Archer

Tion snorted quietly when Entropy invoked the ‘state’, but the rest of her words concerned him. The goddess was acting to calmly, and choosing her words to carefully: actions at odds with the view of her he was trying to cultivate in Negation’s eyes. As Negation rebuttaled, he pushed a little harder on the General’s intangible emotional threads, trying to make her angrier at him. “Drop the charade, Victoria,” he interjected before she had a chance to respond to the question, amplifying his voice with his Power so that the soldiers outside of the tent would be able to overhear his end of the conversation. “You’re among equals here. Your jurisdiction is a sham, built on reckless abuses of your power. Do you know how hard it is to cover up your body count? Don’t forget the reason you have a rank to pull, young lady.” To cover his bases, Tion focussed on the military men assembled around them. They were experienced soldiers, many of them battle-hardened and tough as nails. He warped his words with his mind, making them inflame their patriotism and desire to defend their leader against his insults, but at the same time, he also pushed on their fears and doubts, planting the seeds of mistrust in their minds as he carried on with his targeted tirade. “This used to be your War Camp, Vic. But there’s only one of you, and three of us, so…” he half-shrugged, nodding meaningfully at Negation, hoping his standing safely behind her would not be too at odds with his bold talk. “She who has the power make the rules, and I do believe that yours is almost depleted. How’s about you call for backup, and show us what tricks you’ve taught your pets?”

Archer suggested a truly random mega post of some kind: nothing connected to an RP character's arc or a forum game storyline, rather, a six thousand word post requesting a copy of Aether of Night or saying hi! in an intro thread.

Tion took a half step backwards, positioning Negation between most of himself and Entropy, wiggling his eyebrows at the General once he was sure Negation would not notice. Meanwhile, he gently reached out with his Power, trying to mentally inflame and encourage Victoria’s inclinations towards frustration and anger as subtly as he could. Her aura was already tinged red, he doubted she notice a little more rage in her life. Except that last time she did. He stuck out his tongue for good measure. But- hello, what’s this? Tion peered at his shoes, using the movement to steal a glance at the walls of the tent, and the auras congregating on the other side of them. He couldn't help but grin a little when he saw the soldiers moving stealthily into position around them. This should be fun.

'Last post' wars can be easily prevented by locking threads, but there are other ways to stop them. If people don't act in a responsible nature, mod intervention can be done in other (albeit more time consuming and extreme) ways, including conversations, ‘deletions’, and posting bans. On the mod end of things, it's also a simple process to schedule thread lockings, making them un/lock at pre-programmed dates and times. If there’s a problem, a thread can be locked for a week, then automatically unlocked once people have forgotten about it. The reason Meeker started locking MPs, I think, is that in the case of main plot threads, more so than in location ones, thread necroing messes with the RP's continuity. When they're locked, no one can try to restart something from ‘the past’, and no one can bring them back to the front page of the subforum and make them become listed out-of-order. However, by enforcing no-necro rules and clearly designating the threads as being finished (for example, by saying so in the title), we could probably achieve the same result. Perhaps only the current MP thread could have a featured tag designation indicating its nature, and the others could have normal tags? (I’m referring to the yellow boxes that appear beside titles. If there’s a style-guide, those could be used quite effectively to advertise the appropriate MP thread over its predecessors.) Whether we lock threads or not, I’m inclined to just second Invo’s sentiment here as being the most important consideration. While it’s true that the creator of the threads does have some responsibility to keep the plot moving along in an organized and prompt fashion, I fear that all too often, a few people finish up, then don’t wait for the others involved in the plot to end what they’re doing before moving on. Getting locked out sucks, and we should avoid doing that to people. I suggest that, if threads are to be locked, it should be announced as far in advance as is reasonably possible, then not done until all participants indicate OOC that they’re ready to continue on to the next stage. Don’t even make a new thread until everyone’s wrapped up. It will mean that some people have to wait a few days before continuing RPing, but it will be worth the wait. Sometimes taking a break is a good idea anyway, to take stock and discuss how things are going. And if you really want to get the OP of the next thread posted, make it, then lock that until the time comes to restart.

The General’s Camp. The Infirmary Tent. Late morning. In a rush of sensations comparable to whiplash, Tion felt himself get yanked back from the brink of death. His insensate body was bombarded with a flood of stimuli: the haze of daylight, the symphony of nature’s noises, and the acrid taste of the smoke-tinged air assailed him and clamored for attention. Meanwhile, his limbs began to tingle, trembling in time to an unheard rhythm. Then, as if some switch had been flipped off, it all stopped. The god’s eyes fluttered open, and he moved to rub them as he began to address the figure in his peripheral. “Entropy, such barbarous torture is not only undignified-” He blinked, bringing the person into focus. “Ah, Negation! I knew you’d come.” He peered at his body, for the first time taking stock of the transformation that had taken place. His ribcage, once mangled, seemed whole and solid again. His arms, he confirmed with some quick flexing and rotations, were back to being strong and well-defined, unblemished, save for the pale white scars that faintly marred his wrists. And his legs felt as fine as they ever had, showing no traces of the gashes he had ripped into them a few hours prior. Noticing something, he stared at his calves, mentally in a state between curiosity and confusion, trying to figure out the reason for the discrepancy between what he was seeing and what he felt from them. He looked at Negation, wondering if she had not yet finished, but the other god seemed content with the job they had done. So, Tion moved past that conundrum and confidently got to his feet, making a show of marvelling at how Negation had healed him. “This is fantastic! Superb work, as always. I really can not thank you enough.” He winced unintentionally, but smoothly leaned forward to give Negation a hug so his face would be hidden from her. With practiced precision, he used his Power on his lower body, making everything feel normal again, for the time being. “I am concerned,” he continued, leaning back again to watch his rescuer’s expressions. “As I am sure that you have already surmised, I was the victim of an unprovoked assault and abduction perpetrated by Entropy. Why she would do such a thing is beyond me. I will leave the matter up to those smarter than I, such as yourself, to ponder. However, I do feel confident in guessing at her next steps. Or maybe her previous steps. Where’s Facet?” He looked around, as if he expected to find the god standing in the tent beside them. “We need to locate the others, the weaker ones. There’s only el- ten of us, when one succumbs, it’s in our best interests to work together to contain the damage. That means getting Reality, Creativity, all of them accounted for and on board.” By habit, he reached into his coat pocket to tap one of the items he kept there, but instead, his fingers bumped against an empty bottle there he had forgotten about until then. “I can’t fathom what this ‘Augury’ is, or how it will affect us, but perhaps the best route to follow until we know more is to maintain some secrecy about this whole affair? Unfortunately, it appears that Entropy’s madness has extended to sharing the mysteries of the divine with her…” (he spit out the word with contempt), “army. After her act of cowardice, I heard her discuss quite openly matters of, shall we say, sensitive nature?” He lowered his voice to an earnest whisper. “I know I can count on you to do the right thing, Negation. You’ve always been a dependable leader. We need to make a plan. We need to find the others. And we need to deal with our rouge god.” Tion paused. His eyes became steely, looking down and scrutinizing Gati's with rarely seen resolve. His vocals dropped another octave, coming out as a near growl as he finished. “Entropy must be stopped. But first, God of Negation, you know what to do.”

If you had a printer that could print onto latex, whose 17S profile picture would you most like to see put on 100,000 balloons (the number used in the 2016 Democratic National Convention balloon drop)? You can't say your own, because I've always thought of it as more of a 100,000 snowglobes picture.

The General’s Camp. The Infirmary Tent. Late Morning. “Come Tion, watch their fall.” “I’m a little busy at the moment.” “You will be too late.” “I’ve seen that show before. There was a kid from out east that I thought was gonna go all the way. She nearly made it too.” “You are naught but a child.” “Look, can we cut to the chase? In case you hadn’t noticed, this was a pain to arrange. What do I need to know?” “Know that… none seek you.” “And?” “One will die.” “So my odds are one in ten. I can live with that.” "Perhaps. Now come, Tion watch th-" Tion’s form writhed in his bonds, thrashing wildly to the staccato beat of his dying heart. The deity’s mind was thoughtless, his body controlled by impulse and chemicals. As he lay on his now familiar bed in the tent, he was screaming… without making a sound. The nurses paid him no heed. On the surface seeming calm and healthy, Tion was left to fight his private battles in obscurity. Thus is the fate of gods who dream.

The General's Camp. The Eatery Section. Morning. The God of Sensation had readopted his regular appearance, ditching the nurse’s visage in favour of his trademark unblemished skin and easy smile. “Gods are harder to manipulate,” Tion announced the moment he heard Entropy come within earshot. He kept his eyes on his stew, slowly raising the occasional spoon-full to his lips delicately to take a sip between sentences, but he made sure to speak quickly and clearly as she began to stormed over to him. He knew he only had a few moments of consciousness left. “It comes down to experience,” he continued. “It’s very hard to find a trick that an immortal hasn’t seen. So, you’ve got to be creative.” Entropy closed the gap between them, looking absolutely furious. Still, Tion refrained from looking at her. He did, however, gesture with his spoon at the nearby logs, silently offering her a seat. “Picture yourself in the middle of a vast ocean. You’re floating on a piece of driftwood, a deceased tree not unlike one of these,” he patted his seat to underscore his point, “with no concept of where you are or how to get back to land. The waves are fierce, buffeting you back and forth, stripping you of your ability to navigate. What do you do?” The camp chef, who had been standing by the cooking fire with a confused expression on his face, caught Tion’s eye. The god winked at him. The man gulped, then hurriedly retreated back to the safety of his kitchen tent, abandoning his pot. “Reality would soon discover their inability to alter the waves. Sure, you take out one, but dozens more soon take their place. So he would eventually just reform his boat into something grander, more useful.” The wooden spoon that the chef had left in his stew slowly sank out of sight. “Truth would determine which way to go to catch some currents that would send her landward bound. Facet would preform a similar feat, scanning the sea from all angles. I, of course, would use my powers to-” He stopped midsentence, distracted by the slew of bubbles that were rising violently out of the stew, threatening to boil over. He considered doing something about them, but he did not trust himself to survive the trip over there. “The point is,” he picked up again, “all of us would have a means of escape. Except you. Without your pets to rescue you, what are you gonna do? Blast the log to pieces? Try to fight the ocean? Shoot at the clouds? You’d be dead in the water! And then you’d be dead.” He craned his neck up to look at the General, the reflections of fire dancing in his eyes somehow seeming more poignant than they should have been. “I am genuinely curious. So how’s about we play a little game, me and you?” The stew was spitting now, blasting globs of broth haphazardly outward, like an angry volcano. “With effort, illusions can be made to last. Most with my instinct can’t do it, but give me time and I can make it so even when I leave, or sleep, or die, my sensation suggestions will last. In just these past few minutes, I took the liberty of adjusting my appearance. As you see me now is how every human who looks at me will think I look until I say so.” Tion snapped his fingers. Slowly, his false appearance began to dissipate. The skin on his arms deliberately peeled away, revealing raw, scorched flesh and bone beneath. Large gashes in his pants appeared, revealing long, shallow cuts below, dripping blood at an unhealthy rate. His chest seemed to collapse, pushing inward sickeningly like a deflating balloon. His ribcage, now visible, was noticeably cracked in some places. The god’s hair turned from brown to black, then started to fade away altogether in clumps. It was clear that his wounds were infected, the copious amounts of dirt and grime that had found its way onto him seemed the likely culprit. “But of course,” Tion added, his mouth now dribbling saliva when he spoke, “we gods know better.” He threw his dining implements aside, spreading his arms out to his sides so the goddess could get a better look at him. “I am in desperate need of medical attention. I estimate that my torso alone could use at least an hour’s work. And someone appears to have scratched at my calves. Some stitching there would be nice. I dunno what you’d do about the infections, but I’m sure you’ll think of something. After all, I do believe that you’re the only one for miles around who can see my predicament.” “Unless,” he winked, “you can teach your doctors to operate blind, and convince them to work on a clearly healthy man.” The fire hissed as more droplets of stew fell into it. In the distance, someone screamed. Reminded of something, Tion dismissed his dinosaurs. “I’m dying, Entropy,” Tion intoned happily. “And there’s only nine people in Hopearaa who can even see it. You obviously want me alive for something, so keep me that way. You’ve got about… twelve hours to prove your competence. Or not. I win either way.” With that, Tion’s voice garbled nonsensically and his eyes rolled back in his head. His limbs went stiff, then his entire body fell woodenly to the dirt with an understated thud. His chest moved slightly, in time with his dangerously light breathing, but other than that, he was unmoving and unresponsive.

It's a well documented fact that dogs are man's best friend. Conversely, girls' best friends are apparently diamonds. I used to think that one half of the populace (I'll let you decide which) was getting a raw deal, but now I see that all of humanity is missing the point. It's time to cut out the middle man. We should all become dogs by using this not-at-all-sketchy ray gun I found at my local dog park! (It was just a regular park before I test fired it a few times, but never mind that.) Who's with me?

The Infirmary Tent. Under the bed. Morning. Tion was dying, but like most people, he ignored it and continued to do things that only served to expedite the process. That included idly masking the sight of himself and the smell of his roasted flesh from the nurses as they carefully poked their way through the tent he was hiding in, looking under blankets and into any crate large enough to fit a man in it. Unfortunately, the indomitable God of Sensation forgot to cover up the sound of his giggling. “He he!” he snickered, his disembodied voice softly wafting through the tent. The two nurses looked at each other in confusion, then slowly moved to either side of the cot, small darts of sedative in hand. One of them reached a hand forward to lift up the sheets that hung over the side to peer beneath, but they never got the chance. “I was under the bed!” Tion declared, pushing upwards against the furniture above him, sending the whole thing flying halfway across the room. “You guys lose!” He dropped his invisibility, reappearing in front of the two shocked men. Taking advantage of their surprise, he lashed out his hands and grabbed the darts the medical professionals held, pushing them downwards into their thighs. Their eyes widened as the medicine promptly entered their bloodstreams, and they collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Tion got to his feet, sizing the two of them up. One was unfortunately short and skinny, but the other was a decent match for his body type. He studied the man for a moment, taking in the details of his appearance. Once he was satisfied he had it memorized, he crouched by the nurse and started shouting. “Guards! Help! I am in need of some assis-oof,” As a trio of soldiers burst into the tent, Tion doubled over, clutching his throat. “That’s the guy,” he rasped, pointing at the sleeping man, who, thanks to some quick Power usage, had taken on Tion’s visage while the god had reciprocated by stealing his. Tion, fully immersed in his disguise, waved off the military men as they moved to offer him help, still straining his voice as he gave them instructions. “He attacked us, but I managed to get him before he took us both down. They should awake in a couple hours. Watch their breathing. Prop them up. Don’t let anyone else in until the General returns. She’ll want to be the first-” He wheezed, bursting into a fit of coughs. “I need to get some air. Watch them. Thank you.” As the soldiers began placing blankets over the slumbering men, Tion walked out of the tent and breathed in the crisp morning air. That was easy. “Halt!” Tion instinctively raised his fists as an angry looking soldier with a grizzled beard and a fearsome expression stepped in his way, holding up his spear to block his exit. “Hold up there, Collins,” he growled. Tion’s heart was pounding, but with immense effort, he slowly lowered his hands and shoved them into his side pockets. Fortunately, the nurse’s uniform seemed to have a plethora of pockets. “Can I help you?” he asked, still rattling his words. The look on the soldier’s face softened. “You’re bleeding, sir,” he said, nodding at Tion’s leg, which was slowly dripping blood. “Oh,” Tion replied. “So I am.” “Here, take this.” The man reached into his own pocket and produced a handkerchief. “Go get yourself cleaned up.” “Thank you.” Tion smiled awkwardly, taking it and dabbing it against his shin region. The man stepped aside, allowing him to move past, so he did, hustling down the path of worn grass that led away to the left, towards the culinary section of the camp. He passed a group of soldiers chasing an imaginary dinosaur along the way, but they paid him no heed. In short order, he arrived at a ring of freshly chopped logs laid in a semi-circle around a large fire. The area was abandoned, save for a bored looking chef stirring a pot of stew over the coals. “I need food,” Tion demanded loudly, all traces of injury erased from his diction. The cook arched his eyebrow. “Please,” added the god, wiggling his fingers at him. The cook blinked. “You got it, mate. Coming right up!” He cheerfully grabbed a bowl from the stack at his feet and ladled some stew into it, then brought it over to where Tion had sat down on one of the felled trees. Tion gave him a smile for his trouble. “Thank you. You are dismissed.” He sipped the broth, not caring how hot it was. He had already shut off most of his nerves; a little heat was nothing compared to what he had already been through today. He closed his eyes, watching the camp through its souls as he ate, pushing and pulling at the men he saw’s emotions and perceptions, amplifying their fear and confusion. Tion was dying, but unlike most people, he had a plan to deal with it. It involved sitting on a log, having his breakfast, reprogramming a few key individual's auras as he waited, with a mixture of dread and anticipation, for Entropy to return. But in the meantime, unleashing a few more dinosaurs couldn’t hurt. He wiggled his fingers again, ignoring the cramp in his side that suddenly developed as he did so. I do so like those things. Maybe Reality will make a real one for me sometime.

The General’s Camp. The Infirmary Tent. Morning. “Rawwwr,” Tion mumbled, half-heartedly waving his arms in front of him like a T-Rex as he pulled himself up into a sitting position on his cot in the Infirmary Tent. The pair of nurses tending to him shrieked in surprise as his magic made him appear like an actual dinosaur, a full ten feet tall of scales and muscles snarling and growling like a kicked puppy with an inflated ego. The two of them dropped the bandages they had been holding and ran out of the tent, leaving him alone. “Yoush beddah run,” Tion garbled, wincing in pain as he shoved his legs over the side of his bed and shakily stood up. “Ish go time!” Witnesses would later describe the events that followed as ‘an informative learning opportunity about the pre-history of the nomadic regions of this land’, ‘incredibly frightening’, and ‘more confusing than anything’. The moment Tion’s feet touched the ground, the guards outside of the tent, having been about to enter it to investigate the disturbance, were blinded by an explosion of brilliant white light that emerged from the interior and lasted for several seconds. That was followed by a stampede of what appeared to be semi-corporal giant lizards. The beasts charged out of the structure and split up, stomping about the camp and generally making a nuisance of themselves. The confusion they caused was amplified by the fact that only about half of the soldiers present were able to see them, leaving the others to wonder why their comrades in arms had suddenly started stabbing at the air. The dinosaurs romped about wildly, occasionally blinking in and out of sight, but as far as ferocious visions go, they did a decent job of startling the assembled military men. While this was happening, had anyone been paying attention to the back of the tent would have noticed a still pained-looking Tion slip out and make a break for the back of the camp. He walked briskly, not running so as not to draw any unnecessary attention, but tried to look panicked so that anyone who saw him would think that he was fleeing the prehistoric terrors that had been magicked up. In this manner, he could be seen moving through the rows of tents that made up the encampment before reaching the perimeter and breaking into a sprint, headed in the direction of the treeline. This too was, of course, an illusion. The real Tion was lying quite comfortably under the bed in the Infirmary Tent, directing dozen’s of people’s sensations with his mind, cloaked from view with his godly invisibility powers. Pew, pew, he thought, firing off a few illusionary fireworks that only the other gods would be able to see. He was pretty sure Entropy liked pretty lightshows. Consider it a peace offering. Or a warning shot. I'm cool with either one.

The fire spread along Tion’s arms, scorching his skin as it leapt towards his head and chest. His coat held out better than he thought it would, but he soon discovered that his cotton shirt was extremely flammable. Pop. Pop! A few of the bottles in Tion’s pockets cracked, feeding the fire when their contents spilled. The ropes that bound his limbs were burning too, but the amount they had frayed thus far was too little for the god’s weakened arms to take advantage of. “Ahhhh!” he screeched as suddenly, seemingly independent of the flames he was swimming in, a wave of forceful heat rocketed through his vulnerable body. His head started to pound, as if it were being squeezed by a vice, and his body began to spasm uncontrollably. He was no longer audibly screaming, there was too much smoke in his lungs for that. Even his tears had abandoned him, evaporating in the heat. I was… wrong, he realized, absolutely gobsmacked by the thought of it as he cooked. Either that, or I am very convincing. Huh.

"Yeah, of course, nobody's here to cause trouble," Archer agreed. As if on cue, a non-noise came from the direction of the street. Archer sighed. "Excuse me for a second." He spun on his heels, locking eyes with the unit leader who was leading a charge of mimes at the front door of the bakery, an unseeable medieval battering ram in hand. The group skidded to a stop before they made contact, watching as Archer very deliberately raised his fist to his ear, then flicked out his pinky finger and thumb. “You’ve got to cut this out,” he said hissed into his finger telephone. “Fix the rifts later, we’re trying to enjoy some cookies.” The mimes dropped their siege weapon and gathered into a huddle, pretending to whisper to each other. After a moment of deliberation, their leader looked back at Archer and gave him a thumbs up. Seeing that from the rooftop, the sniper fired again into the store. “I am… not with them,” Archer hedged as a spider dexterously dove in front of the invisible bullet, stopping it in mid-air. He shuffled back over to where the girls were standing. "Also, they will be leaving now, if they know what's good for them." A nearby mime who had been about to lasso another customer froze mid-throw. He, and about a dozen others of his kind who had been hiding behind various items of furniture, took the hint and quickly dove out of the bakery's closest windows and doors, some of which Archer could have sworn hadn't been there before.

Movement from the exterior caught Archer’s eye. Outside, another pair of mimes had appeared. These ones were lying on top of the roof of the blockish building across the street, their heads raised up to look down at the bakery. One of them was staring at Archer through his hand-binoculars, while the other had adopted a sniper position with a finger gun. The first mouthed something at him, but he couldn’t make it out for the distance. “What?” he mouthed back at them, furrowing his eyebrows. The mime gave him a thumbs up, then pointed through the window at one of the patrons. Archer began to wave his hands anxiously, but Ene’s question distracted him. “Uh, maybe,” he said, turning towards her. “Sometime else, possibly. I don’t know. Still, this place’s food is just as good, so I’m not complaining.” He offered her a cookie which he had stolen from one of the many trays of sugary goodness that lay about the room, foolishly unguarded. Then he coughed to cover up the sound of the grunt of the customer who suddenly slumped over in their booth a few feet away from them. “Sorry, it’s dusty in hereeee,” he trailed off as a small section of the dark side of the bakery’s wall collapsed mutedly, and an invisible shepherd's crook slid in and yanked a person out of the room.

As he gobbled up his cookie, Archer looked past Yzabet, over her shoulder, at where a pair of mimes were slowly rappelling down from the ceiling with panicked expressions on their faces. He glared at them as subtly as he could. "I think you already have," he said smoothly, looking back at his host. "Although I wouldn't say no to another cookie. Last time, I got one of the spiked variety. Perhaps a different kind this go 'round?" The lead mime began climbing back up his invisible rope, hand over hand, but the other one accidentally slipped and crashed into the window, shattering it silently. Archer pointedly turned his back to them and tried to smile cheerfully as if nothing had happened.

While everyone was distracted by Voidus' awesome waving skills, an oddly well-dressed man emerged from the shadows of the alleyway across the street and slipped in through the doorway. He paused, staring at a certain section of floor by the window, confused by the general proportions of the room and that his favourite seat wasn’t where he thought it would be. “Huh,” he muttered, scratching his head. “It’s bigger on the inside.” Unsure what to do, Archer stood on the spot that he really thought should have a chair and maybe a table occupying it, waiting for the server – What was his name? Randy? Rudolph? Rutabaga? – to offer him a cookie. Barring that, he'd accept a shake, either hand or milk would do.

On the trail. Morning. Tion was running out of things to say that would bore Entropy. Thankfully, she appeared to have resolved to ignore him and his head-games, as any good captor should, giving him the opportunity to surreptitiously plan his escape. The God of Sensation had been stealthily pulling at his bonds during their ride, attempting to break free. Unfortunately, all he had been able to do so far was loosen the ones around his wrists. “I’m pretty sure that most of the gods are monstrous,” he said conversationally as Draco trotted onward. “You’ve all crossed enough moral lines to be considered villainous, Negation included. Luckily, I’m fairly confident that Neggie wants me alive. Given their proximity, I believe that makes me functionally immortal right now. Want to test that?” As he talked, he casually wiggled his hips so that the edge of his trench coat fell next to his hands. With deft fingers, he reached into the pocket that he had sewn there several hundred years ago and procured a small glass bottle. He squeezed it tightly, using his inhuman strength to crush it, spilling its liquid contents all over his arms. The pain of the glass biting into the flesh of his palm was intense. Tion’s Power had chosen that exact moment to return to him, amplifying his sensations. He had to break off his banter as the dryness of his mouth, the cuts on his hand, and the soreness of his shoulder all began to overwhelm him. “Gah!” he screamed, searching frantically for an outlet. He flashed his eyes, scanning the area for people to manipulate. He sent a blast of nonsensical emotion at Entrophy, for she was closest; targeted the two scouts that he was suddenly able to see the auras of as they hid behind a rocky outcropping beside the road with visions of horses, because they were on his mind; and he sent a massive wave of a random feeling in the direction of the cluster of souls he sensed in the distance. The souls in question, a camp of soldiers going through their morning routines, were instantly overcome by an irresistible urge to just really appreciate their current situation. It was so nice that their general had taken them to see a new part of the country, and so far, things had been going great. For an entire minute, the collection of them stopped whatever they were doing and formed small groups to share their feelings with one another and bask in the positive atmosphere of hope and optimism that had been created. Flowers were picked. Songs were sung. Then the feeling passed and they all awkwardly went back to work. (Except for one lieutenant, who discovered that he genuinely liked that lifestyle and deserted on the spot to join a monastery.) It was widely agreed that whatever the Void had just happened would never be spoken of again. Meanwhile, Tion had regained enough composure to reach into his other lower-coat pocket and obtain the flint and steel striker he kept there. Still in a haze of pain, he clicked it, sending sparks raking across his forearm. That ignited the oil he had poured there, lighting him on fire. He did not know how much battle training Draco had had, but he had never known a horse who could stay calm while its rider was both burning alive and screaming like a banshee, as he now was. His Power helpfully amplified these sensations too, making his screams increase tenfold. At the very least, he thought as tears streamed down his face, I’ll be easier to find now.

That forest I've forgotten the name of. Very early morning. “You view it as a loss. You must. It's understandable, though still pathetic.” Tion had been conscious for a few minutes, bouncing on the back of Entropy’s horse. The ride was boring him, so he began to monologue at Victoria, not caring if she responded or not. “You know, I haven’t seen you use your Power yet today. I had thought it strange that you had stooped to wielding a human weapon-” he stopped mid-sentence to cringe and roll his shoulder a bit, the pain returning now that he thought about it. “But I see now that it’s all you’ve got left.” He laced his voice with mocking sympathy. “It must be so hard for a girl who built her influence on the foundation of superiority to live in a body that’s become unreliable.” His own Power was acting up again at the moment, so he was relying on his ability to read her body language to see if his words were having their intended effect, but he was fairly confident that he was getting through to her. The God of Sensation smiled slyly. Victoria had yet to take his bait and show him her energy blasts, but it was only a matter of time. He launched into a more sophisticated insult assault. “There are three things we should not be able to do. The first impossibility,” Tion said, holding up his index finger, “has already been achieved. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours about Reality’s… unorthodox domestic situation.” He flicked out a second finger, his voice shifting into an even more lecturing tone. “The second’s degradation is altogether murkier, but nonetheless noticeable. My being here is proof of it; Negation should have prevented this.” He paused to lick his lips. His mouth had become extremely dry, and all this talking was only serving to worsen things. “Furthermore,” he continued, “you’re all circumnavigating the constraints of your powersets. Truth is lying, Creativity is a conformist, and from what I’ve seen, you build as much as you destroy these days. Your hesitance to be reckless, it taints you. Once guaranteed traits are mere… possibilities. You’ve all become non-constants, and its only getting worse.” Tion slumped for a moment to catch his breath before carrying on, more bluntly now so his point would not be lost on his captor. “You’ve learned to choose. Coupled with love and the inevitability of the third impossibility, it’s making the gods more human. Merely human. And all the while, they’re becoming stronger with their instincts. It’s not just the girl. More and more of them will rise, claiming our powers for themselves, eclipsing our stations.” He was nearly completely dehydrated now, so his last sentences came out as a rasp. “That’s what the Augury is, Entropy. The great swap. The humans seize control of their destinies, and we finally get our wish.” He panted, his energies spent. Tion had been tied to a horse more times than anyone else he knew, but rather than grow accustomed to it, his aching body seemed determined to intensify its protests each new time it happened. That didn't stop him from smiling though.

The way I see it, everyone's got a cheat song. You know, a song that is technically crem, and you know it's trash, and you'd never let your friends see you do it, but you let yourself listen to it in moments of weakness because you're being true to you and living your best life, so stop judging me, okay!? Going by that overspecific definition, what's yours? Bonus question: That smile emoji is creepy, right? It can't be just me that has nightmares about its demonic intent. Please validate my nonsensical fear. Please.

Sploosh, boom, ka-blam. Spiiiiill. Oh no! Someone has (even more dramatic air quotes) 'accidentally' dumped a truckload of tea leaves into this flood of water. And now I am 'inadvertently' using an array of lasers to heat the solution! I have no regrets about this idea.

That's my cue! Smash, blam, ka-blooey. Screeeeeeech. Oh no. Someone has (dramatic air quotes) 'accidentally' knocked over a nearby water tower! I guess everyone is going to have to meander towards the exits before you all, um... drown. Maybe this was a bad idea.

The winds were fierce. Tion and a dozen others bobbed in the ocean, buffeted by meter-high waves. Dark clouds loomed overhead, the remnants of the dissipating storm that had sunk their ship. Slivers of broken boards and smashed crates floated about in the water around them, all too small to be of help. The sea was black, but Tion did not need to see into to know what lay beneath its choppy surface. A flash of light illuminated the scene, giving Tion a glimpse of his fellow sailors as he treaded water frantically, trying to keep his head above water. One of them caught his eye and shouted at him, but the drone of rolling thunder drowned him out. Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened. Tion watched as he screamed inaudibly, then, with a jerk, was pulled violently out of sight. In a heartbeat, the only sign of him was a swarm of bubbles. The God of Sensation looked away, only to be afforded a view of another sailor meeting the same fate. Tion found himself yelling something, but the wind snatched away the words as they left his mouth. A torrent of water crashed over his head, momentarily sending him under. When he clawed his way to the surface, he was suddenly surrounded. The water around him was filled with people, thousands of them, staring at him. He recognized some of them as individuals he knew, or had met. Some he even counted as friends. None of them were moving. “Swim!” he screamed at them, mysteriously now able to talk. “Move your arms! Anything!” Heedless of his words, the bodies just stared at him. Then, all at once, they began to slowly sink. When their faces dipped below the water, a burst of air came out of their mouths and noses, filling the sea with bubbles. Tion screamed at the sky. The clouds screamed back: a bolt of lightning flew forth and struck him in the chest, surging through his body, blinding him. When he regained consciousness, the water was calm and turquoise blue. The storm was gone, replaced by a blazing sun overhead. As he looked around, mechanically pushing his arms back and forth to stay afloat, he saw no one and nothing. Just an endless sea. Tion’s eyes snapped open, shattering the dream. He tried to move his hands to rub his eyes, but he found them to be tightly bound. A quick look around confirmed that he was tied to a horse. “No weapon, courier?” Tion began to say, but it turned into an extended groan of pain as he was reintroduced to the pain in his shoulder. He quickly muted it with his Power. “Facet’s Face!” he grumbled. “This was a lot less painful last time.” Had he allowed himself to feel it, he would have abruptly found himself becoming extremely tired once more, the simple act of speaking having exhausted his remaining energy. But instead, he was confused when his body gave in, and he swiftly lost consciousness once more. His last words as he was thrust back into his dream were a pained, “No! I don’t want to swim.”

Woo! Thank you for all the pizza pockets, waffles, tea, and not root beer respectively! And shout-out to you, LAD! I haven't seen you round these parts in ages. Thanks for coming!

Personally, I just do away with excessive pronouns, personal or otherwise, and rely on dialogue to convey action. Here, have a small crate of cookies. By the way, I wouldn't dance there, I'm pretty sure there's a balloon drop planned on that spot. Except, instead of balloons, we're dropping even more cookies! Yay.