convergence (Earinor & marquis)

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    • convergence (Earinor & marquis)


      We've traveled the seas, we've ridden the stars
      We've seen everything from Saturn to Mars
      As much as it seems like you own my heart
      It's astronomy, we're two worlds apart


      Torn to shreds and cast asunder - the human world is but one of them, cast in the brimming light of a blue moon they cannot call their own. Strangers poor into every crevice, nook and cranny, of their worlds dark corners, from where leylines converge and an unfathomable bridge has formed. Some of them are found, strewn about, bloodless and half-eaten, with puncture wounds on their necks and rows of teeth akin to that of a beast having torn and ripped away at their muscles, sinews and flesh. Others lose their minds, change their entire demeanor overnight, as if something were to haunt or possess them, claim their routine and body for themselves - witches ride brooms across the ever-expanding blue moon, basking in it's limelight, and stray cats and dogs turn into fellow people infront of their very eyes, all while a headless rider might just show up to refuel their bike at the next gas station, to pay with coins not of this world. One would think the world to have always been like that, but in reality, humans know quite little about those magical strangers and the world that they could just get swallowed up by, if they were to stray too far into one of those new hotspots that popped up over night, several weeks ago. But why is that? No one seems to know - not when those worlds were never one to begin with, and preciously few humans know of the other world to begin with, as they are nothing more than prey to most of it's inhabitants anyway.

      While many struggle to fix what doesn't seem to be a problem to others, one must wonder why any of this happened to begin wit: The leylines have never interconnected themselves like this before, never allowed a seamless passage into either world, and yet, it all seemingly started at a random corner on a rainy day a month ago, where a random human pedestrian turned and instead of walking into his apartment complex into the human world, found themselves in the middle of the production floor of a factory in the magical world. Isolated incidents happen, one would think, but there was soon more than this one man, in more spots than a factory - but it wasn't just humans; beasts also strayed into the human world, finding themselves in random living rooms of dimly-lit apartments, or never-before seen parks after taking a, seemingly normal, step. Others welcome this change, yet most don't - one of them X, a powerful mage trusted with many a disastrous artifact, who runs a cornershop for magical thingamajigs and other sorts of junk on a leyline, and with the help of an old find, in both worlds. Up until now, that had worked in his favor; his store existed in both worlds, accessible to both human and magical clientele, able to satisfy even the most questionable of palates. Nobody was questioning how it worked, or even necessarily knew that it worked, until it stopped working reliably a week or three ago - humans that entered the shop and left through the seemingly right door would find themselves in the middle of an unfamiliar square, while bloodsuckers or fellow mages would walk right into a busy human street. Something was off. Horribly off. X, tasked with keeping many a artifact save from preying eyes, finds that his store isn't the only place where leylines have started converging, where worlds are melting into one another, but also that that specific artifact seems to have gone missing, overnight and without a trace, thrusting the worlds into an imbalanced tug-of-war.

      With the worlds converging, and X as seemingly the only person sane enough to even attempt to fix the newfound problem - as is his duty - it's a race against time. Surely, he can rely on someone else to come help and fix the problem, but his best guess is Y - his ex, who seems to find joy in criticizing his every business decision. Well, it could be worse, right? Besides, an unlikely duo saving not one, but two worlds, ought to be one of the better paying gigs (if only in acknowledgement and therefore boosted sales for his store) this side of the century.

      @Earinor

      character sheet
      Name:
      Age:
      Abilities:
      Personality:
      Trivia:
      Looks:
      Looking back, it maybe is like the toy carts you rode when you were a kid. But those toy carts could never go beyond the walls of the lawn. We want to follow the rugged concrete road beyond the wall. As we've grown, we've decided to leave behind the toy cart.
    • Name: Nathan Yearwood

      Age: 110

      Abilities: Nathan is a magician who specializes in ban magic. To evoke powerful seals it is best to dabble in multiple forms of magic and weave the fabric strongly together, this is why Nathan learned to cast all kinds of magic. As a jack of all trades so to speak he cannot cast powerful offensive spells, grand illusions, or anything of that sorts, but his magic seals are powerful, maybe the most powerful out there according to him. Aside from that he can do some magic tricks, light a candle with his fingers and stuff like that and even learned some human magic tricks.

      Personality: Nathan is somewhat of a loner and not awfully friendly to his customers either. It's what he's selling that got him his loyal customer base in both the magic as well as the human world. He also has different customers, asking him to secure their private volts, he also did jobs for banks. Aside from that he has his own private collection, not because he likes to gather stuff, more so because he likes to keep certain powerful artifacts locked away. Maybe it is arrogant to think that he was the right person to keep them save.

      Trivia:
      - The tattoos on his body are various magic seals
      - He can create a little pocket dimension where he stores small things

      Looks:

      Dieser Beitrag wurde bereits 1 mal editiert, zuletzt von Earinor ()

    • Name: Many identities mean many names, but the best way to address this fellow would be Roscoe "Ros" Imgalrea, for that is the name he's been carrying with him since childhood. If he'll listen to you if you address him by Ros, well, that's an entirely different subject matter.

      Age: 111 years of age; not that it matters, really.

      Abilities: Roscoe is, for many, just an ordinary guy - sure, he acts like there's a stick that's permanently stuck up his ass at times (not that it had always been like that), but otherwise, one would find that this (dis-)agreeable fellow is quite adept at wielding elemental magic, but only specifically when it comes to the element of ice. Even water seems to be a hurdle, and while many a schooled eye would know that his magic tricks are hardly unique, or more than a quick distraction in any kind of combat scenario, those who dare question it soon find that digging deeper might be a mistake. In actuality, Roscoe's magic prowess only exists because of his heritage, cursed blood as one might argue, and his real powers lie within the fact, that he's an Ijiraq, a type of shapeshifter from Inuit folklore, which is part of it's collective of mythological shadow people. Some of their most prominent features include glinting red eyes, that no transformation can undo and that bore themselves deep into ones soul, as well as the ability to no longer be perceived at all, if the offending area is claimed as Ijiraqi territory. Other than that, Roscoe possesses the same abilities as any old shapeshifter would - not that they are notable in the first place.

      Personality: Best described as arrogant and insensible, even in his youth, Ros boasts the charisma of a rotten carcass. Not many seek to interact with him in the first place, and those unfortunate souls that do are like flies, or vultures, or scavengers overall - they feel as if they can understand him in their own way, only to be sorely disappointed when he throws them off of his back. Much like a toxic leak, he infects those around him with a playful and joyous nature, makes them drink deep from a well that's already full of stillwater, and once it hits them, it's too late anyway; many would say that, after all that, not only is he a stickler for rules and a hater of carnage, but that he's quite agreeable outside of the magistrate's office, often inviting to lavish dinner parties at an apartment he owns, or bringing in cake on a coworkers birthday (if he likes them). Yet, as stuck-up as Roscoe is, as arrogant and ignorant as he often might be, he has a soft spot - actually, many more than one, but those who know of them are often blackmailed into keeping their mouths shut, lest he'd lose his credibility among his peers for being a little bit too easy to whittle down, even if he himself claims to be resilient. Still, any Ijiraqi, much like Roscoe, is but a slave to their own genetics - a potential prey in his vicinity means it's playtime, and depending on how hungry Roscoe feels, he's either the nicest, most helpful person you've ever had the pleasure of interacting with or the most deceptive liar you ever have laid your eyes upon.

      Trivia:
      - Roscoe generally strays from the idea that Ijiraqi abduct and eat, or abandon, human children. That doesn't mean he's above indulging in flesh to refuel himself, but as one is to expect, he "ethically sources" his, whatever that means.
      - After some trials and tribulations in his life - mainly his so-called youth - he's decided that he's matured, and no longer in need of a constant kick of adrenaline, meaning he works what humans would refer to as a "boring 9 to 5 with full benefits" in the cities' magistrate.
      - Citing the former, he's also very much allowed to run inspections in different venues and shops by himself, and fine the owner if need be - a new favorite past time of his, on alledged days off.
      - Two of Roscoe's vices, and therefore ways to get him to fold and do ones bidding, are traditional french blueberry pie (tarte aux myrtilles) and a specific color of budgies.

      Looking back, it maybe is like the toy carts you rode when you were a kid. But those toy carts could never go beyond the walls of the lawn. We want to follow the rugged concrete road beyond the wall. As we've grown, we've decided to leave behind the toy cart.