kaito9049
Perpetually Cold
A Hole in the Weave
OOC | Character Sheets | Magic and Other Stuff
Rule one: Magic is about binding. Linking things together.
Rule two: Make the binding too strong, or bind the wrong things, and things go wrong. Don't let things go wrong.
Rule three: Don't die.
Rule four: Use magic only to protect people, or to protect magic itself.
Rule five: Break any of these rules rather than be bound by someone else.
Three years ago, an EMP-like explosion erupted in the mid-sized town of Fenton, California. Dozens died as hospitals, pacemakers, and even vehicles suddenly lost power. Officially, the incident was caused by a burglary gone wrong in the local power company's research lab. Unofficially, no one's completely sure.
That is, except for the Arcane Conclave, a small, secret group of magicians dedicated to protecting the barrier between our world and that of magic — colloquially called the Weave. They believe the explosion was caused when a hole was poked through that barrier. And recently, that hole has been growing. More otherworldly creatures — previously a rare sight — are stepping through the gap. Lakes are suddenly freezing in the middle of summer, only to return to normal a day later. Worst of all, a few people have simply vanished like a breath.
Furthermore, a few people — very few, for now — in Fenton are finding themselves grappling magical abilities beyond their understanding. You're one of them. As it happens, a former member of the Conclave resides in Fenton. They're going to guide you as best they can. But everyone is bound to something, and this person is hiding more than they're sharing.
Or perhaps you're one of the humanoid magical beings that have wandered through the Barrier in the past few years. Many of these beasts are greedy for power and dominion over the human realm, but some others are content to integrate into mortal society, hiding their true nature.
Whatever the case, you're one of the greatest assets the Conclave could ask for right now. Or one of their greatest threats.
Characters:
It's a bit lonely at the moment. Maybe you'd like to join?
OOC | Character Sheets | Magic and Other Stuff
Rule one: Magic is about binding. Linking things together.
Rule two: Make the binding too strong, or bind the wrong things, and things go wrong. Don't let things go wrong.
Rule three: Don't die.
Rule four: Use magic only to protect people, or to protect magic itself.
Rule five: Break any of these rules rather than be bound by someone else.
Three years ago, an EMP-like explosion erupted in the mid-sized town of Fenton, California. Dozens died as hospitals, pacemakers, and even vehicles suddenly lost power. Officially, the incident was caused by a burglary gone wrong in the local power company's research lab. Unofficially, no one's completely sure.
That is, except for the Arcane Conclave, a small, secret group of magicians dedicated to protecting the barrier between our world and that of magic — colloquially called the Weave. They believe the explosion was caused when a hole was poked through that barrier. And recently, that hole has been growing. More otherworldly creatures — previously a rare sight — are stepping through the gap. Lakes are suddenly freezing in the middle of summer, only to return to normal a day later. Worst of all, a few people have simply vanished like a breath.
Furthermore, a few people — very few, for now — in Fenton are finding themselves grappling magical abilities beyond their understanding. You're one of them. As it happens, a former member of the Conclave resides in Fenton. They're going to guide you as best they can. But everyone is bound to something, and this person is hiding more than they're sharing.
Or perhaps you're one of the humanoid magical beings that have wandered through the Barrier in the past few years. Many of these beasts are greedy for power and dominion over the human realm, but some others are content to integrate into mortal society, hiding their true nature.
Whatever the case, you're one of the greatest assets the Conclave could ask for right now. Or one of their greatest threats.
Obviously, the standard RPN community guidelines apply here.
Posts should be at least two paragraphs in length, though ideally 3-4 if possible.
Please aim to post at least once a week, and let me know if you'll be away for longer than that. Things come up, that's totally normal. Just keep me in the loop
Please avoid making OP characters. If you have any questions about this or any other character-related queries, please let me know!
There's no set post order, but try to let a couple of other folks post before you make another one!
The world, as it often is with RP, is fluid, so please feel free to write in the OOC page or DM me if you have any ideas for how to develop it.
Posts should be at least two paragraphs in length, though ideally 3-4 if possible.
Please aim to post at least once a week, and let me know if you'll be away for longer than that. Things come up, that's totally normal. Just keep me in the loop
Please avoid making OP characters. If you have any questions about this or any other character-related queries, please let me know!
There's no set post order, but try to let a couple of other folks post before you make another one!
The world, as it often is with RP, is fluid, so please feel free to write in the OOC page or DM me if you have any ideas for how to develop it.
The body fell upward and slammed against the glass ceiling.
It was easier to think of it as just a body, the Mover's mind mused darkly, and not a person. It felt more clinical. Nicer. Not that what any of them were doing here was nice. It just helped them all pretend.
Glass ceilings. The Mover's subconscious always figured they were just metaphors for societal barriers — but apparently the fine folks at Vantage Corp. actually thought they made for good office design. The Mover's nose wrinkled under the cloth scarf, the type that most Conclave members used to hide their identities — or at least the lower half of their faces. Were they really doing this? Chasing off goblins from condemned antique stores was one thing. So was knocking out some burglars. But breaking into the main headquarters of one of the largest businesses in town? Vampires the Mover could deal with. Lawsuits were something else entirely.
Hey, you good?
The Mover whirled around, before remembering the rest of the Conclave were scattered throughout other levels of the building. And the voice wasn't audible — it was mental.
The Mover's eyes noticed, in the corner of the lobby, a pinprick of red light was visible from a security camera. One of the Mover's...colleagues (Friends? Something in between? Something more?) was in the security room keeping track of everyone's movements. The Whisperer had an incredible knack for being able to bind thoughts to the minds of people simply by seeing them — even if only through a closed-loop system.
The Mover's hands gave a thumbs-up toward the camera. It struck the Mover's mind how ridiculous the gesture probably looked.
Marie and Xavier are almost done. Ty is — watch out! Guards coming at you, to your right!
The Mover's head turned sharply, just in time to see four men in suits running through a doorless passageway. All had guns drawn. One of the men shouted something. The Mover didn't catch it. It was just noise.
A wave of the hand, and the man flew sideways as if tugged by an invisible cord, slamming against the tiled wall — apparently Vantage's obsession with glass only applied when workers needed to look up at their superiors or down at their lessors, the Mover's thoughts noted dryly.
The other three guards hesitated, a costly reaction. The Mover's legs dashed forward with impossible speed before springing to the left wall, Binding themselves to it. The action appeared to confuse the guards, who were no doubt unaccustomed to seeing an opponent standing on the wall like it was the ground.
Taking advantage of their momentary bewilderment, the Mover's hand seized that of the man closest to him and Bound it to the ground. Immediately, the man's hand shot to the floor, the gun clattering some feet away. The maneuver had the added advantage of making firearms difficult to use at this proximity. Besides, while the Mover had learned how to Bind people and objects to each other from a distance, it was always easier — and therefore less risky — to do so via touch if it could be helped.
There were two guards remaining. The Mover's hands outstretched, aiming to Bind them together like a pair of magnets.
Then the Mover's head burst in pain, like it had been slammed against a swinging door. There were too many Bindings to focus on, each a mental burden. The Mover's mind cut the most immediate one, and released the Binding to the wall, dropping to the ground. The sharp pressure disappeared immediately, though it was quickly replaced by a bolt of pain as a kick from one of the guards hit ribs.
The Mover's searching hand swept across the ground and brushed against the barrel of the second guard's gun. It was enough. The Mover made a Binding, borrowing the metal's properties.
The guards recoiled. It must have been a striking sight to see a person's skin turn gray — an unfortunate side effect of this kind of Binding. The Alterer had the proficiency to take on a thing's aspects without being affected by its physical characteristics, and could even take on multiple properties of an object, but the Mover always struggled with the practice.
But again, it was enough. The Mover's arm flew outwards at an angle. catching one of the guards under his chin. He collapsed like a toppled Jenga tower. The other, apparently desperate, charged the Mover. A fair effort, but ultimately fruitless. The Mover dropped the alteration binding and tapped a finger against the man's forehead as he sprinted. He flew backward as the Mover's eyes focused on one point on the wall, the back of the guard's head slamming roughly against it.
Well, that was messy. The Mover sighed and trudged back into the lobby, gingerly stepping over the unconscious (hopefully — yes, the Mover determined after a quick check of the guard's pulse) body that had served as Vantage's first line of defense.
The Mover was tired. In more ways than one. Sitting on the bottom steps of a winding staircase that led to the upper levels of the building, the Mover wondered how the other members of the Conclave were doing. Hopefully, they would be finished soon, and they could all return to bed, and dream of a world where magic wasn't real, or at least where it wasn't so much of a burden. When their lives were their own, and each part of themselves didn't feel bound to some incomprehensible cause.
The Mover's eyes closed. Some time passed — maybe a few minutes, maybe more. Then the Whisperer's voice came through. It was a scream.
Taylor, there's—
The next words were lost. The Mover's ears heard a loud pop, a sound that seemed to shake the room, and the Mover's eyes flew open, upwards to see the guard Bound to the glass ceiling pointing a handgun downward, his finger pressed against the trigger.
It was easier to think of it as just a body, the Mover's mind mused darkly, and not a person. It felt more clinical. Nicer. Not that what any of them were doing here was nice. It just helped them all pretend.
Glass ceilings. The Mover's subconscious always figured they were just metaphors for societal barriers — but apparently the fine folks at Vantage Corp. actually thought they made for good office design. The Mover's nose wrinkled under the cloth scarf, the type that most Conclave members used to hide their identities — or at least the lower half of their faces. Were they really doing this? Chasing off goblins from condemned antique stores was one thing. So was knocking out some burglars. But breaking into the main headquarters of one of the largest businesses in town? Vampires the Mover could deal with. Lawsuits were something else entirely.
Hey, you good?
The Mover whirled around, before remembering the rest of the Conclave were scattered throughout other levels of the building. And the voice wasn't audible — it was mental.
The Mover's eyes noticed, in the corner of the lobby, a pinprick of red light was visible from a security camera. One of the Mover's...colleagues (Friends? Something in between? Something more?) was in the security room keeping track of everyone's movements. The Whisperer had an incredible knack for being able to bind thoughts to the minds of people simply by seeing them — even if only through a closed-loop system.
The Mover's hands gave a thumbs-up toward the camera. It struck the Mover's mind how ridiculous the gesture probably looked.
Marie and Xavier are almost done. Ty is — watch out! Guards coming at you, to your right!
The Mover's head turned sharply, just in time to see four men in suits running through a doorless passageway. All had guns drawn. One of the men shouted something. The Mover didn't catch it. It was just noise.
A wave of the hand, and the man flew sideways as if tugged by an invisible cord, slamming against the tiled wall — apparently Vantage's obsession with glass only applied when workers needed to look up at their superiors or down at their lessors, the Mover's thoughts noted dryly.
The other three guards hesitated, a costly reaction. The Mover's legs dashed forward with impossible speed before springing to the left wall, Binding themselves to it. The action appeared to confuse the guards, who were no doubt unaccustomed to seeing an opponent standing on the wall like it was the ground.
Taking advantage of their momentary bewilderment, the Mover's hand seized that of the man closest to him and Bound it to the ground. Immediately, the man's hand shot to the floor, the gun clattering some feet away. The maneuver had the added advantage of making firearms difficult to use at this proximity. Besides, while the Mover had learned how to Bind people and objects to each other from a distance, it was always easier — and therefore less risky — to do so via touch if it could be helped.
There were two guards remaining. The Mover's hands outstretched, aiming to Bind them together like a pair of magnets.
Then the Mover's head burst in pain, like it had been slammed against a swinging door. There were too many Bindings to focus on, each a mental burden. The Mover's mind cut the most immediate one, and released the Binding to the wall, dropping to the ground. The sharp pressure disappeared immediately, though it was quickly replaced by a bolt of pain as a kick from one of the guards hit ribs.
The Mover's searching hand swept across the ground and brushed against the barrel of the second guard's gun. It was enough. The Mover made a Binding, borrowing the metal's properties.
The guards recoiled. It must have been a striking sight to see a person's skin turn gray — an unfortunate side effect of this kind of Binding. The Alterer had the proficiency to take on a thing's aspects without being affected by its physical characteristics, and could even take on multiple properties of an object, but the Mover always struggled with the practice.
But again, it was enough. The Mover's arm flew outwards at an angle. catching one of the guards under his chin. He collapsed like a toppled Jenga tower. The other, apparently desperate, charged the Mover. A fair effort, but ultimately fruitless. The Mover dropped the alteration binding and tapped a finger against the man's forehead as he sprinted. He flew backward as the Mover's eyes focused on one point on the wall, the back of the guard's head slamming roughly against it.
Well, that was messy. The Mover sighed and trudged back into the lobby, gingerly stepping over the unconscious (hopefully — yes, the Mover determined after a quick check of the guard's pulse) body that had served as Vantage's first line of defense.
The Mover was tired. In more ways than one. Sitting on the bottom steps of a winding staircase that led to the upper levels of the building, the Mover wondered how the other members of the Conclave were doing. Hopefully, they would be finished soon, and they could all return to bed, and dream of a world where magic wasn't real, or at least where it wasn't so much of a burden. When their lives were their own, and each part of themselves didn't feel bound to some incomprehensible cause.
The Mover's eyes closed. Some time passed — maybe a few minutes, maybe more. Then the Whisperer's voice came through. It was a scream.
Taylor, there's—
The next words were lost. The Mover's ears heard a loud pop, a sound that seemed to shake the room, and the Mover's eyes flew open, upwards to see the guard Bound to the glass ceiling pointing a handgun downward, his finger pressed against the trigger.
Characters:
It's a bit lonely at the moment. Maybe you'd like to join?
