Agatha looked up and wiped imaginary sweat off her brow, finally able to see the results of her work.
Greencrest was her hometown, but the house she'd grown up in looked the same as ever; clapboards leaning drunkedly, a washed out gray-brown color planted in the corner of a weedy glade. Her earliest memories were of picking flowers in the field and catching frogs in the river to the south, but the sight of home itself made her frown, small and guarded. She shrugged off the plow's harness, raised her arms, and stretched with a yawn.
Their old horse had died years and years ago; although the field had grown fallow and she'd found other places to cultivate, in the last few years she'd made an effort to do something about it when she could. In the time they'd let it lay, stones had grown more numerous than plants. She'd almost broken the blade twice, and her shoulders hurt, but she had pushed on. It hadn't been easy, although plowing the field hadn't been nearly as hard as she'd thought it would be. Once she'd started moving she'd been able to keep moving as long as she didn't stop.
Agatha put her hands on her hips and smiled at the broken dirt around her, quietly pleased with herself. She knelt down and brushed off a thistle before popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. It was too late in the season for flowering plants, but if she planted a few tubers-
The yell made her stand and immediately look back at the house, frightened, but there was no sound from it. She went to draw her sword before remembering where she'd left it and her armor, instead lifting the plow with both hands and holding it's edge up. She lowered it back to earth a few moments later when a rider came into view, waving and grinning. Her heart slowed down by degrees.
"About time I found you! Don't you get mail here in the sticks?" He laughed, riding up and dismounting. The man wearing plated armor had an open sort of face, one used to smiling more than anything else. He glanced over her shoulder and she grimaced.
"No, the postmaster wouldn't accept barter, only payment. Now they hold my letters in town. I didn't want them delivered here... It's good to see you, Kirk. When was the last time...?"
"Few months or so. 'S why I'm here, matter of fact. The order needs it's figurehead to sort something out. You heard about the war?"
"Which one?" She asked, and he laughed. It hadn't been a joke.
"There's a mercenary company operating behind the lines, in your territory. Thirty men or so, killing and torching and raping their way across the greenbelt. The Rose can't spare any companies to take care of it, but..." He trailed off, waving his hands at her. She nodded, thinking it over.
"They won't draft me afterwards, will they?" She asked warily. Part of the agreement for her training, gear, and membership was that technically she wasn't a knight, and held no titles or degrees of nobility herself. Defending her hearth and home was all she wanted to do, not fight battles for the gains of petty despots. She was nothing more than a mascot, something for people to swap stories about.
"No, the agreement stands! Just, it's a Rose problem. Best have you handle it." He said guilelessly. "You know where Oldstone is? It's not on my map..."
"I know where it is. It's to small to bother writing in, but the people there are good hearted. I'm sorry, I'll be just a moment, let me gather my things." She said, hurrying across her field and picking her way between furrows.
When she neared the house she slowed and began to creep, trying to make as little noise as possible. The creak of her door almost made her hiss nervously, but she kept it in and made her silent way to the room that had always been hers. It was very small, now, and she didn't fit her old bed, but she'd kept it as it was before she'd left. Her rack of bottles and leaves, shoots, and stems sat at weary attention.
Agatha ripped off the patched green tunic and hurriedly slipped her thin armor on, the ironwood light but strong as steel. Metal gear made her uncomfortable, and left the large rose growing out of the small of her back exposed or crushed. She eyed it in her dirty mirror, the flower a little bigger than a basketball and deep, arterial red. No one knew what it was, or where it had come from, but once it had bloomed everything had changed...
Listening one last time for noise or movement like a rabbit in it's den, Agatha took a deep breath and once again snuck out of her house, mentally cursing the door before she was free. She hoisted her massive blade up so the sun glared off it and smiled at Kirk, who smiled back before glancing over her shoulder again.
"Why don't you just-"
"Because. That's all. Are we racing there?" She asked challengingly, hoping to shift the subject.
"I don't think so. Hate to put the poor beast through that." He said, mounting up and patting his horse's head. Agatha gathered herself and set off alongside, sword on her shoulder. She tried her hardest not to look back, but she did anyway.
Monday, November 27, 2017
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
It's a living.
It was another busy night at the Blue Lagoon mall.
Neo Death was at her place in the Meh Burger in the food court, the expediter at the end of the line. One person cooked the meat and started the food, another built the sandwiches and orders, and her job was to wrap them and send them out to the customers in bags or on trays. She wore her normal small smile as she quickly put two combo meals in a bag and handed them to a family waiting; they thanked her and she dipped her head. Other than not being able to run a register, she was proficient enough at the job.
The Neo Elementals had stayed behind after the Clashkin and the Alternates had gone back to Solis; in the wake of the offseason, they'd realized they would need to get jobs if they wanted to keep their room at the hotel. Death didn't eat or sleep, herself, but she had wanted to do her part to keep her two sisters safe and happy. She knew she was lucky; two people had walked off the job right before she'd applied, or otherwise they likely wouldn't have hired a mute with no background to speak of.
"Fries down!"
Death adjusted her hat and poured the frozen fries into a basket before dropping them into the fryer and setting the timer, briefly sighing before wiping her apron off and going back to making food. She spotted her War sitting at a table, but her cheery wave went unseen.
Black axe sitting next to her, the War grumpily moved her hair out of her face and bit into a steak sub like it was the throat of an enemy. With her appearance and the weapon chained to her, it had seemed like slim pickings for her own employment, until she'd spotted people in uniforms moving almost unseen, sweeping the floors and taking trash bags to big carts. She'd applied and been hired as a janitor, but the work was grinding in her. There were always so many things to clean up from careless and clumsy people, and it was hard to keep her frustrations to herself. Two months ago every human in here would have been afraid of her; now they joked about her weird look and threw their trash on the floors like she wanted to pick it up for them.
Putting down her sandwich, she went back to her book, highlighting a part about improper fractions. Extreme Book Club had shown her what she needed to do; even if it was only a Good Enough Degree, a GED would at least let her move up and do something more. For now, she stewed in her frustrations and counted down the minutes until her break was over.
Out of the three, Lexi had had the most luck; she was working in an Abercrombie, and had finally gotten comfortable enough that she didn't skulk on pins and needles through the store. After getting used to wearing clothes instead of just the minimum and her armor, she actually kind of liked working. Other than sneezing her first day and rotting a blouse into rags, she'd been doing well, although her manager kept stumbling and somehow touching her breasts. She didn't know exactly why, since they were accidents, but it made her very uncomfortable. Even knowing she could've torn his arm from his body like a drumstick, she needed this job...
"I don't know which one to get... What do you think?" Asked the girl she was helping, holding three different blouses. Lexi considered them before putting her hands on her hips and smiling.
"Somebody really smart told me you have to follow your heart with this kind of thing- Fashion doesn't have to be just one way, what matters is what you like! What you're happiest with will always look the best on you. We have changing rooms if you want to try them on." She offered, before leading the way.
Opening the door for her, Lexi looked around and then furtively opened up her flip phone. Technically it belonged to all three of them, but she used it the most, primarily to text Shimmer like she was doing now. Her eyes would always be a little fishlike, but the deadness in them was lessening every day. She jumped and guiltily put it away when the door opened.
"Oh, yeah- I like that one! It really goes with your hair and stuff." She encouraged, the other girl smiling at her.
Neo Death was at her place in the Meh Burger in the food court, the expediter at the end of the line. One person cooked the meat and started the food, another built the sandwiches and orders, and her job was to wrap them and send them out to the customers in bags or on trays. She wore her normal small smile as she quickly put two combo meals in a bag and handed them to a family waiting; they thanked her and she dipped her head. Other than not being able to run a register, she was proficient enough at the job.
The Neo Elementals had stayed behind after the Clashkin and the Alternates had gone back to Solis; in the wake of the offseason, they'd realized they would need to get jobs if they wanted to keep their room at the hotel. Death didn't eat or sleep, herself, but she had wanted to do her part to keep her two sisters safe and happy. She knew she was lucky; two people had walked off the job right before she'd applied, or otherwise they likely wouldn't have hired a mute with no background to speak of.
"Fries down!"
Death adjusted her hat and poured the frozen fries into a basket before dropping them into the fryer and setting the timer, briefly sighing before wiping her apron off and going back to making food. She spotted her War sitting at a table, but her cheery wave went unseen.
Black axe sitting next to her, the War grumpily moved her hair out of her face and bit into a steak sub like it was the throat of an enemy. With her appearance and the weapon chained to her, it had seemed like slim pickings for her own employment, until she'd spotted people in uniforms moving almost unseen, sweeping the floors and taking trash bags to big carts. She'd applied and been hired as a janitor, but the work was grinding in her. There were always so many things to clean up from careless and clumsy people, and it was hard to keep her frustrations to herself. Two months ago every human in here would have been afraid of her; now they joked about her weird look and threw their trash on the floors like she wanted to pick it up for them.
Putting down her sandwich, she went back to her book, highlighting a part about improper fractions. Extreme Book Club had shown her what she needed to do; even if it was only a Good Enough Degree, a GED would at least let her move up and do something more. For now, she stewed in her frustrations and counted down the minutes until her break was over.
Out of the three, Lexi had had the most luck; she was working in an Abercrombie, and had finally gotten comfortable enough that she didn't skulk on pins and needles through the store. After getting used to wearing clothes instead of just the minimum and her armor, she actually kind of liked working. Other than sneezing her first day and rotting a blouse into rags, she'd been doing well, although her manager kept stumbling and somehow touching her breasts. She didn't know exactly why, since they were accidents, but it made her very uncomfortable. Even knowing she could've torn his arm from his body like a drumstick, she needed this job...
"I don't know which one to get... What do you think?" Asked the girl she was helping, holding three different blouses. Lexi considered them before putting her hands on her hips and smiling.
"Somebody really smart told me you have to follow your heart with this kind of thing- Fashion doesn't have to be just one way, what matters is what you like! What you're happiest with will always look the best on you. We have changing rooms if you want to try them on." She offered, before leading the way.
Opening the door for her, Lexi looked around and then furtively opened up her flip phone. Technically it belonged to all three of them, but she used it the most, primarily to text Shimmer like she was doing now. Her eyes would always be a little fishlike, but the deadness in them was lessening every day. She jumped and guiltily put it away when the door opened.
"Oh, yeah- I like that one! It really goes with your hair and stuff." She encouraged, the other girl smiling at her.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
President Evil
It had been a eventful few hours, and the day wasn't half done.
In her combination office and throne room, Euryale brooded behind steepled fingers and watched two of her administrators argue and snipe at each other over where a small surplus of gold would be going, after she'd once again refused to have a statue of her built in one of her cities square. It wasn't out of modesty; she knew perfectly well what she looked like, and a statue couldn't have come close. It would have been a waste of resources and money to prop up her own vanity, and without that, it would have just been a waste.
Between shouts and recrimations, she rubbed her temples and finally stood, looking between them.
"At this juncture, our standing forces would not benefit from this small of a sum. I've already granted as many of our resources as can be spared to their ends. Crime continues to be a problem... Have either of you heard the theory of Broken Windows? No? No matter. Our law enforcement offices are overwhelmed. The coin will go to their continued upkeep and training." She decided. One man frowned and then angrily bowed, while the other did so with a small smile. It made her smile in turn.
"That will be all for now... Davidson. Stay behind. There is another matter." She said, the winner of the dispute pausing and then closing her door. She leaned over her desk and narrowed her slit eyes at him.
"Have you come any closer to discovering who is stealing from the coffers?"
"Yes, yes I have, your grace. Calmin of the front office is the culprit. He's been laundering it through another party to divest it from the Greed and from you and make it his own. If we act now, we may be able to find the-"
"Oh, I have found him." She said sweetly, coming from behind the desk. "My consort drew much the same conclusion before interrogating Calmin. He told us everything and was able to prove it as well."
Davidson turned pale as a corpse.
"...You thought me a fool." She said in that same sweet voice. If not for her bunched shoulders or the glowing eyes, they might have been sharing a joke. "You stole food from my subject's mouths and played me like a violin. Did you think I would be forever blind to the rat within my walls?"
Pacing in front of him, she let the silence stretch out.
"I need your expertise more than I need a corpse. Understand you are not forgiven- you will pay it back, every single cent, with ten percent interest compounded daily." She said flatly. Circe had told her what terms to use. "This is your only and final chance. If you betray me or mine again, I will kill you and strew your pieces in the streets that dogs may worry at your bones. That is not a threat or a promise- it is cause and effect. Do we understand each other?"
He nodded-
"Say it."
"Y-yes, yes we do, your lordship."
"Then get out of my sight and count yourself fortunate. Luck like this comes once and never again."
After he'd left, she looked out to the deserted hallway before locking the doors and slumping with her head in her hands. Only Hrol really knew how much her day to day responsibilities weighed on her; otherwise she kept up a brave face, but she felt like she was drowning by degrees. It was a constant battle of second-guessing and brittle hope- her decisions affected many, many lives, and a single wrong one could spell disaster.
Walking over to a mirror, she met her own eyes and swallowed before gripping it's sides tightly.
"You are Hell's Pride. You are Hell's Pride. You are Hell's Pride..." She told herself, hating the weakness she could hear, hating how shiny with repressed fear and weariness her eyes were.
In her combination office and throne room, Euryale brooded behind steepled fingers and watched two of her administrators argue and snipe at each other over where a small surplus of gold would be going, after she'd once again refused to have a statue of her built in one of her cities square. It wasn't out of modesty; she knew perfectly well what she looked like, and a statue couldn't have come close. It would have been a waste of resources and money to prop up her own vanity, and without that, it would have just been a waste.
Between shouts and recrimations, she rubbed her temples and finally stood, looking between them.
"At this juncture, our standing forces would not benefit from this small of a sum. I've already granted as many of our resources as can be spared to their ends. Crime continues to be a problem... Have either of you heard the theory of Broken Windows? No? No matter. Our law enforcement offices are overwhelmed. The coin will go to their continued upkeep and training." She decided. One man frowned and then angrily bowed, while the other did so with a small smile. It made her smile in turn.
"That will be all for now... Davidson. Stay behind. There is another matter." She said, the winner of the dispute pausing and then closing her door. She leaned over her desk and narrowed her slit eyes at him.
"Have you come any closer to discovering who is stealing from the coffers?"
"Yes, yes I have, your grace. Calmin of the front office is the culprit. He's been laundering it through another party to divest it from the Greed and from you and make it his own. If we act now, we may be able to find the-"
"Oh, I have found him." She said sweetly, coming from behind the desk. "My consort drew much the same conclusion before interrogating Calmin. He told us everything and was able to prove it as well."
Davidson turned pale as a corpse.
"...You thought me a fool." She said in that same sweet voice. If not for her bunched shoulders or the glowing eyes, they might have been sharing a joke. "You stole food from my subject's mouths and played me like a violin. Did you think I would be forever blind to the rat within my walls?"
Pacing in front of him, she let the silence stretch out.
"I need your expertise more than I need a corpse. Understand you are not forgiven- you will pay it back, every single cent, with ten percent interest compounded daily." She said flatly. Circe had told her what terms to use. "This is your only and final chance. If you betray me or mine again, I will kill you and strew your pieces in the streets that dogs may worry at your bones. That is not a threat or a promise- it is cause and effect. Do we understand each other?"
He nodded-
"Say it."
"Y-yes, yes we do, your lordship."
"Then get out of my sight and count yourself fortunate. Luck like this comes once and never again."
After he'd left, she looked out to the deserted hallway before locking the doors and slumping with her head in her hands. Only Hrol really knew how much her day to day responsibilities weighed on her; otherwise she kept up a brave face, but she felt like she was drowning by degrees. It was a constant battle of second-guessing and brittle hope- her decisions affected many, many lives, and a single wrong one could spell disaster.
Walking over to a mirror, she met her own eyes and swallowed before gripping it's sides tightly.
"You are Hell's Pride. You are Hell's Pride. You are Hell's Pride..." She told herself, hating the weakness she could hear, hating how shiny with repressed fear and weariness her eyes were.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
A late morning
She had to check each and every lock, doors and windows, all throughout the dark mansion. The ceilings were cathedral-like and wreathed in shadows, looming high above her. Candlelight could never really banish the darkness that ruled this part of Hell, but the flickering gloom suited her fine. Circe didn't need light to see by anyway. She undid the catch on a window and closed it again, putting her hand in it and staring silently before walking a few feet to the next one to repeat the process, until she'd satisfied herself that everything was secure. If she didn't check, the results would be vague yet certainly catastrophic.
She could've paid someone to do this, but she was used to her own quirks at this point. Every day after waking up and every night before sinking into sleep she had to make sure. It was an obsession and a compulsion, but considering how hard she'd had to work and scrimp and save over the years, it was perhaps understandable. Passing by an oil painting depicting tigers playing cards and having tea, she undid another lock and redid the catch.
The walls were a deep, rich wine color, and there were other paintings and pieces of deals gone right all around. None of the vases or triptychs or phylacteries or chests or statues or other art had cost her anything; they were all either gifts or part of a bundled package. The idea of actually spending her money on anything, including buying more than seven pairs of black clothes or basic needs like food made her break out in a cold sweat and feel faint. Walking by the McDonald's next to her kitchen, she paused at the counter and looked up at the massive slab of bones, spikes, and aggression.
"Good evening, Vizikier. I'd like an iced coffee, extra sprinkles, please."
The other Devil nodded and made her the drink, tipping it's hat to her before it went back to wiping the counter. Circe smiled and flounced away, sipping contentedly and going back and checking her locks. Nearing the last of them, she looked around before clicking her fingers together and clearing her throat.
"Vivian?"
A human girl appeared from the gloom, rubbing her eyes and double-checking her clipboard. Like most all of Circe's servants, she was pale from a lack of sunlight. As her enterprise had grown, Circe had made deals and contracts with all manner of beings to keep it functionally running; Vivian had had a disease that was incurable in 1920. Circe had bought ownership of her soul for pennies on the dollar and since then kept her on as her assistant
"What does my schedule seem to be today?" Circe asked, stirring her coffee. Vivian flipped around the papers on her clipboard.
"Well... Archfiend Kalzak has the two hundred pounds of Hellram wool you'd wanted, and sought a meeting. The pirate king of the fire sea was interested in that shipment of AK-47's we'd acquired... Oh. Belphagor, nemesis of the innocent and despoiler of hope wished to book one of the petting zoos for his daughter's seventh birthday." She said quietly. Circe smiled before throwing her empty cup away and locking the very last window in her daily check.
"Good, good. Well, we'd best get started!... Oh, and make a note, please. We've been out of M&M's for Mcflurry's for three days, and I simply won't have that." She said primly, walking along with her hands clasped behind her back. Vivian kept two steps behind her and wrote down what she'd said. "How are my Kuwahawi franchises coming along?"
"We've acquired another Popeye's chicken and a Starbucks... And an Old Navy."
"To us, isn't it a New Navy?" Circe joked. Vivan's expression didn't change, but she penciled that in as well as Circe headed toward her office, the siren song of business and profit calling to her like heroin with a voice.
She could've paid someone to do this, but she was used to her own quirks at this point. Every day after waking up and every night before sinking into sleep she had to make sure. It was an obsession and a compulsion, but considering how hard she'd had to work and scrimp and save over the years, it was perhaps understandable. Passing by an oil painting depicting tigers playing cards and having tea, she undid another lock and redid the catch.
The walls were a deep, rich wine color, and there were other paintings and pieces of deals gone right all around. None of the vases or triptychs or phylacteries or chests or statues or other art had cost her anything; they were all either gifts or part of a bundled package. The idea of actually spending her money on anything, including buying more than seven pairs of black clothes or basic needs like food made her break out in a cold sweat and feel faint. Walking by the McDonald's next to her kitchen, she paused at the counter and looked up at the massive slab of bones, spikes, and aggression.
"Good evening, Vizikier. I'd like an iced coffee, extra sprinkles, please."
The other Devil nodded and made her the drink, tipping it's hat to her before it went back to wiping the counter. Circe smiled and flounced away, sipping contentedly and going back and checking her locks. Nearing the last of them, she looked around before clicking her fingers together and clearing her throat.
"Vivian?"
A human girl appeared from the gloom, rubbing her eyes and double-checking her clipboard. Like most all of Circe's servants, she was pale from a lack of sunlight. As her enterprise had grown, Circe had made deals and contracts with all manner of beings to keep it functionally running; Vivian had had a disease that was incurable in 1920. Circe had bought ownership of her soul for pennies on the dollar and since then kept her on as her assistant
"What does my schedule seem to be today?" Circe asked, stirring her coffee. Vivian flipped around the papers on her clipboard.
"Well... Archfiend Kalzak has the two hundred pounds of Hellram wool you'd wanted, and sought a meeting. The pirate king of the fire sea was interested in that shipment of AK-47's we'd acquired... Oh. Belphagor, nemesis of the innocent and despoiler of hope wished to book one of the petting zoos for his daughter's seventh birthday." She said quietly. Circe smiled before throwing her empty cup away and locking the very last window in her daily check.
"Good, good. Well, we'd best get started!... Oh, and make a note, please. We've been out of M&M's for Mcflurry's for three days, and I simply won't have that." She said primly, walking along with her hands clasped behind her back. Vivian kept two steps behind her and wrote down what she'd said. "How are my Kuwahawi franchises coming along?"
"We've acquired another Popeye's chicken and a Starbucks... And an Old Navy."
"To us, isn't it a New Navy?" Circe joked. Vivan's expression didn't change, but she penciled that in as well as Circe headed toward her office, the siren song of business and profit calling to her like heroin with a voice.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Clashplot, looking back.
I hear you guys like these sort of things? Well buckle up and get ready for a bunch of words about it!
So, the Genesis of Clash was like most of my jerks; I saw her picture and realized I liked it a lot and could use her as a character. Something I'd learned in 2015 was that a 3rd shift schedule fucking suuuuucks for getting to plots, much less attending them. Originally Clash was going to be a silent weirdo who'd show up possibly in the middle of fights and then disappear as soon as the problem was solved. The earliest power set for her I played with would later be repurposed wholesale for Beth.
The War Elemental thing came about for two reasons; the first being a Magic card called, well, War Elemental, a red creature that can only be played after damaging an opponent and grows stronger the more damage dealt to an opponent while it's alive. I'd never managed to get one, but I really liked the idea of the card and it's art. The idea of an intangible concept like War being embodied was cool to me, although I will say that when Gooper started mentioning Nostalgia Elementals I felt like a jackass for copying him, even unintentionally.
However, I realized having a character only for battles and plots with no personality or motivations to speak of would not only be uninteresting, but pretty lame. The blogpost with Clash that I typed up the night before the season started was spur of the moment, but it left me a lot of room to develop her and, you know, actually have fun with the character.
A lot of the first Clashplot was spur of the moment too, which was something I felt I was alright enough at doing to hammer something together. If Clash were a living weapon made by magic, it was inevitable there would be others, and not necessarily the exact same as her. I'm glad no one called me on having a four horseman motif coming from a world that couldn't possibly have a bible, and I even had Clash mention it at least once.
Anywho, Famine was my attempt to compare and contrast Clash with someone still active in their original role. While Clash was a physical powerhouse who was ignorant of the wider world, Famine was weak and sickly but intelligent. The choppy, emotionless way she spoke was a part of separating her and Clash further. I wanted to show that the system Clash had escaped was like most systems of slavery; circular, unending, and powered by blood.
Conquest and Pestilence were a little different, due to the fact that Famine would get stomped in a physical fight by anyone even slightly competent. Conquest's art came from another magic card; Akroma, Angel of Wrath. I played when she was first released, and managed to get her card; flat out, Akroma at the time was a beast, the kind of creature that could easily win a game on her lonesome. I wanted to capture the idea of a powerful face-smashing Angel without having her be an out and out angel.
Pestilence came about after I cancelled Clashplot; At the time, I thought other people's plots that had HAD build-up, that had HAD other people get invested deserved schedule days much more than my lame bullshit, and at a certain point I realized it just wasn't going to happen. Me personally, I hate half-assing things, and I didn't want to run a boring five or six hour long fight club that was attended just out of politeness. I knew I'd have to finish what I started, and introducing Pestilence off-world was my way of saying "Hey, I know that was a big ol' letdown wet fart, but it's not over yet!"
Jumpropeman commented once that the Alternates were a way to salvage the plot after making the Elementals too relatable, and honestly, he wasn't wrong. I like making my Villians as close to actual people as possible, and sometimes it works, while other times it doesn't.
For the most part, I was trying to have your character's actions influence the plot; if you'd all wanted to kill the Elementals/Alternates/Neos, I would have written it out like that. I kind of didn't expect you guys to save everybody, but hell, it worked for me. Railroading is generally a garbage thing to do, and I wanted to try and avoid doing it as much as I could. If nothing else, I hope you all had fun with the plot; I still don't know if it was satisfying, but at least we got it done.
So, the Genesis of Clash was like most of my jerks; I saw her picture and realized I liked it a lot and could use her as a character. Something I'd learned in 2015 was that a 3rd shift schedule fucking suuuuucks for getting to plots, much less attending them. Originally Clash was going to be a silent weirdo who'd show up possibly in the middle of fights and then disappear as soon as the problem was solved. The earliest power set for her I played with would later be repurposed wholesale for Beth.
The War Elemental thing came about for two reasons; the first being a Magic card called, well, War Elemental, a red creature that can only be played after damaging an opponent and grows stronger the more damage dealt to an opponent while it's alive. I'd never managed to get one, but I really liked the idea of the card and it's art. The idea of an intangible concept like War being embodied was cool to me, although I will say that when Gooper started mentioning Nostalgia Elementals I felt like a jackass for copying him, even unintentionally.
However, I realized having a character only for battles and plots with no personality or motivations to speak of would not only be uninteresting, but pretty lame. The blogpost with Clash that I typed up the night before the season started was spur of the moment, but it left me a lot of room to develop her and, you know, actually have fun with the character.
A lot of the first Clashplot was spur of the moment too, which was something I felt I was alright enough at doing to hammer something together. If Clash were a living weapon made by magic, it was inevitable there would be others, and not necessarily the exact same as her. I'm glad no one called me on having a four horseman motif coming from a world that couldn't possibly have a bible, and I even had Clash mention it at least once.
Anywho, Famine was my attempt to compare and contrast Clash with someone still active in their original role. While Clash was a physical powerhouse who was ignorant of the wider world, Famine was weak and sickly but intelligent. The choppy, emotionless way she spoke was a part of separating her and Clash further. I wanted to show that the system Clash had escaped was like most systems of slavery; circular, unending, and powered by blood.
Conquest and Pestilence were a little different, due to the fact that Famine would get stomped in a physical fight by anyone even slightly competent. Conquest's art came from another magic card; Akroma, Angel of Wrath. I played when she was first released, and managed to get her card; flat out, Akroma at the time was a beast, the kind of creature that could easily win a game on her lonesome. I wanted to capture the idea of a powerful face-smashing Angel without having her be an out and out angel.
Pestilence came about after I cancelled Clashplot; At the time, I thought other people's plots that had HAD build-up, that had HAD other people get invested deserved schedule days much more than my lame bullshit, and at a certain point I realized it just wasn't going to happen. Me personally, I hate half-assing things, and I didn't want to run a boring five or six hour long fight club that was attended just out of politeness. I knew I'd have to finish what I started, and introducing Pestilence off-world was my way of saying "Hey, I know that was a big ol' letdown wet fart, but it's not over yet!"
Jumpropeman commented once that the Alternates were a way to salvage the plot after making the Elementals too relatable, and honestly, he wasn't wrong. I like making my Villians as close to actual people as possible, and sometimes it works, while other times it doesn't.
For the most part, I was trying to have your character's actions influence the plot; if you'd all wanted to kill the Elementals/Alternates/Neos, I would have written it out like that. I kind of didn't expect you guys to save everybody, but hell, it worked for me. Railroading is generally a garbage thing to do, and I wanted to try and avoid doing it as much as I could. If nothing else, I hope you all had fun with the plot; I still don't know if it was satisfying, but at least we got it done.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Divine Wind
It was tiny patch of land, all things considered. A square that was one mile by one mile, buried on the main island of Kuwahawi like a tie rack drowning in an overstuffed closest. The ground was flat but for a single hill, a very thin river ran through it, and it had been clear cut down to the grass on the ground. There was nothing valuable on it, nothing worth taking and nothing worth stealing, but it belonged to her all the same. For now the General dug out her potatoes, stabbing at the dirt with a spade and ripping the spuds out.
No one knew where she'd come from or who she was, least of all her; She'd walked out of the waves one day a few years ago, all her red clothes soaked, her hat overflowing with water before she'd drawn her sword, marched up the beach, and declared war on the island.
It had been a relatively short engagement. After bathing a city block in gunfire and sending artillery barrages at a SWAT team, someone had the bright idea to negotiate for peace before she razed everything. It had stopped her in her tracks, head down, thinking it over before the weaponry that followed her switched to parade rest and she sheathed her blade. The battle was vital, the war was life, but it was also only a means to an end. The square of scrubland was territory conquered, even if it was small and unimportant.
Ever since then she'd lived quietly, for the most part, building and sleeping in a one room shack with a dirt floor she'd hammered together out of pallets, growing her garden, and following the terms of the treaty that had been drawn up. The other islands weren't all that great anyway. There was only one of her, and at some point, her reach would've exceeded her grasp. Better a bird in hand than gambling on two or three roosting in the bushes.
Quiet voices made her snap her head up and stand, throwing her large red coat back across her shoulders as she marched around her hill, eyes steely and mouth in an irritated crescent. She knew she'd come around and see a few idiot tourists without even spotting them or listening hard. The locals knew about her and knew her two simple requests; not to step foot on her land, and to never, ever pick anything out of her garden. In return she kept out of their lives and away from their own property.
What she didn't know was that certain locals, after being held up like fascinating kitschy specimens or having their culture treated like a zoo by those same tourists would every now and then send the idiots to her. The General had special a way with people.
When she spotted the two teenagers, she was able to approach within twenty feet by the time they spotted her, and her hand crept to her sword before eight older single-shot rifles floated behind her in a half wheel like wings. She adjusted her hat as all three of them looked at each other.
"Uh... Hi. Are you the-"
"You shit for brains not see the barbed wire? Or the signs?" She snapped, almost drawing her blade. Four of the guns behind her went off as she stared to the other one. "Get out now."
"...This isn't a, uh, Hemp farm?" Asked the other timidly. The General's glare deepened.
"I don't grow weeds. Go away." She said seriously, the other four guns discharging to prove her point. She waited until they were almost at the edge of the trees before she called out "Wait!" General Oda knelt down and picked up a fist-sized rock before tossing it over her shoulder, eyes still locked on both the trespassers. It thumped the ground and rolled away, something in the ground clicking-
The land mine exploded, hurling dirt, grass, and fire upward and outward, blowing the tapers of her coat in front of her. Both the tourist's eyes widened like saucers before they were crashing brought the undergrowth. She threw her head back and laughed heartily, arms crossed over her chest.
No one knew where she'd come from or who she was, least of all her; She'd walked out of the waves one day a few years ago, all her red clothes soaked, her hat overflowing with water before she'd drawn her sword, marched up the beach, and declared war on the island.
It had been a relatively short engagement. After bathing a city block in gunfire and sending artillery barrages at a SWAT team, someone had the bright idea to negotiate for peace before she razed everything. It had stopped her in her tracks, head down, thinking it over before the weaponry that followed her switched to parade rest and she sheathed her blade. The battle was vital, the war was life, but it was also only a means to an end. The square of scrubland was territory conquered, even if it was small and unimportant.
Ever since then she'd lived quietly, for the most part, building and sleeping in a one room shack with a dirt floor she'd hammered together out of pallets, growing her garden, and following the terms of the treaty that had been drawn up. The other islands weren't all that great anyway. There was only one of her, and at some point, her reach would've exceeded her grasp. Better a bird in hand than gambling on two or three roosting in the bushes.
Quiet voices made her snap her head up and stand, throwing her large red coat back across her shoulders as she marched around her hill, eyes steely and mouth in an irritated crescent. She knew she'd come around and see a few idiot tourists without even spotting them or listening hard. The locals knew about her and knew her two simple requests; not to step foot on her land, and to never, ever pick anything out of her garden. In return she kept out of their lives and away from their own property.
What she didn't know was that certain locals, after being held up like fascinating kitschy specimens or having their culture treated like a zoo by those same tourists would every now and then send the idiots to her. The General had special a way with people.
When she spotted the two teenagers, she was able to approach within twenty feet by the time they spotted her, and her hand crept to her sword before eight older single-shot rifles floated behind her in a half wheel like wings. She adjusted her hat as all three of them looked at each other.
"Uh... Hi. Are you the-"
"You shit for brains not see the barbed wire? Or the signs?" She snapped, almost drawing her blade. Four of the guns behind her went off as she stared to the other one. "Get out now."
"...This isn't a, uh, Hemp farm?" Asked the other timidly. The General's glare deepened.
"I don't grow weeds. Go away." She said seriously, the other four guns discharging to prove her point. She waited until they were almost at the edge of the trees before she called out "Wait!" General Oda knelt down and picked up a fist-sized rock before tossing it over her shoulder, eyes still locked on both the trespassers. It thumped the ground and rolled away, something in the ground clicking-
The land mine exploded, hurling dirt, grass, and fire upward and outward, blowing the tapers of her coat in front of her. Both the tourist's eyes widened like saucers before they were crashing brought the undergrowth. She threw her head back and laughed heartily, arms crossed over her chest.
Monday, September 18, 2017
Day to day
Sitting in the sunlight on the fountain in the square, she looked around with quiet happiness. People were coming and going on the cobblestones, nobles and commoners, all in good cheer, all having a good day. Things were better on Sonon, now that Evalk's long winter had ended; it seemed like the days were warmer, the food better, people more quick to joy than anger. It was a welcome change, after all the hard grey years.
Greencrest was a small city, but the biggest one within leagues of wilderness. It was sizeable enough to have walls and a militia, and it got it's name from the emerald loch that flowed downward in rivers from it's mountain perch. The harbor and houses were made mostly of wood, and further down she could hear the pitches of the fishermen with their catches. It was a quiet, sleepy little town, the sort of place everyone knew almost everyone else's name.
Agatha hadn't lived here all her life; she'd stayed in a cluster of shacks down in the pine woods in the foothills for years, down the river as it flowed into the fields of the south. Before everything had changed, before everything had happened, she'd just been an apothecary. Headache powders, poultices for poisons, and teas were her primary trade, and she knew almost all the plants of the forest by sight.
Things had grown complicated the last number of years, but that was where she'd come from. And now, this town was hers to guard and defend, it and the surrounding area. She frequently felt she didn't do a good enough job, but today her worries weren't worrying at her and she meant to enjoy it.
She stood up and made her way towards the farmer part of the market, trying to slink and remain quietly unnoticed. Considering she stood out like a snowflake amongst coal, it didn't work, just leaving her hoisting her blade and hurriedly returning people's nods and waves. They believed in her, and whether she liked it or not, she did what she could to return courtesy.
She had to force coins into the old man's hand, but eventually she left a cart and stall with a shiny red apple. People usually didn't want her to pay for things, but that was hardly fair. Leaning against a wall, she bit deep into it and hurriedly wiped her mouth. Leaning her heavy blade next to her, Agatha looked around again contentedly.
"It's her!"
The smile froze on her face she looked up warily, dreading what was coming.
"It's the Rose Knight!" Continued people in a small group, heading towards her. She stood and inclined her head before sinking to a knee. Her white dress fluttered as she got back to her feet and tried to look friendly and nice.
Their trust and their faith were both misplaced, but she didn't think it fair to whine about her lot in life. She was able to guard miles of land by her lonesome, stronger than anything she'd met, and she did her best to be a good person. She'd take the weight of their belief if it meant she could keep her home safe.
"Well met! I'm glad to see you all. How are you this day?" She asked, putting her apple aside, to be forgotten.
Greencrest was a small city, but the biggest one within leagues of wilderness. It was sizeable enough to have walls and a militia, and it got it's name from the emerald loch that flowed downward in rivers from it's mountain perch. The harbor and houses were made mostly of wood, and further down she could hear the pitches of the fishermen with their catches. It was a quiet, sleepy little town, the sort of place everyone knew almost everyone else's name.
Agatha hadn't lived here all her life; she'd stayed in a cluster of shacks down in the pine woods in the foothills for years, down the river as it flowed into the fields of the south. Before everything had changed, before everything had happened, she'd just been an apothecary. Headache powders, poultices for poisons, and teas were her primary trade, and she knew almost all the plants of the forest by sight.
Things had grown complicated the last number of years, but that was where she'd come from. And now, this town was hers to guard and defend, it and the surrounding area. She frequently felt she didn't do a good enough job, but today her worries weren't worrying at her and she meant to enjoy it.
She stood up and made her way towards the farmer part of the market, trying to slink and remain quietly unnoticed. Considering she stood out like a snowflake amongst coal, it didn't work, just leaving her hoisting her blade and hurriedly returning people's nods and waves. They believed in her, and whether she liked it or not, she did what she could to return courtesy.
She had to force coins into the old man's hand, but eventually she left a cart and stall with a shiny red apple. People usually didn't want her to pay for things, but that was hardly fair. Leaning against a wall, she bit deep into it and hurriedly wiped her mouth. Leaning her heavy blade next to her, Agatha looked around again contentedly.
"It's her!"
The smile froze on her face she looked up warily, dreading what was coming.
"It's the Rose Knight!" Continued people in a small group, heading towards her. She stood and inclined her head before sinking to a knee. Her white dress fluttered as she got back to her feet and tried to look friendly and nice.
Their trust and their faith were both misplaced, but she didn't think it fair to whine about her lot in life. She was able to guard miles of land by her lonesome, stronger than anything she'd met, and she did her best to be a good person. She'd take the weight of their belief if it meant she could keep her home safe.
"Well met! I'm glad to see you all. How are you this day?" She asked, putting her apple aside, to be forgotten.
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