, finishing.

She watched him, waiting for a response. She didn't expect one immediately and if he did respond immediately, she would wonder if she'd been wrong. He was a Ghostblood after all.

Edited October 20, 2019 by Silva
Rephrasing and some formatting. Still not even fully happy with it... :)

[Zephrun’s Imperium]

Quote

I was told to post here, so I'll just do that now...

Sierra smiled over the collar of her coat. Theresa was just in time. Everything was going perfectly. Revenge would come very soon. 

She stood, the wheels on her skates engaging and raising her a good two inches higher. The familiar vibration hummed at her feet and she began gliding forward, slipping her fingerless gloves from out of her pocket and putting them on. She’d need them if the modifications to her whip had worked. But hopefully, she wouldn’t need her whip at all. For something like this, she’d want to be a little more… personal. 

Theresa’s high heels clicked against the stone as she walked, completely oblivious. Sierra narrowed her eyes. While she had suffered, Theresa had selfishly made a name for herself. While she had struggled, Theresa had excelled. While she had rotted, Theresa had forgotten. Sierra wanted to forget too, but life had made its mark on her. And even if she wanted to, she couldn’t erase it. She was what it had made her to be. 

Which was, of course, something everyone wanted to forget even existed. 

You’ll remember me, Theresa, she thought to herself. You’ll remember all the happy memories we made together. And then you’ll remember that you left me all alone. Left me to die. Well, I lived. But you won’t. You won’t… She smiled to herself, speeding up. It was time. 

Sierra slammed into Theresa, pushing her into an alleyway and against the wall. If Theresa had known what she was doing, she could have easily pushed Sierra back. But of course, surprise worked in her favor and Theresa didn’t even know what had hit her. She cried out in shock, but Sierra put her hand over her mouth to silence her. 

“Shush, now, you know why you’re here,” she growled. Theresa met Sierra’s eyes. Recognition crossed them. And… tears began to coalesce. “Go ahead and cry, I don’t care.” Sierra unsheathed her dagger. “You left me. Do you even know what I went through, what you could have saved me from?! You’re selfish and weak. I can’t believe I ever looked up to you.”

Theresa mumbled something beneath Sierra’s gloved hand and, rolling her eyes, Sierra moved her hand so she could speak. 

“Sierra,” Theresa wept. There was real emotion in there. “I was scared.”

“You were scared?” Sierra boomed. “Yeah, that’s right, of course you were scared. You think I wasn’t? I was terrified! I’m still terrified, I’m… I’m…” She shook herself and growled in anger.

“I was twelve! I didn’t even think about what would happen to you, I didn’t-”

Sierra covered her mouth again. “You know what, just shut up! Shut up! I don’t care.” She hefted the dagger in her hand. But her fingers shook. Sierra met Theresa’s tear stained eyes again and in them, she could swear she saw herself. Was she crying too? Her shoulders slumped as she finally noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks. No. No. Emotion made her weak. Theresa had to die. 

“I don’t care,” she said, voice breaking even as she said it. 

She rammed her dagger through Theresa’s waist. 

Her sister’s hot blood came pouring onto her fingers. This was only the second time she had killed. It was supposed to feel good… Right? She was supposed to have triumphed. This was a good thing. It was good. She felt... good. 

Everything stopped. The only sound was the thumping of her heart. She let the dagger fall to the ground and Theresa’s body fell with it. “No,” she said. Or mouthed. She couldn’t hear herself. She fell to her knees beside her sister’s corpse. Blood seeped into her coat and pants, but she didn’t feel it. She laid a hand on Theresa’s side and shook her slightly. “Theresa. Theresa?” She swallowed. She was sobbing. “Theresa, wake up. Theresa…” Sierra wrapped her arms around her waist, utterly defeated.

[xinoehp512]

Rekaerb leaned against the wall at the mouth of the alley, rubbing his blue-and-red pendant absentmindedly. He glanced briefly at his watch and tapped his foot anxiously. Five o’ clock. They’re late.

This was a problem, and not just because waiting at the foot of an alley was dangerous. He wasn’t worried about that; there was nothing permanent that anything inside could really do to him. Except maybe kick him out of the DA…

He rubbed his pendant again, forcing himself to think happy thoughts. His contact could still be coming. Just because they were a few minutes late didn’t mean they wouldn’t show up. Maybe there’d been an accident in the lab somewhere. Maybe an abomination had gotten loose, and they’d had to deal with it. The DA had a lot of labs, after all. One could have coincidentally happened to get loose at the exact time the meeting was supposed to happen...

You think it coincidence? Ha! 

The words came unwillingly to his recollection, and he pushed them away forcefully. Happy thoughts, he thought, forcing a smile. Happy thoughts...

[Truthless of Shinovar]

On 10/20/2019 at 0:31 PM, Silva said:

"Yeah. It probably does," she stretched and stood up. Freedom glanced around. The man with the dog had gone. The girl was still focused on the ants. The couple were only watching one another. The TUBAists had moved on from the park. 

No one was looking their way. Good.

She stored away some age, jumping from fourteen to mid-twenties for better oratory skills, then held out a finger to signal for him to stay quiet. "I don't know why, but I like you," she said softly. "It might be the fact that you're the first person I've had an interaction with in this city that hasn't ended up in an explosion or just the fact that you appreciate things that don't involve violence. Either way doesn't make a difference.

"Just understand, in a place like this there always will be trouble. New or old. Everyone has trouble following them. What they don't have, though, is help. People who will help them out. You know?

"So please, if you ever need help, try and find me because I will, in whatever way I can. There aren't nearly enough decent folks around so we can't afford to lose a single one," she said, finishing.

She watched him, waiting for a response. She didn't expect one immediately and if he did respond immediately, she would wonder if she'd been wrong. He was a Ghostblood after all.

Tels jumped a little bit when Freedom suddenly aged rapidly. Not much, but she definitely looked a lot older than she had before. It had to be atium, or something similar. Tels knew that atium somehow controlled age, but he could never recall the specifics. He wasn't an allomancer, and things like this rarely concerned him. "I... " Tels paused, thinking about what to say. "Thanks. I think I know what you mean about decent folks. I'll make sure to reach out when I need to, but... you stay safe yourself. I can be an asset if you need. I've got some experience, so don't hesitate if you need some help either."

Tels pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote something down. "Here," he said, handing it to Freedom. "A way to contact my communicator."

[Darth Woodrack]

A dozen Precursors chased Kevin through the alleys. He had gone rogue. They decided to bring him in for it. In the last three months he had obliterated three gangs and crippled The Jackals former criminal empire. It took the Precursors almost a year to catch one man, and he had done all that in three months.

They were still chasing him

So what if they never got a trial? They never gave one to the people they killed. It's not like the Precursors actually cared about the law. The Jackal was a murderous psychopath and he had watched Walker cry, actually cry, when he died.

He turned a corner and dropped dead.

There was blood and bodies.

A mugging.

On the wall was painted a Jackal Head.

The Jackal Head.

The one that haunted his dreams.

The runners came up behind him and tried to jump him and it became a blur.

He thought that he threw the first one into the second, and might have just punched the other two, but in a few moments he was the only one still standing.

He turned back to the wall and saw three bodies.

All men.

All with guns.

Quite obviously special incursions troopers.

They were also obviously not killed here.

A message then.

For him? Couldn't be.

Who would be sending a message to him?

He heard more Precursors in the distance and ran off.

A teenage girl with a broken obsidian staff stood on the roof looking down on him. Interesting. He wasn't who the message was supposed to reach, but it certainly had affected him. She would have to watch him.

They both faded into the darkness, and the Precursors lost them both. 

Edited January 9, 2020 by Darth Woodrack

[little wheel]

Bleeding palms. Hands scraped from glass and shrapnel. Not glass. Obsidian. Remains of a powerful suit of armor. Remains of Vincent’s power. Whatever blast had sent him here had destroyed his armor, but he wasn’t about to waste an opportunity like this. A brand new adventure.

*           *            *            *

Talas stepped off of the giant bird’s saddle with a graceful drop of five feet. “Thank you for ferrying me away, Yxares. Father will be displeased, but he himself said he couldn’t teach me any more than he already had without direct memory insertion. No, not happy in the least.” Tal patted the bird on his leg, and with a wind-ripping leap, the nightwing was gone. Talas dragged his fingers across his sharpened arm ridges, slicing off the last remains of his fingerprints. Silas’ fingerprints. Talas picked a knife out of his bootleg and began carving. New fingerprints for a new man. Each stroke brought forth more and more blood, a red-orange with a scent like rotten fruit mixed with ozone. With the angular carvings complete, Talas licked off his fingers. Finally, Talas was complete. A man ready to kill everyone who got in the way of his end goal. Even himself.

Edited December 2, 2019 by Ookla the Epic Gamer
haha whoops Talas is not “a men”

[AonEne]

Quote

Ewwww  

Also won’t it just heal? 

 

[little wheel]

Quote

yes but with scars

they be deep knife cuts

they are raised lines now, not just minute little ridges like with normal fingerprints

 

Edited December 2, 2019 by Ookla the Epic Gamer

[Darth Woodrack]

A month later Kevin was creeping across the roof of Al Capone's compound. For some reason there were no guards. He failed to notice a pair of blood stains around the corner. 

He opened the vent, and slid inside. He dropped to the ground and pulled out his rifle, ready for the Tommy Gun spree that was this gangs style.

Instead of a virtual army, he found a slaughter. Six dozens gangsters dead on the ground, throats slit, holes in their suits, bodies mutilated, twisted on the ground at bizarre angels.

He looked around for a moment before he saw it.

Capone.

His head at least.

Cut off at the base and nailed to the wall.

Above it was the symbol.

The Jackal head.

Painted in blood.

Capone's blood.

What the rusting damnations?

Sirens.

Precursors.

Kevin jumped down and ran out of the building, disappearing into the alleys.

The girl stood on a building across the street, watching him. Capone was a traitor, one of the last traitors.

The Jackal's legacy would not be forgotten.

Ronix was the last.

He would pay for letting the Jackal die.

Her black paper mask on her face, the New Jackal flipped off the building, a swarm of black obsidian shards following her.

[Voidus]

Quote

Start of era 5

Please use this thread for any short scenes that take place before the start of e5 if needed, or scenes that take place in the recent past of the revised timeline.

 

[Silva]

Quote

Yay!

Morning of the festival. 

Spoiler

He didn't have very long before his trip back to AlleyCity. It still was hard for him to believe what he was doing.

Quitting his job and moving to a new city he knew almost nothing about. The idea sounded so brave. So bold. 

In truth, Eiran Sullivan was terrified. He'd filled out enough papers to get himself a probationary job with The United Bakers' Association. Or Bakery. Or Baking. Or Bakers. He wasn't sure what it was officially. Different forms said different things in the headers. For such an organized group, they had some inconsistencies.

He knew how crazy the plan was. He had a steady, well-paying job in Newcago, or, well, had, until that afternoon. 

Eiran put one final pile of folded buttoned-down shirts, all light blue, into his suitcase. There was plenty he wasn't bringing. He could always come back if he found he needed it. This trip simply didn't have much time. Even now he felt like he was running late.

He frantically glanced down at his wristwatch to prove that worry wrong. Five minutes to. He should have been relieved--he was perfectly on schedule--but something felt off, though. Like he'd done that before. Which he had. Many times. Checking the time wasn't weird. Eiran frowned.

It was then that his mother knocked entered the room. She was carrying a charcoal grey mask.

"What's that?" he asked her.

"For the festival you told me about. You said people wear masks. So, here you go! A mask, so you can fit in and start making more friends!" She made it sound like he was attending the first day of school.

"Well, I wasn't even sure if I'd go..." Eiran started.

"Nonsense. You're going," she said. There was no room for compromise in her voice. "Your dad would want you to."

He never could argue with that. It was the one point he never disputed. He took the mask from her and laid it flat in the suitcase.

 

[+Sorana]

Quote

Happens about a day before the respiking

Zokora set down her pencil and read over her words again. They were good. She told herself. They worked like that. Not too assuming, not presuring, but hopefully showing enough interest. Her fingers tapped her device, when she contemplated to simply take a picture and send that one instead, but then she shook her head. No. It was better this way. A lot better. Her friend deseved a hand written letter and not a picture of one.

"Mark." she called out to an Underling. "Make sure it's at TUBA's headquarter by tonight!" the Underling bowed deeply. "As you wish, Zokora." She folded the paper, put it in an envelope and then wrote Deteca, personally on it. She hoped nobody else would read it, but in the end it was nothing she could influence. As long as Deteca read it at one point.

Got a small something for you. she texted her. It would be awesome if my messenger is allowed to deliver it to one of yours.

So much for not texting. Still she smiled at herself, hoped that maybe Deteca would reply, or that they would meet. There was one night every year where a guild didn't matter.

She watched Mark hurry off and concentrated on her work again. Soon. If things worked out, maybe they could have another drink soon.

Spoiler

Contents of the letter

Dear Deteca,

some days passed since the discovery underneath the ground and I hope that you were able to deal with every arising matter to your satisfaction. Things have calmed down a little around here - while I am not completely sure what to make of the decicions made in the caverns, at least they appear to ensure some meassure of peace.

I reach out to you, because we considered to meet again and I wanted to ask if you plan to attend the festivities in a few days. Maybe we can find a few hours then, hidden in the sea of masks might be a good opportunity to leave work and obligations away for a moment. I have no other plans that night - so I am able to come wherever is best for you.

I can understand if you aren't able to attend, or have obligations binding your actions, so please don't hesitate to deny my request.

May the world smile on you,

Zokora

 

@AonEne

Quote

for your information

 

Edited May 15, 2020 by Sorana

[+Quitecontrary]

Quote

I am so nervous to go back to RP again, but here it is. This happens a week before the start of the festival. Everyone here are NPCs and only used to introduce Quitty. 
I have no time to peruse the information on currency, wall security, beggar movements etc., so I took a few liberties. Please feel free to correct and enlighten me as needed. I didn't want to introduce her amnesiac self in the Masked Dance itself to give her a small amount of time to remember.

Somewhere in the riverbend, near the Alleyharbor…

--
An old fisherman huffed at the weight of the day’s haul. It had been a good night, it always was when the moon is absent and the highwinds don’t make an appearance. He adjusted the heavy bamboo on his shoulder for balance, the two ends laden with nets full of fish. This more than makes up for the scarcity of the last few days. His family would feed well in the coming winter.

As he traversed the shoreline towards the Alleyharbor, he looked towards the horizon. The sun was finally coming out and sunrise always brought his heart joy. He looked at it for a few seconds before continuing his walk. As the sun rose, it caught a glint of gold a few meters ahead. The fisherman squinted at the sudden flare and started to walk faster. His heavy load forgotten, he walked quickly to the shining source and as he drew nearer, found that it was something he hadn’t seen before anywhere in AlleyCity. 

There, lying by the shore, is a woman in a dirty white shift, with rings of gold binding parts of her body - her neck, ankles, wrists, and waist, with gold studs embedded in a row down both of her arms. She was petite, and though she was unconscious, she didn’t look like she was dead. The rings binding her body didn’t look ornamental. They were fashioned as if they were used for imprisonment, with holes and little D-rings that would allow for her to be hung or bound somewhere, he wasn’t sure. They didn’t look very comfortable. 

She looked like a beautiful prisoner and if she was, he didn’t want to have anything to do with her. He looked around to see if there was anyone else there. There was no one. 

So the old fisherman, with fear in his heart, sped up walking, away from the woman and towards home. He will let a street urchin know about the discovery, and let these kids do what they want with the information. She might get robbed. She might get killed. 

But that’s not his problem. That is not the sort of trouble you invite in your life. 

--

Quitty was having the best dream. Or the worst. It was all a jumble of images in her mind. Torture, pain and oddly, the sound of her maniacal laughter even as she was chained to the wall of a forgotten dungeon. She was used to the pain now, and it was like a drug. “More!!!!”, she was screaming to a faceless man, “Is that all you’ve got????”

She felt Rivoli, her puppy, licking her leg. The wet feeling brought her warmth and comfort, and...confusion. Rivoli had been dead for years.
   
Quitty opened her eyes, and squinted at the bright light. Her left leg was right where the waves were hitting it periodically, and it gave her a measure of lucidity. She didn’t move but instead, took stock of her person, moving her extremities one by one. She felt whole, but weak. She tried to remember recent events, and all that came to mind was an auction, and she was caged while a man kept cutting her exposed arm to show the audience how fast she can heal. She knew someone won. She was blindfolded and led to a ship. And that’s all she can remember. For now. 

She tried to sit up. So weak. She needed sustenance.

Voices rang in the distance. A group of four ragtag boys and two small girls were walking towards her. One boy had his chest puffed out, a knife in his one hand. The leader. A small girl was caressing a  tiny black kitten. Kitty.

Quitty. That’s her name.

They got closer and the leader of the pack said, “Oy lady! Who are you and what are you doing on our shore?” He had gaunt cheeks, and eyes that have seen too much at a young age.

She replied in the softest voice she can manage, “Why, hello there young man. I am  looking for you, of course. You look like the kind that can help me.  I’m wondering what the fees are for staying on your shore. I would like to pay, but first, I need some information, some dry clothes, warm soup and a place to stay. What’s your name? Can you help me?”

The boy was taken aback at her kind demeanor. Most nobles either treated them as dung, or tried to take advantage of them. This woman was a lady, that much is obvious. Her skin is smooth, unmarred by poverty, hunger or hard work. He doesn’t know why, but he wants to get near her, to help her, to hear her say his name. He shook himself.

“I’m Georgey and this is my crew.” He waved his knife hand for good effect.

“Come here Georgey. Help me up. You look like a strong young man.”, Quitty crooned. She may not remember much, but this skill around people is something ingrained in her.

Georgey beckoned to his crew to help the woman who was small in stature, and quite a vision in her white dress and gold bindings. As they started to walk towards the harbor, she asked where they were. Upon hearing the word Alley, it triggered a memory of cookies, blood, spikes, and waffles. It triggered an image of her in a pristine white dress, ordering her Novices around to prepare for the coming Syrup Storm. 

She stumbled. Georgey immediately caught her and was treated to a touch of her soft skin and her thankful smile. 

Quitty smiled kindly, and she laughed wildly in her mind. These kids were so easy.

“I would like to go into the city, Georgey and perhaps we can all sit down to eat together?” She had jewels on a garter around her thigh. Surely someone can exchange that for what amounts to currency around here. She also had something far more valuable hidden in some of her gold. And if her suspicions were right, she had a stash of valuable items hidden in that Alley. Yes, The Dark Alley, it was called. Does it still exist?

As they walked closer to the walled city, she thought of any recollection of seeing this city before.  Nothing came up. However, everything looked like The Dark Alley everywhere.

She surreptitiously grabbed an emerald jewel woven on her garter and pressed this on Georgey’s palm. “Find an inn for me, with a tavern, so we can eat supper. And get me some white clothes and a pair of shoes.”

As Georgey ran, Quitty’s mind raced. She will need to be careful if she is to survive. There will be enemies here. And in enemies, she always finds friends.