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Perp

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  • Birthday 02/09/1996

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    buying bread from a man in brussels
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    men 6'4" and full of muscles

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Descending into Protodermis

Descending into Protodermis (127/293)

  1. It's not about the size of your Disk - it's how you use it. Folks, it's that time again where we whip out the Native Tech 3D renders, and once more we're serving up diskettes - pistol(?) edition. Hope you like toggles! The Diskette Pistol Three Quarters Profile Front Top Toggles Open Close-Up Aiming The "Hans Olo" Three Quarters Profile Front The "Wauser" Three Quarters Profile Front Bottom The Artillery Three Quarters Profile Front Aiming Once again, thanks to @Geardirector for coming up with the darn thing in the first place.
  2. IC: Gorro - Onu-Koro, The Unfortunate Fikou Deathly still, remained the youthful Toa of Crystal, his face a pallid bust of contorted lines arranged into a visage of pure terror. Truly the trembling affliction which had so plagued him previously was progressed to such a gross degree that it was replaced entirely with the morbid placidity of a corpse. His wide-eyed glare bore into the stone flooring and watched the mild patterns shift and twist in the motion of waves stretched across the surface of seas. When he finally found his voice, it was but a whisper: “I have seen it...” The other two beings swiveled their heads to look upon Gorro, though he did not meet their gaze. “I h-have seen that… monolith… in my dreams. Dark and towering and awesome and terrible! I could- I could not look at it for long before it started to- to speak to me… to whisper in my mind…” Clapping his hands up to his temples, the iridescence of his slender digits paled as if they were mere bones, he snapped his eyes shut. The world was beset by darkness, though the watery patterns remained visible on the back of his eyelids. His hands squeezed vice-like upon his head, as if to dispel the entoptic illusions by pressure alone. “Must we t-travel there…?” he murmured.
  3. IC: Suzume - Sado Streets The sound of footsteps echoing off the crystal faces of the buildings behind her sent prickles down the back of Suzume’s neck, who almost lost her balance as she whipped herself around and discovered a group of Dasaka materializing from around a corner a block over. The one in front was, as far as Suzume could tell, the one Ideatalking with her. If she had identified herself after all, it flew completely by Suzume, her heart-rate spiking. The Toroshu’s projected thoughts of :not safe here: absolutely did register, however - such was the reason for her heart’s current state. I SAID HEY “What’s going on!?” squawked the young Dasaka, her creaky, underutilized voice carrying well down the street. OOC: @Mel
  4. IC: Ember - The Fowadi The corners of her mouth pulled upwards a barely-visible half inch, accompanied with a polite nod as Dehkaz popped over the gunwale and braced himself upon the skiff. “‘Preciate it, Cap’n.” Another salute capped off her request as the Toa of Magnetism descended out of view. With that, the Ta-Matoran spun on her heel and made her way back belowdecks. A quick conversation with the Fowadi’s Quartermaster, a surly Po-Matoran Sentinel by the name of Muuk, produced a list of essential supplies, provisions and other matériel that needed restocking, plus a few “special items” at the Quartermaster’s personal request. The former Guardswoman raised a skeptical eyebrow to counter the wry half-grin of the Po-Matoran, but didn’t object. Unusual, but not unacceptable in her maritime experience. Regardless, Ember made a mental note to check in with him later and ascended back out into the salty air of the main deck. She was becoming more and more aware of just how differently Po-Koro ran its navy. Or perhaps it was just this ship in particular, given its history and the peculiarity of the members that made up its senior crew. Perhaps it was just a symptom of how the Sentinels were, after all, relatively inexperienced on the open ocean. They’d soon have to learn, and learn quick, as evidenced by the sheer scale of the Dasakan fleet now moored in Ga-Koro, complimenting the plethora of sturdy Marine craft already about the Bay. She took another minute’s time to survey the crystalline vessels before scanning the deck for the bulky Toa she was to accompany - Rynekk. OOC:@Void Emissary
  5. IC: Baszlin - Obsidian Outpost, Mess Hall Movement of his left hand halted, the metal digits resting lightly on the leather of the scabbard. No further epiphanies came to him - he could not remember the battle of which the Vortixx spoke, only the single detail that had caused him to react so. He remained staring at Minnorak unflinchingly while both he and Quoribay made their statements on the matter. Another beat played itself out, tension mounting amidst the awkward silence… and finally Baszlin broke the stare, shifting his gaze downward to study his artificial limb instead, raising the hand from where it had come to rest out of instinct moments earlier. Scrapes and scratches etched into the metallic surface caught the fiery gloam of the room, as he turned it over once, twice, then lowered it again, looking upon Minnorak once more. “I may need to speak to you later,” said Raaka Baszlin, his voice barely louder than a whisper, and his tone even. With that, he turned and sauntered back over to where he had stood before, giving Surdo a brief sidelong glance as he went.
  6. IC: Baszlin - Obsidian Outpost, Minnorak’s Face The Vortixx’ query went unanswered, Baszlin electing to ignore it as he searched Minnorak’s features for precious, precious recognition. It didn’t take long to find it. A short silence followed as the Skakdi withdrew to a more comfortable distance. Still, his eyes remained fixed on the Vortixx, jaw clenched and artificial hand unconsciously edging closer to the grip of the bayonet on his belt. “This one,” he said slowly, chewing each word as it was a tough strip of meat, “has tried to kill me before.”
  7. IC: Baszlin - Obsidian Outpost, Mess Hall Flickering firelight silhouetted Surdo as he passed from the dim anteroom further into the Outpost. Voices from within spilled outwards, reverberating off the damp stones - a note of familiarity picked out from the cacophony. Baszlin canted his head slightly, not unlike the behaviour of an alerted canine. After a beat, and a quick glance at the Ba-Toa who was already half-in the next room, the Skakdi strode impassively inward, following his charge. Several other beings filled the space; their presence provided a more homely feel to the seemingly decrepit compound, a nexus of liveliness in a place that seemed otherwise abandoned. Though, from the looks of them, they were perhaps not the sort one would typically associate with hospitality. Not that he was any different. There was Surdo in close accompaniment with the Matoran they had met in Ga-Koro, Quoribay, seemingly jovial. All appeared to be acceptable for the current moment, and so Baszlin decided not to linger by his client’s side. He took the time to scan the room, washing his gaze over the faces of- Hmm. Hmmmm. Well, that’s peculiar. He locked his eyes on the visage of the Vortixx behind the bar, taking in every detail and comparing it with what he could scrounge from his fragmented memory. He leant forward, squinting his eyes, trying to get a better look from across the room before his legs decided to take him the rest of the way. Excruciatingly slowly, Baszlin put one foot in front of the other and closed the distance to the bar. Screwing up his expression as he did so, he again leant forward, his gaze never wavering, never blinking - scrutinizing the face of Minnorak closer than one would deem comfortable. “Hmmmmm.”
  8. IC: Ember - The Fowadi A brisk nod and a quiet ahem preceded her request. “Cap’n, ‘pon the completion of our resupply run, I’d like t’ request permission t’ bring the skiff ashore in Ga-Koro, collect some kit ‘n’ dunnage from me home there. Nothin’ more burdensome than a holystone, swear it.” Allowing her posture to relax the tiniest fraction, she added: “Helps with the channel fever too, aye?”
  9. IC: Baszlin - Obsidian Outpost Ah, that age-old back-of-the-throat noise ol’ Bazzie was known for. “Hmmmmm…” ‘A thinking man; perhaps the only one,’ someone of note had said of him once. Or not. Who knows? Not Baszlin, that’s for sure. Scanning the snow-dusted structures around them, the De-Skakdi wracked his brain for whatever images or sensations it could possibly dredge up. ‘Does this bring back any memories?’ Quote of the century, right there. Still, Baszlin tried mightily, steam practically pouring from his ears in the attempt. Stacked stones. Wood battlements. The ethereal twang of the cable-car lines… The icy wind bit into him, shards of crystalline water embedding themselves in his face, adding to the craters and pockmarks already present. Red flags fluttering. Demarcating death. Fortifications aplenty, ramshackle renovations. Scattered barrels and crates, the stink of ill-gotten gains in the air. A distant bell ringing… Any of this ring any bells? “Hmmmmmmmmm…” It was a question he asked directly of himself, now. His effort continued. Hints of smoke on his tongue. Wisps of black and grey emanating from the apex of thin towers atop barracks of dubious build quality… Surdo’s path brought them out of the chilling blast, through the stone-lined threshold into a damp volume smelling of spilt ale and the musk of sweat-soaked garments. Candles and fire providing paltry light to a dim expanse, the creaking of moulding wood below foot… Ah, yes. His ruminations ceased - his quest for memory complete. He now knew the answer to Surdo’s question. “No.”
  10. IC: Ember - The Fowadi It wasn’t really all too surprising she’d slept better aboard the Fowadi than she had for months at home. Something about the rocking of the boat that triggered some old reflex in the backs of certain sailors’ minds - an age-old sensation of having been a swaddled babe in their mother’s cradling arms, rocking in the same manner until they were taken by deep, peaceful slumber. The gentle swaying of Ga-Koro’s lilypad homes, either by the shoreline gale or the dips and swells of waves, had a similar effect, but not identical. Ember - that specific part of her brain, entangled with the years of sea-borne voyaging - could tell the difference on an instinctual level. She’d arisen in the morning all the surer of her decision to remain aboard the Fowadi. Her role was still unsure - it gave her a combined sense of encouragement, unease, and pride to be one of the more experienced sailors aboard such a famous ship, if only for less than a full day, and still be unsure of her place. The senior crew seemed not to care much for rank, which struck Ember as peculiar for a military vessel. From her brief interactions with the crew, before and after their shakedown had begun, the Ta-Matoran surmised that they must’ve all been friends first, and comrades second. She could be wrong, but it at least made a bit more sense to her regimented, martial mind, so she permitted the interpretation to linger. She hadn’t seen Shaddix emerge from belowdecks since he had sauntered on board, so that helped to not shatter any illusions. She neglected to mention him during the pleasant conversation she’d had with Captain Dehkaz once he’d returned from his trip to Po-Koro. She found it at least a bit more comforting to converse with someone as passionate as herself about sailcraft, even if she did find it odd and amusing that he looked as likely to sink as his iron-draped vessel with all the shіt he had strapped to him. Even so, wearing only his longcoat and devoid of any other armored vestments and weapons framed him in such a different light, she surmised that it might have been an image thing - projecting the perception of Captain being emblematic of their ship. In that context, there was no question why Dehkaz dressed as he did. The provisions on board were also a pleasant surprise - not that she’d expected the Po-Koronans to actually eat rocks and rocks only (as was the butt of many a joke in the Marines, hardtack notwithstanding) but the variety and tactfulness of their stock was comforting. The stores of fruits - even chilled within iceboxes, to boot! - was a reassuring sight. Scurvy was not a joking matter, as her old skipper “Toothless” Raffya had so oft attested. A hearty plate of roast mahi, eggs, and a fairly sizable orange had consisted of the day’s first meal. Pretty swanky, given the mostly pescatarian diet of Ga-Koronan sailors, though she wasn’t sure whether or not the Sentinel crew would think to fish in the event their stores ran dry far from port. She’d make a point to ask. Ember was leant over the port gunwale, accompanied by several other crew members when Captain Dehkaz’s orders rang clear across the deck. They’d been staring at the motherlode of Dasakan craft occupying most of Ga-Koro’s extensive harbourfront. There’d only been the one when Ember had left home naught but a few days ago - she’d have remarked drily that they must’ve bred quickly overnight, but crystalline ships didn’t strike her as the type to reproduce through mitosis. The glittering submersible vessel - the one that also intrigued Ember the most, unsurprisingly - was still visible among them and appeared to be the center of attention, telling from the gathering crowd populating a great portion of the docks. Breaking away from the side of the ship, the Ta-Matoran whirled on her heel and straightened her back, snapping off a salute accompanied with an “Aye, Cap’n!” as she’d expect of herself, even if the senior crew might not - it felt appropriate either way. She had her orders. Forsi was not at all far; she was familiar enough with the place, having lived in and around Naho Bay for a while - not to mention she’d boarded the Iron Mahi there before heading out to Ostia. That wasn’t an issue. But, it was, at least for the moment, in the opposite direction of where her secondary objective lay. Her “quick trip to Ostia” to glimpse the “unsinkable ship” wasn’t going to be as brief as she first assumed. There were a few supplies of her own to acquire in Ga-Koro. Besides, she didn’t think the Captain would want to turn down a bottle of- Well, let’s not be too hasty, now. She closed the distance between herself and Dehkaz a few moments later. “Cap’n, a word?”
  11. IC: Baszlin - Ta-Koro What a peculiar pair the two of them must’ve looked like, meandering through basalt-lined avenues in the City of Fire - a patchwork beastman whose shotgun sling dug deeply into his one good shoulder, and the (relatively) diminutive infirm at his side clutching the cane of a souteneur. Such a sight would not be uncommon in a place like Xa-Koro, once upon a time. Alas, Xa-Koro met with the wrong end of a suspiciously convenient pocket of natural gas. Wrong end? What would be the right end? Also, what is natural gas? These questions haunted him, and would plague his sleeping hours this eve. “I have been here before,” remarked Big, slowing his gait to keep pace with Small as they wound their way through the dim amber glow of the labyrinthine city. “I was almost dead when I woke up in a hospital somewhere in town. They put most of me back together. Probably ate the rest, I don’t really know what the culture here is like.” The Skakdi deflected the hard stare of a couple of Toa with one of his own, as the dual pairs passed each other. Naturally, the Toa broke theirs first. Didn’t blame them - he wouldn’t want to look at him either. OOC: @Tarn
  12. IC: Suzume - Sado Streets The Toroshu’s description of her location did not alleviate the sickness that consumed young Suzume: the dreaded Pivoting Plague. Still her head jerked this way and that, trying fruitlessly to triangulate direction from sounds which were not, at the moment, being made. Whatever psionic star she could point herself towards in the mental plane might as well have been a miniscule diamond sitting amongst a plateau of sand. Whatever celestial anecdote Suzume appeared as to the Toroshu, it must’ve been something to behold. ::Uhhhhh… Suzume…:: came the eventual response, blaring perturbedly as an out-of-tune woodwind. “Daikura Suzume! Who… are… you…?:: OOC: @Mel
  13. i've got my idiot doing idiot things in the rift rn
  14. IC: Suzume - Sado Streets It was the eerie quiet that eventually got to her first. Living in the city, even as a shut-in, left an impression on one’s conception of normalcy and comfort. The din of conversation layered over punctuations of shopkeepers and peddlers slinging their wares with voices carrying across multiple blocks; screams and giggles of young children scurrying this way and that, playing at being Menti; tinkling of crystal bells and the low roar of waves pounding onto the beaches, living so close to the island’s edge. And, of course, the music. Suffice to say that, lacking all of the above save for the occasional commanding bark from some faraway, unintelligible voice, or a terrible sound Suzume could not even hope to comprehend, the crystal towers of Sado metamorphosed into monoliths of stillness, of death. They no longer contained the life that produced the auditory heartbeat of the city, emanating from open windows and the harmonics of wind sweeping through the glassy avenues. To any other Dasaka, it might simply be creepy. To Suzume, however, whose ears were half of her talent and her most substantial connection to the world outside the small apartment, the silence was petrifying. Just a few days ago she’d ventured out and had a similar experience with the lack of Sado’s usual bustle. The combination of wilful ignorance, misplaced rationalization, and the relatively deafening sounds her stomach was making at the time prevented her from fully grasping the implications of the soundlessness. Now, those feelings of unease were amplified with each step, anxiety building within her chest and knotting up the heart within. Her own footsteps reverberated a meek pitter-patter on a half-second delay, crystal façades reflecting the sound unpredictably and driving stakes of fear into her chest every time she glanced over her shoulder, expecting someone to be shadowing her. It was such a contradictory fear, and Suzume could not parse her definitive wishes on the matter. Did she most fear seeing somebody following her during those brief glances, or continuing to see nobody at all, despite how long she walked? She felt like screaming, if only to hear a voice - but such a sentiment was short-lived, as a blast of Ideatalk assailed her mind. ::State your name and clan and your reason for being in this area without notifying the war council.:: “AAH!” She did end up screaming. A moment later, she parsed what exactly the words within her mind were saying; though she still whipped her head around this way and that, almost knocking herself off-balance with how violently she was pivoting her body to gaze down the empty streets in search of the speaker. She found no-one. ::Huh?! … whuh??? Who? Where?!:: came the unfocused, diminutive reply. OOC: @Mel
  15. IC: Gorro - Onu-Koro, The Unfortunate Fikou Rocking gently back and forth with eyes fixed upon the stained tiles of the floor, young Gorro listened intently to the tale uttered by Montague. The biting cold of the black water flowing in a verbal tapestry from his host’s mouth lapped at the soles of his feet, sapping the flow of blood and numbing his extremities. He embraced himself, anchoring his elbows sharply into the ridges of his ribs and crisscrossing forearms in front of his chest, beneath his garments. Little was accomplished through this, and scarcely any comfort returned. Montague’s words grew distant across the gulf of consciousness, for Gorro continued his contemplations. His mind was on the cusp of being cleft in twain - he must either reclaim his faculties, or burst from the door of this room, never to return! Neither of these options came to pass, a deadlock still preventing rational thought for the time being. A pang of sudden, inexplicable familiarity struck the Cy-Toa without warning, demanding his attention return to the other two beings in present company. No epiphany jumped out and strangled Gorro upon the conclusion of Montague’s tale and Savis’ subsequent query, but the niggling sensation remained in the pit of his psyche, sticking there and slowly sinking in the same manner as honey down a parched throat. Montague continued, detailing the circumstances of their sibling until an uttered word brought him to rapt attention. “Expedition… expedition! Where do you plan to go? What do you hope to- to find? The cause?” Simultaneous with Montague’s lungs filling in preparation of response, whiplash struck Gorro with enough force to cause him to nearly faint. Dread. Dread! Washing over him. Just like in his- “...W- wait. What… what monolith…?” OOC: @Goose @Nato G
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