Fantasy TOTTDLMTH Episode 3 (Completed)

[Zariel]

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Irelia Sonan
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— The Dawnbringer —
​

The sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore served to appease the senses; Irelia controlled her breathing to match the swash from the breaking wave. As she basked in the sun that cast down its vehement glow, she leisurely massaged her toes through the soft grains beneath her, creating furrows in the sand. Trapped in a bizarre quandary, the Dawnbringer could do little but spare a fraction of her day reflecting on the past half-dozen months.

For many days on end, the amalgamate group of Iris and Harbingers gleaned to learn about their remote prison, aching to find a way out. They endeavoured countless times, each scheme unique from its predecessor, the group even putting aside their differences at long last to work together, but to no avail. Their situation was looking bleak, with hopes of escape waning amidst the prisoners. It was clear that their efforts alone were insufficient and that they needed a merciful token of serendipity.

Still, it was ludicrous how once sworn enemies had come together under an umbrella of their shared plight and formed unifying bonds and relations. Irelia herself included. As inconceivable as it may sound if told a year prior, the swordmaiden developed an unlikely connection with the First Harbinger over the recent months they spent together. The latter was born in Jianki and possessed exceptional skill wielding a blade, just like Irelia. Despite being raised in juxtaposed environments, they were two sides of the same coin, whose intertwined fates had been corded through a nexus of events. Though Irelia did not realise it at first, she was in need of some congenial company since she left the Oeki and Jianki behind. Moreover, both Hassan and Irelia lost their leaders - and close friends - who vanished without a trace in Anthem.

Needless to say, Irelia has endured losing many that are dear to her ever since the Fourth Daemon War began, and it pushed her to the brink. But after being imprisoned with Hassan, she unexpectedly found someone to confide her reticent emotions. There was finally someone that could understand her frustrations and relate to her in a way others couldn't. She finally had a shoulder to cry on, a place for her to release pent up tears.

She will never forget the time she was allowed to shed inordinate tears in the solace of the First Harbinger's arms, sheltered in the cool shade of a palm tree, under the moonlight.

That memory will remain etched in her mind till the day she breathes her last.

Now here she was by the sea, sitting back to back with that very man. They were resting, the aftermath of a gruelling training session. By her side lay a wooden branch—a makeshift sword about the span of a militia tachi. Far from ideal, but it had to do. Irelia, and the rest of them, had been robbed of their powers after they were shackled with suppressive cuffs. Thus, she could not call upon her legendary katana.

Irelia glanced over her shoulder, pursing her lips, before looking back down at the sand, her elbows resting on her knees.

"That was good practise. Your kata is flawless, Hassan," she complimented, breaking the silence between them.

After some time, the swordmaiden reached behind her, finding Hassan's hands and interlocking their fingers. She felt inexplicable comfort as their skin touched, and she was ready to disclose something that'd been on her mind as of late.

"You know, recently I've been considering travelling back to Jianki... that is if we ever make it out of here," said Irelia. "A few months back, I wasn't so sure. But since being stuck here, I've had some time to think. I would very much like to meet the new wielder of Tsukuyomi. It's been so long since that blade has chosen a wielder it'd be a shame if I never get to meet her. It would be the perfect opportunity to reunite with the rest of my sisters after so many years. And also..." she paused, red cheeks a sign of her embarrassment. "How do I say this? ... I think... I want to start my own family, back in the place I was born and raised."

The usually composed woman's face was now bright red and hot. She felt the sudden urge to bury her face in the sand to conceal it. But she didn't. She was just thankful that she didn't have to face Hassan directly. Hopefully, this warm tingly sensation would soon disappear.

In a panic, Irelia quickly devised a way to change the topic. She spotted some of the others a distance away, sitting by a rockpool. There were also others scattered across various other parts of the beach.

"Although this is a beach, everyone's mood seems to be dwindling. Why don't we try to find a way to alleviate the rest and maybe blow off some steam. In my time on Dragonsreach, I read about an activity called 'beach volleyball' in a holiday brochure. What do you think we and the others play a game or two? It sounds like it could be fun."

 

[xAlter]

Caenis Vasilias Koimamai
Location: Point Blank
Interactions:
Mentions: Zariel Celestial Speck @ IDK Everyone

Defeat was a bitter feeling, Caenis remembered. The feeling of hopelessness as his guns were dropped to the ground, as his hands raised to the sky. He remembered why he didn’t like that feeling. The anger and rage swelling in his chest, and the pain bubbling in his heart. He resisted, he screamed, he raged. He showed the ferocity of a wolf, only to be shackled and caged like an animal. For six months, Caenis battled with this feeling of defeat. A multitude of emotions kept coming and going like the waves that battered the island they were imprisoned on.

He wasn’t meant to be shackled and caged.

Although he was imprisoned, Caenis never lost his routine, his habits. Days came and went, but Caenis still followed a schedule. He was up at the crack of dawn, running along the beach. Afterwards, breakfast and then into going through martial art forms. A secluded area away from everyone else had wooden training dummies set up, dents and cracks in the wood from where punches and kicks split them. His knuckles were always scabbed and bloody, a testament to how hard he was pushing himself. “Kill the body, build the body, free the body.” was his repeated mantra over and over.

A final crack brough the wooden dummy falling to the floor, splintered and broken from a punch that had Caenis nursing his bleeding knuckles. Sweat dripped from his brow as he took a glance around the area he was in. Fallen training dummies and splintered wood littered the area. What once would’ve made a nice secluded clearing now looked as if a tornado had gone through. Pulling a rag from his pocket, Caenis wiped the blood from his knuckles, the white cloth staining red. He was trapped again.

The first night, Caenis had left the group, angrily looking for a way to escape. He had raged and screamed and destroyed, until he had tired himself out, falling asleep on the ground. When he had come back, he had refused to speak to anyone for a bit, Harbinger or Companion. Finishing his cleaning, Caenis left the clearing and went towards the beach. Maybe a walk would clear his head.

Finding the morning sun and the beach, Caenis walked along the water’s edge, slowly and deliberately. His eyes stared at the horizon and the birds flying free. They were free… how he longed to be as well. “From one prison to another…” The cold ocean water against his feet was a nice feeling. He never really visited the beach during his childhood, did he? After all, Laia had just thrown him into his training from the get go. There was never a moment to relax, never a moment to stop and consider the future.

Maybe this was his chance to do some self discovery, or just find out what he wanted now that everything was seemingly over.

Looking over, Caenis saw Irelia and Hassan together, the two swords masters talking amongst themselves. Caenis really didn’t know what he expected when the two would find a way to talk and get to know each other. They really were the same. Waving, Caenis just continued his walk.

 

[Doctor Nope]

Eryn Leasath Cissnei
Location: "Location Nil or something idk I wasn't listening"

Spoiler: Moosic

​

Well. Shit. Like, goddamn. What the hell happened? Even after six months in this place, those questions occasionally popped back into Eryn's mind, regarding the overwhelmingly embarrasing tactical blunder the group had made prior to being captured. He, Preston, and Kazan had exploited their position to disrupt enemy formations and facilitate whatever plans the others were working towards, but apparantly the only plan there to speak of was to kill everything in an attempt to draw out enemy leadership. It was bad enough that Eryn hadn't thought of it during the battle, but how had nobody else figured out that the best course of action for a few-person group when faced with an enemy of that size was to scatter, after securing their incapacitated member? Hell, Hershey had been in a vehicle the whole time. Surely somebody must have thought to just drive her out of danger at the start of the battle, right? They'd even missed out on an opportunity to look freaking awesome in some vehicular getaway battle that Eryn had fantasised about on more than one occasion now.

Well, being in prison wasn't all bad. On one hand, he'd lost his freedom, but on the other, so had the harbingers. Those people were supposed to be in prison regardless. To him this situation was equivalent in trade-off to sacrificing oneself to bring down an evil foe, which was a pretty nice trade in his eyes. He was even getting a pseudo-vacation out of it. Of course their current surroundings were more out of necessity on the part of those who wished to keep them imprisoned and probably not out of kindness. This was indeed one of the only kinds of prisons that would have been able to hold this group, as he dared say that a good chunk of their members would likely be able to escape a conventional prison even by themselves. Which sometimes begged the question from him, why weren't they by themselves, and why put harbingers and companions in a setting prone to mingling? It was like whoever ordered this was trying to get them to be friendly with each other on purpose. As for the apparant...pleasantness of this setting (according to most others at least. He hated beaches), that was probably to get these inmates amicable enough to cooperate in interrogations. Unneccessary in Eryn's eyes since he'd have nothing to hide in an interrogation either way.

After coming to those conclusions, Eryn decided that it was fine to just relax until somebody eventually figured out a way of escape.

But SIX MONTHS? He was on the verge of losing his mind at this point. On more than one occasion he'd considered amputating the hand that was adorned with his security bracelet and assaulting the sentries one-handed. One of his more recent, unspoken ideas involved the rapid construction of a large trebuchet in the brief time between Overlord's inspections, and launching Gallious far and fast enough to cross a distance they hadn't managed with their boat idea, hopefully before any counter-storm could be formed. Too bad such an idea probably wouldn't go anywhere even if successful. It admittedly hadn't been thought out all too well. He still didn't know if enough of a counterweight could be made in time before Overlord's interference. On the backburner for now.

With boredom a constant threat to his sanity, Eryn had taken up a few...hobbies. Like a couple others on the island, he'd become rather isolationist, going so far as to declare himself a new country with himself as "Super Cool And Definitely Sane King of Sand-Bear Land", with everyone on the island welcome to visit. In his down-time he resided on a "throne" of branches and rocks, with elabourate sand sculptures of armoured bears with protruding firearms from their hides next to him. It even had a coconut holder. He wore a cloak and hat both made of palm leaves and vines, and "sunglasses" that had clamshells for lenses. He couldn't actually see out of them, but they looked cool enough to be justified. Like Caenis he practiced on wooden dummies, but as he focused on evasion and countering more than directly attacking with his body, his were "loaded" with flexed tree branches to simulate incoming slashes and strikes that he'd either evade or parry with his vaguely gun-shaped twig models.

The most bizarre thing he'd found himself doing however, was what he'd describe as "Written Roleplay". There was a sizeable sand-structure nearby that he'd sculpted with a large room inside filled with stone and wood panels he'd carved, where he'd sometimes make entries from the perspective of his "Original Character" in a fantasy world he'd made up, with other inhabitants of the island encouraged to add their own entries from their own characters. The story was progressing slowly, but was downright riveting so far.

He was now on one of his "state visits" to see what the others were up to, just in time for Hershey to ask Odhran about islander stories.

"Sup. I'll be listening in too, if that's alright."

Evident from the first word of that sentence, his lexicon had also seen some slight evolution, for better or worse. He took a seat neat nearby.

Pilgrim59 Larry Worthlessplebian Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hershey
The Pool, Point Blank
Interacted: Larry Worthlessplebian Huntertabbysandshark3 Doctor Nope
Mentioned: Zariel ​

Hershey eyed Preston as their figure blocked Odhrán's reception of the warm summer sun as it did her own view of Overlord's eye. Thanks to the arachnid's emergence, Hershey was able to finally shake Overlord's overbearing presence off. Six months of false pleasantries only served to make Hershey wary of her surroundings, lest she grew too comfortable with this indulgent lifestyle. She was surprised that the Empire was kind enough to let Preston keep his extra appendages, while going the extra steps to make sure they stayed in line. The one thing that remained unanswered was how their captor managed to come up with an aetherium dampener for the Golemancer.

"Sleep is a luxury we cannot afford, not when our Overlord continues to intrude us with their eye in the sky." She diagnosed Preston's lack of sleep as a result of their imprisonment under constant surveillance, rather than that of their deteriorating health. The latter was owed to none other than Overlord's meticulous method of indulging their stay like that of a prolonged vacation upon strange shores. Yet, these amenities would prove futile to the hearts of the ever fiery souls of avengers and truth-seekers.

"Finally relinquishing your corner of the island, have you? Solitude will not do you any good, spiderm-..." She added with her arms by the grainy tiles to keep her afloat. Before she could finish her sentence more of their amalgamated party of Companions and Harbingers began to show.

"Sir Meeples. There are some Asmaran kebabs behind the counter. Courtesy of our Overlord. You too, Preston. Since our august company is here for the routine stretches, Hershey shall procure the custards." The woman pointed both the golemancer and the doctor towards the gazebo bar just a few steps from the pool. She took a deep breath, climbing out of the water with the textured grips of the tiles transferring her frail form onto to steady grounds. Her translucent robes quickly latched onto her skin as the aries attempted to wring the collection of water from her gown. Beneath the moonsilk robe was an one-piece attire that gave her the ability to be able to drift about the pool for the last hour without being dragged about. She eyed the Aranese briefly with her amber optics offering them a sense of concurrence that was highly unlikely prior to their last stand at Anthem. How quickly they have come to familiarize with one another when they would have been trying to tear one another's throats out without hesitation for the last decade, Hershey thought to herself. Speaking of the

The dreamweaver eyes narrowed as she glared at Irelia from across the resort with their robust form for all the eyes of Point Blank to see. Images flashed her by, as she finally settled on the bitter truth that was all the more vivid in her mind as of this moment - the Companions were packing tremendous firepower. Even now, the very memory of the Angel of Verdan insulted her. The aries directed her gaze at the ground, where she could clearly see her toes without much trouble.

"A blessed chest will not achieve world peace." She muttered to herself with a sour expression upon her usually calm façade. Turning back to Odhrán, she gave him a long sigh. "Hershey will procure for you a set as well." The dreamweaver then made her way towards the bar to procure a kebab sandwich from the wooden counter. Beside the supply of their identical brunch, there were also a selection of drinks behind the counter with appropriate labels to them. Alcohol were strictly prohibited at Point Blank, with faux cocktails forcing the more physically-concerned inhabitants to keep in shape lest the sugary taste fatten them up like a riceball. Another obvious reason was their attempt at immolation using alcohol on some accounts of past revolts. Needless to say, Overlord reacted by flooding the entire island with endless rain for an entire week.

When the Aries returned with Odhrán's brunch and drink, she waved slightly at Eryn before settling herself atop a resting chair. "Make yourself comfortable. By convenience, Hershey should ask - how are your interests coming along, doctor?" She said to Eryn, noting his recent creative works that were far from the idleness of her own seclusion or Preston's.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Zariel Huntertabbysandshark3 Interactions: Pilgrim59 Larry Doctor Nope
Location: Point Break, on the cusp of sanity.

The sun, whether real or fake, blasted Preston's back with rays of warmth. Each moment is enough for him to slip. One must guard his mind against this deceiving illusion of reality. Odhrán thanked the arachnid for blocking the sun. Where it any other being, they would have expressed annoyance. Still, though let it not be said that Preston didn't also think the bleached skin of Odhrán isn't unhealthy; he did pester Caenis who had been their quartermaster, to arrange MREs with more vitamin D. The spider tilted his head skywards. Ah yes, Caenis. Isolation may have blunted my wrath, but my discontent with you is still palpable.

In truth, Preston couldn't be bothered to express it. This island proved more debilitating and draining than the snow ever did. Ironic, the heat of the sun to be more hindering than the bite of winter. His arms dangled in the air, hearing the Islander set the conditions for them to hear his stories. Preston thought it best to also chime in. "I shall also relinquish some of my tales if you'd be so kind as to do yours." The exchange as arachnids from Met Di Plurida call it, unexpectedly present even in the earliest child. Even Preston, bast*rd that he is, knew about it.

Hershey decided to prod Preston on the state of his solitude. "It did provide fleeting peace." He repeated her name in his head. Hershey, Hershey, Hershey... "I always wanted to try those Hershey's kiss, small little chocolates." He mumbled to himself, presumably driven insane from Isolation. A quick shake of his head dissipated those wayward/eldritch thoughts.

Preston willed his spear limbs to give way and he landed on the ground. Openly, Preston received the sandwich from a sworn enemy. A weaver like him, yet the aries is not the enemy here. The arachnid's keen eyes noticed how Hershey's eyes suddenly narrowed, he decided to follow their icicle gaze towards the source and was left stupefied. Now he knows why Hershey seemed displeased. To Preston, this is nothing; not to understate Irelia's beauty but sewing up the Companions' wounds in the War left little to the imagination. Professionalism and Doctor's code.

Preston also noticed the golemancer who seemed to have also gone insane from birds or what-not.

Taking a sizable chuck out of the kebab, Preston did not notice Eryn until he gesticulated his presence. "Ah, hello Eryn."

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious Meeples
interaction: Larry Worthlessplebian Pilgrim59 Doctor Nope mention: Funnier President ElenaIsCool​

Galious’s fairly aimless wandering was interrupted by the call out form Odhrán asking if he’d like to listen to a story, Galious gave a blankish stare towards Preston, Hershey and Odhrán letting out a long drawn out sigh of resignation and a disheartened shrug. “Eh sure… why not.. better then the birds…” Galious replied scratching at the band on his wrist as it continued to be irritating. “Oh well i guess I can share a story or two… get my mind off things“ Galious mumbled his voice hardly carrying much as he stared at a Raven that did not actually exist. Eyes then turning to Preston. “good to see your out, I suppose… better then Kazan or Bisi..” Galious commented offhandedly foot Tapping on the ground repeatedly before he finally answered Hershey His dower and spaced out demeanour replaced with one of slight joy. “Oooh kababs that sounds nice..i.. there not poisonous are they?” He asked with a suspect tone strolling over to the bar. with little effort the salamandrian managed to scale the bar stool and take a seat. spotting Eryn the great king of the sand approaching, despite the fragile mental state Galious was in… with accusing rocks and birds of colluding with forces that didn’t even exist or were yet to be proven. Even Galious found Eryn to be a little unhinged.

he did like this “roleplaying” thing the self proclaimed king had invented, Galious took time out of his feverish rambling, conspiracy crafting and sobbing to indulge in Eryn little game. One would think he’d just play himself but surprisingly, Galious’s character was a shy female Necromancer with a overly convoluted backstory… even if the Salamandrian‘s mind wasn’t all together the creativity that created the mass production of the fireblazers and other constructs throughout the war was still very much there. Plus there was the conspiracy theories he‘d just ramble too at Eryn’s castle occasionally not that Galious expected the fellow to be listening but all the same.. it made him feel slightly better about the birds and the trees.. and the rocks… and overlords involvement with the gods that wished to personally spite him.

”oooh hello sand king a royal visit then? Care for a kabab tooo” Galious waved wildy grabbed himself something to eat nibbling on it like well a little Gecko would.. befitting of the Golemancer. Without much other prompting now that Galious was comfortable and around others he’d decide now was a good time to share some of his latest idea’s only to make a few jerky movements as he tried to keep his food away from the none existent Raven stalking him. “Get away you fiendish bird“ Galious yelled swiping at nothing till it seemingly settled down.

“Anyway with that out of the way, I think I know what’s going on the empress is actually not a solarian… obviously she’s something else entirely I mean how else did she make that weapon there.. way way too smug… she’s either a dragon or somehow a daemon…. Speaking of Daemon’s… Lord sertek and the angel of Verdan… are just one in the same… or something fate just doesn’t work like that they have to be linked and controlled by some higher force… likely the same one thats goal is to ruin my existence it’s all so obvi-“ Galious paused in six months… he’d never asked himself this question… all his rage.. and insanity had take precedent to the question that had just stirred within him. A very important question… “what… happened.. to them both… if they where captured surly they’d been set here.. or we’d be told about there deaths to further torment us… Right?” Galious tone was one of shocked realisation… that quickly disappeared with a happy squeak of nomming on more kabab. “Anyway storytime” he‘d chirp cheerfully all of a sudden wanting to change the subject before the question he‘d asked… became too much.

 

[Celestial Speck]

Zariel | Pilgrim59

Hassan Nox I-Sen

---

​

Defeat is bitter.

It was something that Hassan learned for the second time upon his inevitable defeat at the hands of the Black Watch. Bitter, painful, enraging defeat that he had to taste, again and again, this time without any manner of escape or respite. Once more, Hassan wasn't strong enough to protect his companions and lead them to victory, with Sertek disappearing away from sight again, much like the Angel of Verdan. It angered him, of course. Just as it did before- but most of all, it pained him.

He failed again when he had promised he'd be strong for both himself and Sertek. Now, he was stuck here- in some manner of idiotic paradise, meant to make a mockery of his achievements and his dreams. What was the point of a Paradise if he didn't earn it? What was the point of rest when there was still work to be done? Even though he had wished for it, to one day find rest and peace, much like Sertek did, this was just infuriating. There was still much to be done... and here he stands. Staring off at the beach while his companions either gave up or went mad.

It was tiring.

But... eventually, when screaming his frustrations didn't work out when sleepless nights became too much to bear, he found some manner of peace- not by himself, of course. But within the Dawnbringer. Within her, he saw a spark of hope, that brought him back to when he realized his foolish dream to become stronger was only that: a dream. She was his anchor to reality, and without a doubt, he had a feeling she felt the same way about him. Within little time, he found himself glued to the hip by her, more than he would have liked, of course- but her comforting aura felt like the sun itself.

Her hands, so rough from holding blades her entire life, felt smooth and brought about a sense of calm within him he didn't often feel.

He's learned much of her and her responsibilities. Names he's never heard of before, during his time as a street urchin in Jianki. In a way, she felt like a teacher to him, despite their opposite backgrounds. She was a noble, he was a little petty thief. It made sense to think they were once enemies, but to be allies, this close to one another... it surely felt odd. He wasn't, however, complaining. It felt... nice, to hold someone as he did her. Comforting, in a way, he couldn't fully understand, but welcomed with open arms.

"Jianki, huh," Hassan asked, holding her hand a little bit tighter. "... I suppose you still have things to do there."

Hassan hummed. He didn't have anything to gain or lose in Jianki. By all means, they saw him as a traitor, an enemy. But Irelia? ...even if that was the same with her, she would probably be seen with brighter eyes and open arms. But still... he wished dearly to see that with her.

Hassan's thumb slowly caressed her hand. But he froze upon her words, coming from deep within her heart. Her wish was to start a family, to leave all of this behind to one day start a lineage of her own blood. It made Hassan's brain freeze for a moment, and his mind automatically headed towards Sylvia and Sertek- and their failed attempts to do so. It made him pained to know that Sertek had married a woman she deeply hated- but eventually, he made peace with it. For one reason or the other, he perhaps could understand his master's ambitions and wishes... and even his wife's.

"I see," Hassan eventually replied, his face hiding a smile. "I thought about the same, as well."

Hassan leaned back against Irelia's back.

"I hope you're aware that I'll fight off any competition."

A silence hung high between the two of them for a moment. He could feel his heart beating slightly faster inside his chest before with breaths, it calmed itself down. Slowly but surely though, his face turned to meet Irelia's, and a rare, genuine smile found itself on his face.

"Of course I mean for volley, too. Let us go, then. I believe we've kept them waiting for too long."

 

[Larry]

Odhrán von Starkenburg
Location: The Pool, Point Blank.
Mood: Reminiscent.
Mentions: n/A.
Interactions: Everyone present around the pool.​

The islander was surprised at the number of his companions who had, in one way or another, gathered around the poolside, eager to hear stories from his youth. Given the audience, Odhrán felt compelled to give them as endearing a memory as he possibly could, knowing full well his own capacity to be particularly droll when it came to the topics he enjoyed discussing.

"Well, now that we are all here," he stated, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat to ensure a smooth delivery, "I'll get started."

"One particular episode that will always stick out to me, in the years after my father was convicted for corruption, was when I took up boiscín in the evening times after school; I was around ten years-old. I don't know if any of you would have heard of it before, but boiscín is a form of stick-fighting native to Aran. Perhaps I needed a way to burn off the irritation that I felt at the time for my father, so my mother, Máire, so no harm in letting me head over there, since it was only a stone's throw down the road from where I lived."

"When I got there, mind you, I didn't feel too welcome. Prestige, honour and your good name are worth their weight in gold on Aran, so when you're related to someone who has been convicted of trying to upset the mechanisms of government, their ill name, unfortunately, redounded banefully to my family and I. In the early days then, as I was being instructed by Aodhán Wallenstein, it was hard; sparring was always particularly heated. In order to get under my skin, a lot of the other boys would make comments that would get me flared up and, in my aggression, would leave me open for attacks that if I were a bit more circumspect, I could have outright avoided."

Odhrán laughed softly, recalling the sessions.

"As you can imagine, my mother wasn't too pleased at all to see me come home with bruises and blood spattered all about me, and my refusal, other than to say, 'It's practice, Mam..." as to why I ended up as battered as I did, wasn't all too convincing for my mother, though I continued to be tacit about what set me off. In the mornings then, when I delivered newspapers around Kilsárán as a means to supplement my mother's newfound job as a seamstress, I was ridiculed sanguinely by the very people I delivered the papers to; it continued once I got into school as well, despite the best efforts of the teachers to palliate the more incisive comments."

The recall of such instances seemed to enwrap the islander within the feelings he felt at the time, evidenced by the dour countenance that shrouded over his normally quaint features.

"It was...a difficult time for me since...SINCE I agreed with everything that they were saying, feeling it more strongly than they could have known. I hated my father, despised him, felt fit to slit open my veins to let his sinful blood spill out; that that man had any part in my formation as a person, caused me to test how far the outer bounds of anger extended. In a way, that anger that I kept to myself, served as a silent impetus to everything that I did: my studies, delivering the papers and at boiscín training every other day. You wouldn't know, if you were to have taken a look at me, that I was hiding anything at all."

"A year flew by, and things were going well, more or less: I was getting good marks in my exams; the teachers had good things to say about me; papers were being delivered in record time; and, what I felt to be the most important at the time, was that my proficiency in bosicín had climbed to that of all the other boys in the club."

"I...was proud of myself."

Odhrán smiled softly.

"Then, one evening, I think it was a Wednesday; having finished my homework, I rushed off down the road to training with a longer stride in my step then usual. You see, a tournament takes place every year on the island which crowns the best boiscíneoir on the island, across numerous age groups. The preliminary stages are divided up by the parishes on the island, then they go on to a diocese-wide knockout stage and then finally the national level. As regards to my own parish, myself and Conor made it to the final. Of all the boys whom I went up against over the course of that year, Conor was probably the most skilled. So, in a sense, he was my goal there. The occasion as well, was perfect to see whether I was fit to contend against him a set of officials from the main diocese town oversee the parish-level contests."

He paused for a moment.

"The final was quite the match; we were both what ya might called 'quiet', yet despite that, he was fiercely more assertive in the fight, and I was constantly on the back step throughout. He swept the first round and I somehow, somehow, managed to tie the second one. As though it were an affront to him, once the bell for the third round rang, Conor went on an offensive that bespoke the power of channelled fury. The sound of oak striking oak reverberated throughout the field, and captured the attention of all the spectators most assuredly. But, unfortunately for Conor, he let the intensity spike beyond what he needed. I let one of his strikes slide off the shillelagh, then landed a frontal blow on his nose and struck him wholeheartedly across the left side of his temple."

"Conor collapsed to the ground, dazed: I had won."

...

"As the judges declared the result, I heard Conor mutter something. Catching it ever so slightly, I asked him to repeat what he said. He then said, 'Your Dad's reach extends even to this.' I saw red; wrenching my arm free of the match official's grasp, I punched Conor across the cheek, toppling him to the ground again. I rushed on top of him, and landed as many blows against him as I could before I was dragged away by the officials and my mother, who gawped in shock at the outburst. As I was being brought away, with tears rolling down my face, I shouted back at him that I was going to be more than him, better than him, and that my achievements were brought about my own hand."

Odhrán sighed, embarrassment welling up as a flush across his face.

"The next day, after a thorough haranguing by my mother the previous night, I was heading out the door when I saw none other than Conor sitting on the wall hemming in our garden. I looked at him in shock, and he, perhaps overawed by the reality of his idea, struggled to meet my gaze as I did his. Then, realising that I would have been late to school, on a day with a rare reprieve from newspaper duty, I began to walk beyond him when he called out to me. He apologised for what he said the day previous, that the frustration of losing the final had gotten the best of him and he resorted to something that he often called the other lads in the club out for, when I wasn't in earshot though. I forgave him, knowing full well how frustration suddenly takes the reins away from you and we shook hands."

"From that day onwards, up until I was drafted into the war, he was my best friend."

Inhaling a big breath, his vocal chords strained from the most amount of talking he had done in a long time, he turned to his companions.

"I hope that story was alright for ye."

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hershey
The Pool, Point Blank
Interacted: Larry
Mentioned: Worthlessplebian Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Doctor Nope Funnier President xAlter ​

Hershey would be lying if she said that she did not care about the Companions' well-being. While it was an initiative during the war to be driven by contempt and hatred, there was little to no reason for unwarranted hostilities here. Having spent half a year upon this cursed island of psychological torture, Hershey was perhaps the first to develop a fondness for the Harbinger's sworn enemies. It was not exactly a choice she would have kept, if it was not for the excrutiating deafening silence that was the purposeless purgatory that was their ultimate exile. It tugged at Hershey's better senses when she saw just how detrimental Preston's self-isolation proved to be. The man was mumbling something that sounded curiously insane to say the least. It was a shame that one of the most formidable foe that graced the Harbinger's presence was now a hermit in search of their mind on this terrible island, where nothingness slowly ate at their soul.

A loud slurp out of Hershey's lime soda disrupted any emotions Odhrán's sympathizers would have garnered along the way. Deliberately done so to break her mind out of Overlord's tight grips over the prison lock of their minds. Another notion was that of Hershey's undivided attention towards Odhrán's tale that was measured by her acknowledging, albeit coarse slurp out of her straw.

"How cheesy. Would have been more entertaining had you cover important topics. Such as the cuisines. No matter, such a story will suffice Hershey's needs for the time being." The dreamweaver gave her earnest opinion on the matter Odhrán's story.

"Remind Hershey to pay Aran a visit if- ... when we get out of here." Hershey pinched her temple briefly, as she turned towards the Golemancer with a long sigh. "Belay that. Hershey have had enough of islands. But perhaps our Golemancer can use the time there. Sir Meeples is a mere inch away from cutting his mind loose to the waves." Her long ears twitched slightly, as she cast her amber eyes upon the orb in the sky. The aries then turned back towards the storyteller, having reflected on their past encounters on the battlefield.

"It is most unfathomable for someone of your stature to be dragged into the war and survived. No offense, Odhrán." Hershey added, taking a bite out of her Asmaran sandwich. Beside her was a tray of Karelian custards, garnished with rare Aerispire ice shards to keep it from melting too quickly. Judging from the glasses' distinctive northern-flute design, it reminded Hershey of a certain preference of an acquaintance from a time past. For a second, she almost broke her usually-aloof facade. Apparently, spending some time with the Companions can be damaging to one's persona as well.

The dreamweaver studied the swordmasters in the distance. Judging by their body language, they clearly had something to involve the rest of them. The latter already reeling back from Odhrán's personal memoirs. There was the matter of Caenis's disposition ever since their inevitable revelation. The crisis of the mind that must have plagued the man for as long as he could remember his own name, Hershey could only speculate what it must have been like to be in that situation. Thankfully, it was safe to say that many could not bear to lose the gunner, especially the Companions. As much as they retained some past grievances, their ultimate survival gave both factions some leeway of tolerance that gradually evolved into whatever they had going on right now. Neither hatred nor exalted praises, only mutual respects and the need to keep each other sane with pointless discussions and inconsequential stories. An almost zen-like monastery disguised as a riceball resort.

"We can ill-afford a 'silent' sport here. Hershey could use a physical distraction." Hershey said to those within earshot, as she finally gulped down her drink and waved at Hassan from across the pool. "The winners are exempt from house chores for a week." She announced, in an attempt to rally the amalgamation of Companions and Harbingers to their feet for the game ahead.

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —
​

"R-Right, of course, that's what you meant," Irelia said in a faltering tone, averting her gaze from Hassan with soft red cheeks. Despite being the one to raise the topic, Irelia wasn't expecting him to be so frank. His indiscreet remark caught her off-guard. To think she'd gotten so close to one with the appellation of First Harbinger was still, in part, difficult for her to grasp as reality. Though, she did not regret the intimate bond that was born from this incarceration. Iris or Harbinger, what did any of that matter anymore? Those fidelities were now no more than pointless brandings of an ancient grudge that should've died a long time ago. And at present, all those caged on this desolate isle are one and the same, having cast aside their differences... at least for now.

Fight off any competition, you say? I like the sound of that... Let's see if you honour your word. Irelia looked far into the horizon, trying to distract herself from Hassan's remark with the sound of the gentle ebb and flow of waves climbing up the beach. But it was no use, Hassan's voice echoed in her ears. Just the idea of being fought for was tantalizing, causing a rush of warmth to suffuse through her body. She didn't understand it quite well, but something about being desired and deemed valuable enough by Hassan elicited a heartwarming sense of joy.

A realization came to Irelia: love was such a common emotion, yet it seemed to hold so much power... Could this be what the common folk call love? ... It has indulged my curiosity, Irelia thought. She could now begin to grasp how Sylvia must've been feeling all this time, and why she suffered so much pain. Irelia has always claimed to hold a degree of love for her Oeki sisters, however, what she felt towards Hassan was something of a different nature, something she'd never felt before. Her endearment for him blossomed recently and was the product of implicit courtship. Irelia was a stranger to this kind of sentiment, it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She grew up adhering to the strict commandments promulgated by the Oeki, which interdict romantic relations, claiming that they create unnecessary weakness and make one remissful of their duties. Hence, for the longest time, Irelia remained circumspective when it came to exposing her heart to others. Only now had someone finally managed to breach her fortified walls and reach her tender core.

I hope that someday, my sisters are untrammelled and get to feel what I have felt. For they deserve to be loved, each and every one of them.

Sighing, the swordmaiden rose from her seated position, placing her hands on her hips and leaning slightly to her left, inadvertently flaunting her feminine curves. A smirk that brimmed with confidence curved her lips as she looked back at Hassan.

"I see. Well, let it be known that I will be your opponent, and I have no intention of losing," she said competitively.

Upon arrival at the pool where the rest had gathered, Irelia observed some of them enjoying kebabs and refreshments. The Dawnbringer herself followed a strict vegetarian diet, so kebabs were out of the question, but she walked over to the drinks stand and picked up a peach-coloured mocktail. Though she kept it to herself, she was pleased the group had become teetotallers since the ban on cocktails.

While sipping through a straw, Irelia overheard Hershey speaking to the rest of the group and decided to chime in. "The Aries surmises our proposition correctly. Hassan and I wanted to suggest a friendly game of volleyball."

Irelia's crimson orbs flitted between everyone present.

"I'd like Kazan, Odhrán and Senna on my team," she said, claiming members for herself. "That leaves Eryn, Sir Meeples, Bisila and... Preston for you, Hassan. Of course, if the Aries wishes to partake, she's more than welcome."

Irelia took a moment's pause as her gaze trained on Preston.

"Although, it's quite clear that you offer a significant advantage to your team, Preston. Your arachnida anatomy might prove problematic for us. If it's alright with you, my dear friend, may I kindly request that you refrain from using your auxiliary limbs, for the sake of fairness?"

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Huntertabbysandshark3 Interactions: Pilgrim59 Larry Doctor Nope Celestial Speck Zariel
Location: Point Break, hyped up for volleyball.

As the story began, the spider sat cross-legged and attentively listened. In his mind, he silenced all other distractions, honing his focus. This meditative technique learned from an ageing hermit, occasionally helped Preston under dire situations. Say performing battlefield medicine. But enough of that, let's focus on the story. Ooohhh, didn't know he was the son of a counter-culture agent. The spider would make mental comments or notes if you will. There is no lie that Preston's sympathies flared. Having dealt with similar circumstances in his life. Though his troubles were caused by the socio-economic differences between him and his peers. A pang of longing reverberated within Preston, a touch of envy too. Despite Odhrán's dealings with his father's name, Preston wouldn't mind having at least one parental figure. Well, his mentor did serve that role for a while anyway.

"An excellent tale, my friend. I too share Hershey's wish to be brought to Aran one of these coming days." Preston hoisted himself off the ground. He gathered around and was about to fulfil his end of the bargain as Odhrán completed his part. Though first, he had to finish this scrumptious kebab sandwich which absolutely satisfied Preston's palate. After a couple of bites and some rapid chewing, Preston was finished. However, reading the atmosphere, it seems the time for storytelling had passed. "Ah, well. I'll have to postpone my story then. Never fear, Odhrán, I'm an arachnid of my word."

Hershey spoke about physical distractions. "Could always practice balancing acts, I find those particularly exhilarating." He chimed in his two cents as Preston followed behind the aries with his auxiliary limbs dragging behind lazily. Reaching the swordsman and Irelia... Preston tapped himself on the head with a knuckle softly, he has to stop calling Hassan, the swordsman.

After listening to Irelia's assignment and polite request, Preston nodded. His lazy limbs stiffened, flaring up like a star. Then wrapped themselves around his torso once again. "As you wish, Irelia. Though I warn you, I am retaining the normal leaping ability of my two main legs." Casually, the Spider sauntered over next to Hassan's side. "Well then, Swordsma—" He caught himself. "Hassan, let us bring forth a victory!" Riling up his competitive spirit, it did not matter what the reward was, Preston will do this for the victory. Just this once, abandoning his risk vs. reward outlook.

 

[ElenaIsCool]

Bisila Nzo

Point Break

@Basically everyone one way or another



What went wrong?

That was the question Bisila kept asking herself over and over again. The actual events were a blur in her mind. One moment she was shooting, the next she was the one nursing a shoulder wound and the one after that, nothing was clear other than a sickly emerald glow. The feeling of restraint, being held back, being caged. It was the worst. She thought she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. She thought that after Nova Heights, she'd never have to worry about being caught again.


She was stupid to think that


The island was certainly an improvement from the damp cells of death row but it was still a prision nonetheless, in the White Wolf's eyes. Most of her lads would prefer to have been sentenced to this area than the depressing dark rooms they had met their end in, that she was sure about. She was still furious nonetheless. She wanted the whole world but they gave her an island, one place that she bet not even the OWLs knew about. It had more breathing and moving space than her cell, true but it still limited her and kept her captive. She hated it. She had always found going to the seaside waters, feel the waves splash her feet, toes deep in the sand and the warm sun on her skin.

But now? She absolutely despised it

From day one to month three, saying that Bisi brainstormed as many escape methods she could was a stretch. She wanted out and tried every single thing that went through her head, no matter how impossible. Swimming failed. Rafting failed. That one plan involving coconuts failed. Each failure only frustrated her more and at the same time, made her even more determined to get out. She wasn't about to lose hope, not like she almost did at Nova Heights. As cheesy as it sounded, now that she had the Harbingers with her along with the Companions, they could make it out. Hooray for the power of..Friendship?


Of course, Bisila got bored very quickly. Obsessing over the concept of freedom and planning escapes could be tiring and such the Trickster mainly focused on her main talent; tinkering. Using the various materials she could find and get, she showed why she was called The Tinkerbell in her schooldays; showcasing tool after tool, device after device just because she was bored and had managed to build a 'workshop' of some sort right below her treehouse where she kept her tools and plans. Sometimes she made actual useful things such as an oven-like machine that only took five attempts and a few fires to function so she could bake some cakes for Galious as an apology for using him as a guinea pig for her ' Sub-Boat Plan' that ended up with him almost drowning five feet under and Her 'Last-Resort' plan to drop a bomb strong enough to destroy the whole island had gotten immidiately vetoed by the others. Other times she made some strange play-things such as a set of puppets, followed by a stage which would be her own way of pursuing the arts; making puppets of everyone and putting on shows. Sometimes they were about her various escapades from the law, sometimes adaptations of Eryn's 'Roleplay' and other times just satires to laugh at each and every single one of the group and their situations. Maybe she could consider being a comedian instead of a criminal sometime.



The last three months were spent her making makeshift explosives and attempts to replicate her guns. Slingshots were good enough, make them into a little contraption that could reload itself with a lot of string. She also set up multiple booby-traps around her treehouse, mostly for the sake of fun, her habit of pranking hadn't diminished in the slightlest. If anything, it might've increased by quite a lot. The Trickster, although overjoyed at the fact that the spider had gone into hibernation, wasted no time in making such pranks and traps over at his little coocon-hideout under the pretense of 'testing' her traps. Despite six months having slightly mellowed out everyone's hatred for eachother out of necessity, with Hassan and Irelia bing prime example, her parrareling hatred and fear of the Arachnida hadn't washed away in time, unlike the rest of the companions whom she had become fond of at best and tolerant of at worst.



Bisila had become aware at the concerning fact that her mortality rate rose to an unsettling high number whenever she found herself without a gun. She needed a secondary weapon, something she could use just in case she didn't have her guns with her. Memories of the Ranworth Matriach came over her and she had decided that using swords was probably the best idea. Thing being that she was a bit stubborn at the fact that she would have to ask Hassan for training, she already owed her life to him she didn't want him to hold so many things against her in revenge for all the times she had bothered him and pranked him so she resorted to watching how he and Irelia trained before trying more or less the same excersices. However she kept getting sidetracked by the lack of familliarity with the weapon and had to drag herself to ask him for some lessons. Not her proudest moment. However, she did get some bonus martial art lessons along with the stick-sword lessons so she wasn't completely reliant on the 'blade'


The Trickster hummed with satisfaction as she removed the small coconut and berry cakes from the oven, which had managed to not burst into flames after the 5th attempt of making it functional. It was far from any or whatever fancy cakes the Overseer could've provided them but she preffered her hard work better than whatever their blasted eye in the methaphorical sky could've made. Bisila had taken it upon herself to not eat whatever they were given unless it was made by her due to a suspicion that it could be laced or something. While it was a bit hard to stick by her desicion during the first month or so, she eventually got used to it since she had made her oven and other cooking methods. Taking a moment to take in the sweet smell of cake, Bisi put a piping hot tea cup beside the cakes, exiting her work shop as she made her way to the beach with a plan to indulge herself atleast in a nice view.

The walk to the beach was mainly uneventful as she amused herself with her thoughts and ideas for her next puppet show when she saw most of the Companion-Harbinger group together, including the Arachnida to her displeasure, and walked over to them with a wave, balancing her cakes and tea on the other hand

"Well well the gang's all here! What's the party all about? A new escape plan? Are we finally using the spider as a test subject?"

​

 

[Soviet Panda]

Fealca Isern​

Frankly, Fealca could not completely recollect what exactly transpired that day in the town. He remembered silently leaving the wagon to search out the post office so as to send a telegraph to old Mrs. Seolfur, officially relinquishing control of his beloved shop to her while he was away, however long that may be. It was something short, 'The shop is yours <stop> take care of it until I'm back <stop> sorry for the smell.' Nice, simple, and to the point, a quick in and out and he'd be back at the conestoga before they even noticed he was gone. However, people had come into the post office behind him, locked the door even. Last thing he remembered was handing the small slip of paper to the clerk behind their desk and telling them to duck. Next thing he knew, he was on an island paradise with the others, a multitude of bruises and lacerations showing that he had at least put up a fight before being shipped here.

The past few months saw him listlessly moving about the island. There was nothing for him to do but wander. Occasionally he'd practice a few martial forms, perhaps do a little drill he had done time and time again while he was a part of the Varangians, or maybe even some intensive meditation. Fealca was a patient man, as had been shown in his chosen way to wage war. And he was prepared to make many sacrifices to achieve his goals. But here? There was nothing, even the insects lazily floated about on lethargic wings that beat almost to slow to carry them. In this particular moment, he was listlessly floating about the pool, much like Hershey had done up until not to long ago. He had only moved enough to make sure the artificial currents caused by mechanisms designed to keep the pool clean did not cause his and her path to collide.

As the world progressed around him, he did not deign to acknowledge it. The water in his ears, he was in a silent world unto his own. That is, until Hershey's voice penetrated the void and reached him. Silent save for the water splashing with his motion, he stood upright in the pool, turning his head to look in the direction of the gathering Harbingers and Companions. Something about a contest of physical skill? And the winner was exempt from chores? Well, it was only natural that he was to participate, and he was to win of course. How dare they force an elderly gentleman such as himself to perform such chores, it took a toll on his body after all.

'That's a lie and you know it. You simply want something to do besides float about aimlessly, if only for a few fleeting moments.'

He gave a brief, nearly imperceptible smile as he mentally chided himself for such foolish thinking. Yes, he may be old, but he was in perhaps the best shape of any 'elderly gentleman' he had seen. Perhaps, even, the most in shape on the entire island, though that was a hotly contested podium to be sure. Hassan and Irelia, for example, seemed to compete for it on a daily basis. Though he knew better than to think this was mere competition. Even someone as dull witted as he could see the sparks between them. He had thought of joining them many times, but had always thought better of it in the end. Who knows what they would have done if he had interrupted their personal time. Though he was confident that he could fight off one of them, to try and ward off both was perhaps asking to much of him.

"A volleyball game? And I see that the teams have already been decided. And here I had hoped I'd have a chance to properly stretch my limbs. No matter, I suppose I shall relegate myself as referee." And he could always side himself with the winning team. Frankly it was nothing but a win for him, except for the fact that he would continue to do nothing. Okay perhaps he was a little crestfallen that he was to be the referee.

 

[Funnier President]

Kazan Hi
Interactions: The Volleyball Squad

Kazans Diary, Entry 1

Hello, person reading this that isnt Kazan. Look behind you.

Ha, made ya look, didnt I?

Well, if you are reading this Diary of Prison life, I really cant stop you from reading. I admitingly just decided to make this to vent, but then I realized that if we get outta here, I could just sell this for a lot of money! So.... yeah.

Anyways, this place is just an island. With a glowing orb thats called ¨Overlord¨ Kinda a pompous name for a glowing ball, if you ask me.

You probably know about the Companions and the Harbringers (Hopefully) So im gonna skip over decribing every one of them (My hand is already hurting. I wonder how the heck writers do this stuff for so long????) The two groups are currently just staying away from each other-ish, I see friendships already blossoming. Escape plans are in the works right now. so maybe one of those will work. If they dont, at least we can hope for Sylvia and Ra´el to figure out something.

Never say Im not optimistic.

Kazan

Kazans Diary, Entry 5

Its been three months, and nothing has worked. The ploy to sail away failed. Jumping-the-guards failed. I never though Id say this, but I McFreaking HATE spheres. At the least, Im making friends with the Harbringers. Bisilas tree-house is cool, and Galious is getting insaner by the minute. He litterally went on a tanget yesterday on how the ¨Crow God¨ wanted him for dinner or something, I was just trying to pretend that I wasnt dying of laughter.

I think everyone here however, still isnt fully convinced this is permenant, me included. Even though I despreatly hope we will make it out, I just dont see a way for us to do it.

Rememeber what I said in the first entry, about me being optimistic? You can ignore that.

An un-optimistic Kazan

Kazans Diary, Entry 11

This was a doozy. As I said in the last entry, I really dont know If I would have followed Sylvia if I had known that this would have happened. I keep thinking back to the Kazan of five months ago, wondering what the heck she had been thinking.

If your wondering where this is going, just hang tight.

Yesterday, everyone was talking, and discussing more escape plans. Then, someone said something about being rescued by Sylvia. I dont even know who, because I was barely even listening. When they said that though..... Lets just say I called Sylvia some very unkind things. Like I maybe said she way probably dead. And worse things. And then I ran away. The End.

Admitingly, that was probably wrong of me. Although, being on this island just makes me feel angry. Trapped, in a sense. I wonder if Im weird for thinking this, or is some of the others thinking this also? Also, Preston seems to have joined Galious in the ¨Mentally Insane Club¨ For the only plus in this depressing chapter, I am 100% certain there is something going on between Irelia and Hassan((His new nickname, Palm Tree Guy)). I saw how they were looking at each other. Irelia, If your reading this, its true.

Presently, Im just trying to hide from everyone right now. I highly doubt they´d think to look for the Pyromancer behind the bar, but you never know. Shit, I think I hear someone.

Signing off for now, Kazan.

Well, this was awkward.

Kazan was just sitting near the sea, when all of a sudden, she had somehow gotten roped into a ¨Beach Volleyball¨ game. She was just hanging around hear the back, listening to everyone talk about the game, feeling awkward.

It had been a month since had gone off about Sylvia, and she was still trying to avoid the Companions. Admitingly, she knew that she had to go and say sorry or something, but, again, like with what happened with Laure, she was being to cowardly to do it.

Waving hello at Bisila as she came around, she replied

¨No, no firing off Preston in a cannon today. Its Beach Volleyball, and I wouldn´t say no if you offered to substitute for me.¨

Maybe she could worm her way out of this- Besides, she was probably going to get absolutely demolished. Practically everyone was stronger than her. Except Galious, she could probably take the frog in a fight.


​

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious
interaction: Pilgrim59 Funnier President Worthlessplebian Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool Zariel Larry Celestial Speck​

It was hard to tell if Galious was actually listening to the story being told seemingly more so engrossed by the munching on his own meal but, indeed the salamanderian was indeed listening but decided it was best not to comment during the story lest he rambles on and on ruining the flow of the tale. with the story concluded Galious was about to scurry off having just had a burst of inspiration regarding the disarming of the wristband that held much of his own power back. When Hershey called for a game of volleyball. Oh and the. Bisi of all people snakes her face… the raven perched upon her shoulder mocking Galious with glee… being used as ammo wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of experiences. “Oh… you what are you thinking of next putting me into a tiny aircraft and then having me get struck by lighting?” Galious remarked with a venomous tone and a death glare that just looked like a cute grumpy squishy face boi. He‘d swiftly jump off the tall chair and decide he might as well join scurrying over he’d ignore the bird perched still upon Bisi however non-existent it was, focusing on what the dawn-bringer had said noticing the issue as soon as she said what the teams would be. “They aren’t even, we have more on our team than you do” Galious squeaked head darting around frantically to drag someone else into this that would be Hershey, Galious pointed at her in an almost accusatory way. “if Hershey is on iraeli’s team then everything will be even and we will both have a short person so its far” galious exclaimed seemingly rather proud for no particular reason… of course he expected to lose and get slammed in the face repeatedly due to the machinations of the gods and overlord.. especially the raven god… the flying bastard..

 

[Larry]

Odhrán von Starkenburg
Location: The Pool, Point Blank.
Mood: Slightly mirthful.
Mentions: Everybody taking part in the volleyball game.
Interactions: Zariel ​

There was quite the range of reactions to the islander's story: Hershey's stolid appraisal of its subject matter being 'boring', whilst praising of Odhrán's capacity to have survived the war in the first place; Preston's jovial comments on the matter and, being so inspired, postponed the telling of a story of his own sometime in the future; and then there was Galious, who seemed to waver between attention and listlessness in the course of the story being told. Even though he never thought of himself as being the most solid of storytellers, in a sharp contrast to the reputation of the Aranese for being glib wordsmiths, the boiscín tournament seemed to have been serviceable. For that alone, Odhrán was satisfied. The strain for talking at such a length, along with the unexpected concatenation of repressed emotion that attached itself to the re-telling, slowly began to abate.

It seemed, however, that there were more activities to take place that morning.

Irelia and Hassan, ever in tandem, strolled over to the pool-side assemblage and suggested a game of volleyball for them to partake in. The Dawnbringer's choice included himself, alongside Kazan and Senna. Hassan's team included Eryn, Bisila, Galious and Preston. These teams don't seem...all that fair, the islander thought to himself worringly, sizing up the First Harbinger's squad. Notwithstanding that they had one extra person, the pure physicality possessed by both Hassan and Preston, the agility wielded by Eryn, the shrewdness of Bisila and the sheer stochasticism of Galious, made for a frightening combination. On the other hand, Odhrán wasn't as proficient, physically or reactively, as his teammates, so he needed to be put in a position where that lacking wouldn't be exploited.

An idea, like a flash of lightning, then shot across the islander's mind.

"Irelia," he began, gesturing towards the Oeki swordswoman, "I think that if we're going to win this match, I would suggest that you put me as a setter. That way, I feel, we can get the best out of you, Kazan and Senna. It might be take me a few sets to get the dynamics of setting down, but it could prove to be our best option. Regardless, I'll follow whatever strategy you wish to employ."

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —
​

Irelia returned a nod to Preston as the doctor agreed to her terms.

"Thank you, Preston," she said politely. "And as you wish, I cannot hamper all of your physical capabilities."

The swordmaiden flicked her attention to deranged salamanderian, who surprisingly raised a good point, despite the madness to which he descended. The teams were uneven, though, to begin with, they were an odd-numbered bunch. Maybe if Markas were here, then everyone could've taken part.

Irelia's train of thought suddenly drifted onto a tangent. She hadn't seen the Dragon Slayer since the soirée the past winter, and her concern for him grew. She prayed for his constitution on several occasions in recent months, but once again, she was reminded of his recondite absence. However, she was hopeful in her suspicion that he was still in hiding—if he was already caught they would have brought him to Point Blank too, right?

Looking back, Markas was not with the rest of the Company in the sewers either, and so it was entirely possible that he left Dragonsreach itself. Thus the question remains: where was he now?

Alas, worrying would serve no purpose. Irelia could only hope to surmise correctly. She stowed away her perturbation lest she falls down another rabbit hole of guilt.

Returning to reality after her ephemeral departure, Irelia gently shook her head before addressing Sir Meeples's concern.

"You are quite right, Sir Meeples," she said, nodding in agreement. "It would seem the little aries is required to partake after all. As you so pridefully say, That should at least equilibrate the average disparity in height between the two teams."

Irelia paused, placing her index finger on her lip and furrowing her brow in thought.

"On second thought, Sir Meeples should join our team. Based on what I've heard, I presume the aries will be more inclined to play if she and Hassan are on the same side."

Conveniently, Fealca elected himself to referee the match, though he appeared somewhat consternated with the compelled designation.

"Oh... my sincere apologies, Grand General. I did not think someone as aged as you would be interested." Irelia placed her hand lightly across her chest as a gesture of respect for the old veteran. "If I may propose a compromise, should any of us tire during the game and require repose, then you may substitute for them."

As the motley group finalized the teams for the beach game, Irelia smiled at Odhrán, who approached her.

"Is something the matter, my beloved friend?" Irelia said cordially.

Odhrán proceeded to explain, characteristically modest, and somewhat submissive, as ever. It has gotten to the point where Irelia found Odhrán's belittling self-critical nature vexatious.

"Odhrán," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Please refrain from denigrating yourself so much. I have absolute confidence in your abilities. In honesty, judging from your use of terminology, it would seem you possess more knowledge of this sport than I. Nevertheless, I will acknowledge what you have to say. If you still doubt yourself, Senna and I will make up for any physical insufficiencies. Kazan is well-versed in hurling fireballs, so I'd wager she has a rather explosive shot. I'm relying on that to secure our victory. Sir Meeples can cover us for the rest. He might even surprise us with a trick or two of his own."

Irelia then relinquished her hand from the islander's shoulder.

"Do keep in mind, the first and foremost aim of this game is for everyone to have some fun... With that being said, do still try to win." her eyes narrowed menacingly. "I would very much like defeat Hassan and the opposing team."

Hoping she was useful in offering reassurance to her close companion, Irelia turned to speak to the rest.

"Well then, if everyone else is ready, let's head over to the court."

 

[xAlter]

Caenis Vasilias Koimamai
Location: Point Blank
Interactions: Zariel Larry
Mentions: Funnier President Huntertabbysandshark3

Caenis didn’t really want to interact with the others. His mind was still thinking of ways to escape, to go back to the outside world. Caged birds only wanted to fly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case as his footsteps brought him towards the pool, as his stomach yearned for one thing only, food. Walking past everyone and still lost in thought, Caenis grabbed a banana and was in the process of eating it when he heard conversation begin. ”Volleyball? he thought to himself. What a strange request. The last time he had played anything sports related was… never.

Of course Caenis knew how to play the game, and what the game entailed, but he never had free time to do so. From the life on the streets, to his life under Laia, and even his life in the Harbingers and Companions, fun was not something he had ever considered. It was always all work, no play for him. He guessed to himself he could try it out. He didn’t know how good at the game he would be, but he would give it his best if he asked to join.

Hearing his name, or rather his alias, called, Caenis’ ears picked up the conversation that Irelia had continued. While he was going to suggest it be a friendly game of Harbingers versus Companions, that this was the war to settle the score, Caenis did find the mixing of groups to be a good call. His use of his alias, though… which ever made Irelia more comfortable, he figured. “Sure…” he responded from where he stood. “That’s fine with me.” he said, once Irelia finished her team assignments.

Walking next to Odhran, Caenis put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be counting on you.” he said in regards to the islander’s proposal to be the setter of the team. Caenis himself was aware of his own strengths, and being put into a position of attacking was probably not the best. Putting himself in a defensive role wouldn't be the worst idea.

“Irelia, if I may… I’ll take the role of the libero.” he spoke, falling beside their de facto leader in the competition of the ball of volley. “I believe my speed may be more useful in defending areas of the court where we might be lacking in such defensive capabilities. That way we can have the likes of you, Kazan, and Galious keep up the offensive. What do you say?”

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hershey
Volleyball Court, Point Blank
Interacted: Zariel
Mentioned: Larry Soviet Panda Huntertabbysandshark3 Funnier President ​

Despite what the swordmaiden proffered, any sense of sportsmanship in Hershey's mind was cast aside for her raw instinct propelled her towards the sandy volleyball grounds. Honed by almost a decade-long of conflict with the Empire and then the Iris Company since Sylvia's awakening in Verdan, Hershey was prone to challenge her nemesis in any way she saw fit. Even if they were forced to cooperate somewhere along the way, it was an innate and natural response for the Harbinger to undergo these feelings that she was carrying now. Infact, she was vividly upset by Irelia's choice of attire. For a brief second, Hershey could almost feel herself wanting to cater to Kazan's needs in order to justify her lacking developments - with a similar case of peer-like understanding. The petty dreamweaver saw the volleyball match as a crusade to challenge the swordmaiden's authority as well as keeping the rest of them, inckuding herself sane on this loensome island.

Sylvia and Sertek's disappearance marked the end of a long chapter that both the Company and the Harbingers endured. Perhaps some good could be acknowledged from such an odd circumstances. Never did the dreamweaver thought the day would come when old enemies would be inclined to take an enforced vacation together. Such coexistence invalidated any speculation one might have had regarding the bloody history between them. Even more so for the perceivably blossoming bond between a certain pair of blade wielders. It shook Hershey when she witnessed such an affair taking place not so long after their capture and inevitable exile. To account for inconclusive time, the two organization had little choice but to indulge each other's presence.

"Spare us your modesty, Odhrán. We've all witnessed what you can do in Anthem. Besides it is just a game." Hershey passed by Odhrán with a praising statement.

"Hershey will wipe that grin off of your face, you big-bosomed bison." Hershey muttered to herself when she was outside their earshot. Her tone quickly took on a contemptuous emphasis as opposed to her friendly regards to Odhrán. The dreamweaver was engaged in her combat mindset, stepping onto the court with her arms winding back for a brief warm-up. As she did, she noticed the old Harbinger sashaying over to observe the game as a referee instead of springing into action. If it was not for her own ideals that spurred Sertek forth, perhaps Fealca could have retired happily in Dragonsreach. Hershey owed him too much as she did the other Harbingers to step down now. Even more so when she had a personal vendetta against women with bountiful developments. Alas, the bitter truth was that Fealca had little choice but to abide by his honor. Rolling up her robe's sleeves, Hershey quickly fashioned her hair into a bun to keep her peripheral visions intact. Her obviously furious optics could be seen directing its attention towards Irelia.

"How sanguine. Very well, Hershey will indulge your impertinence." The aries proclaimed. But not before making a misstep and burying her face head into the sands. The dreamweaver quickly got up and dusted herself off.

"Just a ritual. Nothing more." She shrugged it off, wiping the sands from her face.

It was shortly after her tumbled proclamation, however, did the dreamweaver realized something was off. Her minimal profile was now a clear and present disadvantage, for she could barely perceive the underlining texture of the net. Given her delicate form and main expertise during the war, she seemed out-of-place - like a scholar signing up for a jousting tournament. Turning over to the golemancer, Hershey took comfort in knowing that she was not alone in the situation.

"Hershey will not tolerate a defeat here. Stand proud, Team Hassan!" Hershey remarked, taking on a contrapposto stance with a hand residing by her slender hips, while the other adjusting her robe.

The dreamweaver, despite their nonchalant demeanor, wished for nothing but a victory - no matter the cost. All that awaited them now was for them to cast the ball into the air, for the rest will follow shortly.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Huntertabbysandshark3 Interactions: Pilgrim59 Larry Celestial Speck
Location: Point Break, OHHH, That's a Vahlleh Bol.

As the remaining allies began to draw close to this game of volleyball, it dawned on Preston that the teams are particularly misbegotten. Seriously, he and Hassan alone should be enough to hold everyone else off, however it seems as though that Hershey would be joining them and Preston thought upon her short stature. "It matters not, we simply have to compensate for her size." The Spider muttered, he's confident in his reaction times and agility that he can easily compensate.

He did manage to overhear Odhrán underestimating his own abilities. A disapproving headshake was Preston's answer. "Is this one of your attempts to lay down our guard, Odhrán? I expected better." He quipped enthusiastically, it seems as though this little activity has raised Preston's spirit a little too well. Hopefully, he does not allow this mere game to overtake any sensibility. The Grand General Fealca who Preston only heard about from rumours and hearsay will be the Grand Referee in this match. Oddly, that gave Preston a sense of comfort. He always seemed like a man of honour, commitment, and focus. So even if he is a Harbinger, Preston trusts that he will be fair to both sides.

Then the Dreamweaver met intimately with the sand, which immediately prompted Preston to tread over to help her up. Though it seems she helped herself up and brushed herself down from the sand. She attempted to play off her blunder, being as slick as a thread if Preston's knowledge of youngin slang was correct. He found that strangely endearing. "I shall be an outside hitter." Preston announced his role and took up his position on the left side of the court.

While waiting on the others, Preston fabricated a ball of webbing roughly in size to that of the volleyball and began a pre-game ritual of juggling the ball with his fingertips, delicately trying not to puncture the webbing due to his clawed digits.

"To Victory!" He complimented Hershey's words of encouragement while juggling the ball.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious
interaction: Zariel Worthlessplebian​

Galious nodded confidently nodded seeing that everyone actually agreed with him as opposed to brushing him off the salamandrians shattered broken Ego was validated and he now felt better about himself puffing his chest out confidently even though him being shifted to Irelia's team wasn't overly optimal at least in Galious's mind they still had Preston... agile spider entity, obviously to coordinate multiple limbs he'd have objectively superior reaction time and coordination. "rightio ill see what I can do iv grown rather good at jumping over the past months" Galious would say narrowing his eyes as you did in any arc of some book where the characters had a beach party.. even though Galious didn't read any.

though it seemed Preston was getting the game started Galious crouched down kinda just ready to pounce at the ball.. hopefully, he'd get high enough to be at all useful. "GET ON WITH IT YOU SPOODER" Galious yelled at Preston trying to be intimidating? maybe? well yes but it just sounded goofy because its Galious what else to you expect.

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —
​

"A sound strategy, Senna." Irelia nodded in agreement.

To the swordmaiden's content, several of the others, either implicitly or explicitly, served to amplify Odhrán's confidence. Some of them even suggested his outward demeanour was nothing but a facade to lower his opponents' guard. Irelia silently chuckled at the notion. If she knew the islander as well as she thought, subterfuge was, at the very least, out of character for him.

"As it would seem, Odhrán, I'm not the only one who believes in you. In fact, the only person here who doubts you is yourself," Irelia remarked, crossing her arms. "Now, show us what you are really capable of."

Soon, the two teams took their sides of the court, a net bisecting the playing field into equal halves. As she scanned the opposing side, her eyes caught a glimpse of the aries shooting deathly daggers at her. A cold chill crept the length of Irelia's spine. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

"Senna, why is your little friend over there looking at me with a death stare?" she asked Caenis with a puzzled whisper. "Have I done something to offend her?"

While she waited for a response, Preston created a ball composed of his own webbing meticulously wrapped into countless concentric circles. Irelia took that to mean the other team would deliver the opening serve. All that was left now was to wait for a whistle from Fealca, and the game would begin.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Huntertabbysandshark3 Interactions: Pilgrim59 Larry and Everyone who sees the ball.
Location: Point Break, He serves!

Taking one final look around, Preston made sure everyone had gathered in their positions. Both teams had decided to arrange, rearrange, and potentially disregard potential strategies. And such, Preston began to walk towards his end of the field. When all of the sudden, the miniscule lizard had blurted out his contempt for the spider's patient waiting. The gecko is quite lucky that Preston decided to stick true to logic and sportsmanship, otherwise he would have returned fire with barbed language. Reaching the end of the court, the spider stepped back behind the line in keeping with the traditional rules of volleyball. A final scan of his opponents allowed Preston to accurately pick his targets. If he was an unreasonable man, Preston would have gone for the short statured reptile for that pompous outcry, but he decides that the ample victim of his deadly serve would be the islander. For while his skills are great, the Doctor doubts that he can intercept this blistering blast of a ball made from webs.

With one foot forward, a frown forms on his face. Preston extends his left arm which holds the ball, then begins waving it up and down. A tactic to get their eyes focused on the ball. Then Preston releasing the ball into the air. For one infinitesimal moment, it appears slowed down to Preston's eyes. That moment passes as the Spider's right hand snapped at the ball, sending cleanly over the net and towards the intended victim, Odhrán. Preston quickly jogs back into his own designated position.

 

[Pilgrim59]

THE END OF TOTTDLMTH​

A transient voice, equipped with ample displeasure swept across the land - unheard by the inhabitants of the island. A bystander, whose presence was but a vapor in the air, so inconsequential yet ever-present. As the oblivious braced themselves for the start of their proposed game, an imperfect zephyr of the lifeless shore swept the Companions and Harbingers alike. The warm island was now threatened by an untouchable breeze from a foreign land. An opportunity relinquished, with the climax of their temporary distraction in Point Blank quickly undone by their stalker's diverted attention. A reticent buzz rapidly nullified all that one could perceive with their senses. The very essence of nature's perpetual element shattered, as the Companions and the Harbingers found themselves prisoner of an eternal prison, where even the fabric of time made an enemy of them. The features of the august warriors were attentively studied by the Overlord, as all came to a standstill at the behest of their observer's will. The reticent buzz from before would resurface, this time with enough vigor to beckon the attention of the phantom force.

Amber eyes cast upon the static lines that rippled across the artificial board. The observer's gaze averted from the Companions and Harbingers that were frozen in their respective positions, before diverting their attention towards the swaying whites of their ash tray. Terse fingers enveloped the idle cigarette, finally careening its way towards their master's plump lips with purpose. A silent inhalation set ablaze the ashy paper - burning it gradually as they took a long drag. Across their desk scattered a myriad of dossiers that pertained to the corresponding subjects of their intrigues. As they adjusted the warm light slightly to brighten the room at the flick of their familiar device, these titles unveiled various familiar names that were instrumental to the cause of their intermittent review. Legends and fables of outstanding individuals, whether through virtue or vice, filled the avid reader's mind with speculative controversies as they mirrored that of their surrogate persona upon the screen. Even now, the subject of the Companions and Harbingers' existence remains a mystery - shrouded by myths among fiction. The bygone era that they did not live through, was as distant as the far fetched adventures upon the monitor that they catered their attention to. A reticent chuckle ensued, as the figure unveiled themselves from the darkness. They ridiculed the contents with their amused smile, pondering if the fictitious materials really did the figures in the ever-changing history of the world any justice. Among numerous discrepancy that were unaccounted for, there had to be some certain truth to these accounts for it to be as vivid as it was. But before they were graced with the anticipated conclusion, an unprovoked buzzing sensation shook the oaken furniture. A rhomboid shape took form, with a minimalized message to bear.

"On a Krisdei, no less." The woman took heed of the message on her personal device and gave a long sigh. Clicking her tongue, she pinched her temple with an annoyed expression to follow. Swiping her hand past the edges of the slim monitor, she quickly stowed her weekend's entertainments. In pursuit of her device's note, the white haired lady got up from her swivel chair and dragged herself towards the dark curtains on the far side of her room. Separating the gray fabrics from the dew-laden windows, she cast her gaze upon the grand view of skyscrapers and monotonous buildings that has been a common sight for the past few years. Many of these urban monuments, a testament to Groznyan progress, vied for supremacy as they competed for the gloomy sky. Their sporadic illuminations gave life to this historic city, while mobile lights upon the long avenues crawled ever slowly below. Another mundane evening for the denizens of Aaken City, as the woman often thought to herself with the same view in sight. The lady saw her lazy weekend pass revoked when she grounded her cigarette into the ashtray. With the flames upon the rolled parchment finally extinguished, so too did her alacrity. The woman then dragged herself towards her closet, forsaking her

Egressing outside of her cozy négligée, she fashioned for herself a suit, of which was firmly ironed and pressed with care. A spare set of her attendance should she lest expected it, particularly prepared for her current situation. Having fitted into her work clothes, she made her way out of her personal chambers and into the living room. Across the kitchen counter was a peculiar set of leathery accessories that contained her essential equipment. They were all aligned perfectly in a neat fashion, a hard habit of an organized personnel. Firstly a holster with a Kepra, a reliable tool that had its caliber size and serial numbers stamped upon the slide, that she quickly secured by her waist. The second apparatus came in the form of a laminated identification card that read 'Preisig J.' and finally an ornate shield with the appropriate fasteners. They would go upon her neck and the inside of her jacket respectively. The woman then tied her hair up in a twin tail fashion, before putting on her heels as made her way outside of her lonely studio.

Trickling rain, a foreboding omen of her details. As she exposed herself to the rowdy corner of Fifty-Ninth and Grand Hill, a lone black sedan greeted her by the curb - one that she has familiarized herself with for as long as she could remember. Pacing herself towards the vehicle, she simply gave the driver an acknowledging nod. The blaring horns of the queued vehicles on the other side of the road began to amplify, while the busy street brushed the white-haired detective along with haste.

"So, how's Tot-Dee?" The driver asked, referring to the very content that Preisig herself had been indulging just as she was called to work. His rogue white locks of hair unveiled an amber pair of optics to greet his colleague, donning an identical shield as that of Preisig's while fashioning for themselves an apparel with similar palate. The woman quickly got in, catching a sharp breath before she responded to his inquiry.

"It's too early to say, especially when they capped the Daemon Lord. That Harbinger and Companion team-up was interesting though." Preisig replied with an unimpressed tone, as she tuned out the radio transceiver within the vehicle. "How is that genre still popular these days?" The woman followed up with a sigh.

"Magic. You know me, I enjoy a little bit of everything." Her partner gave an amused smile as he shifted his gear and began to stir his wheel slightly to merge into the gradually advancing lane. "Must be nice though, being able to harness aetherium without all the mechanical gimmicks and incantations." The man added, noting the contrast in their world compared to that of the exaggerated elements of the series. In an age where magic is so heavily regulated, the jest cuts deeper than a mere jab at the system that corrupts its denizens. So much so that it ticked the young lady beside him just slightly.

"The way I see it, it's more of a curse than a blessing, Veeren." She scoffed dryly, as her partner gave her an eyeful. "You would say that since you're a mage." The man responded, waving his hand about. Preisig simply dismissed the notion, withdrawing a profile from the glove compartment - a means to address the purpose for which she was summoned for the ride. "So. What did the unies picked up this time? I know the Captain does not respect religious matter as much as I do, but for Aerilia's sake, it's a Kristadei." She shook her head in disbelief.

"He call, we haul. You know the drill." Veeren remarked, taking note of his partner's swift action to secure the profile that he had arranged for her to review. Preisig noted, as she examined the pictures attached, as well as various accompanying description. "What about that senior detective from homocide? Isn't this his detail?" She inquired.

"It was. Until the informant asked for you by name. Medical examiners are already on it, but our informant has something else for your ears alone. They're already at the scene waiting for us."

"Anybody I know or care enough about?" Preisig raised her brow with a curious look in her eyes.

"La Reina. Any idea why the head of the Rosario Cartel wants a word with you?" Veeren said, as they came to a stop at a red light.

"Who knows. Things got weird ever since we picked up that Authie case back in Yulisa. Reina should be behind bars. If we only got there in time..." She reminisced their past investigations, looking past the drippling window beside her with a fiery look in her eyes. Her partner would catch a glimpse of her frustration slightly, before brokering his voice.

"That's the justice system for you. There's nothing else we could do, Prei. Shit was out of our hands. Man, I could go for a drink right now." Veeren groaned, taking his hands off the wheel and scanned his surroundings. As he did, his partner would chuckle softly.

"I second that." Preisig replied swiftly, finally reaching a common element they both shared. Despite her firm fingers pinning the fine blanch parchments against its rougher counterparts, and her sharp eyes reviewing the contents, the detective could not help but reflect on a certain element that she had obtained from the show that was recently suggested to her by Veeren. Perhaps she would find her answer when it is ready to be revealed.

"You know. The world would be a lot less shitty if everyone was like Hellriegel or Kazan." Veeren added, with a light smile forming on his face. Preisig could only chuckle softly, as her partner reeled her back to reality. "I doubt it. But one can always dream in Aaken." Preisig responded, as the vehicle finally moved again, cruising down the long stretch of luminescent path, where the sleepless city began to unravel its darkest secrets.

FINAL WORDS
This project would not have been possible without you, the players.
Your participations have been a blessing and I am honored to have written with you all.
Thank You.

Celestial Speck Soviet Panda Huntertabbysandshark3 ElenaIsCool Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope Nessi Midrick Zariel Remembrance Larry xAlter Funnier President Malphaestus ​