In: 0 // Out: 1
6b8 Felinx: <3!
ca5 Noname: *Leaves hearts and hugs from another world for Erites from Z.* >.>
14d Justin: (T)
043 Doctor Doom : There was a great peace in the solitude of working alone that had long ago forgotten. His life had long been filled with the doldrums of governorship, ruling and leading his people as best he could but he could hardly remember when those days had come to an end. It was all still a haze having awoken alone and naked three weeks ago in the far away from the ancient and forgotten monastery he currently resided. In fact his memories of his time in the Negative Zone seemed more like a cloud of seemingly unrelated events ending in a shadow on his mind, something that greatly troubled .
Thankfully he was able to distract himself from the mystery with the forges and fire deep in the heart of the mountain. The first few days were spent in meditation and mending, seeking out the long abandoned gardens of fungi that the previous tenants had cultivated to survive on when the winters made collecting supplies outside the stone walls impossible. Despite having vague memories of the last few years ’s memory of the passages and corridors of the monastery were perfect and he easily fell back into his practiced steps.
After his health had returned set to work getting the workshop operational again as the equipment looked to have been long ago left to collect dust or fall into it. Thankfully the tools that the ancient monks used were durable and imbued in part with magical energies that allowed them to stand longer against the test of time. He took his time, unlikely his first time here, wiser and considerably more patient. The forging process would take time and despite his hatred of his twisted visage understood he could afford no mistakes nor allow his emotions to better his goals, a flaw that had cost him so dearly in the past.
Within the week of reaching the monastery the great forge was rekindled and the molten metal boiling in the heart of the mountain flowed freely through the workshop. Where once had nearly frozen to death he now faced sweltering heat as he toiled endlessly in the workshop. Before the monks had helped him, expediting the process while weaving spells of protection into the metal they forged, now was forced to do the work himself which proved more difficult than he had anticipated.
”..Chan’ru rak Talu-ro vekka..” uttered with a dry hiss as his green eyes stared down into the glowing metal ingot he held clamped by a pair of iron clamps over a great black anvil. In his right hand he lifted a hammer which had several green glowing ruins on it that pulsed with a life of it’s own. ”..Koras mu sukka .. Koras ku sukka .”
As he uttered the final phrase he brought the hammer down hard against the red hot surface of the ingot as sparks and green energy sprayed in all directions, illuminated in a bright veridian flash. There was a crackle of raw energy that filled the air around as the ingot twisted and warped, the deep glowing red pulse with a green energy that spread through it like an infection. quickly brought the hammer down again as the ingot continued to take it’s new shape.
Through careful practice and spellcraft he worked the molten metal until it’s final shape began to appear. A cold, authoritarian face that had created for himself when Victor’s face was ruined slowly began to peer out from the raw metal. Staring down at his creation felt comforted by it, a reminder that he had once surpassed the need of flesh and blood. Soon the ruined face of Victor would be replaced by the glory and beauty of von .
As was admiring his work there was a blinding flash as the face plate exploded into a thousand tiny green shards. The force of the explosion threw across the room, his body smashing through a tool cabinet where he was buried in dozens of different hammers, chisels and tongs. Green tendrils of energy crackled from the black anvil where the face plate had been only moments ago before it dissipated leaving the workshop once again bathed in the low red hue of the molten pit at it’s center.
From the rubble of the of the tool cabinet ’s twisted and damaged body slowly stirred, his green eyes burning with hatred and frustration. There was a pulse of energy from his body before the shattered wood and tools he was buried flew in all directions. As he stood he felt something strange burning in his chest and abdomen that slowly built into an unbearable pain that tore through him.
Tearing his tunic away ’s eyes saw the true extent of the damage. Glowing green shards of his face plate had been buried deep into his soft flesh, the wounds seeping bubbling red blood that hissed and burned away as it tried to ooze past the glowing metal. Inexplicably the metal seemed to grow hotter, the sharps burning their way deeping into his body. Though he desperately clawed at the shards as they slowly bore into his flesh he had no success. Instead he was met with unbearable pain causing the former Lord of Latveria to howl and let lose a terrible, shrill scream.
Falling back onto the stop ground ’s body was wracked with pain, his mind going wild with suffering as his limbs twitched violently beyond his control. Anger and hatred gave away to desperation as the green shards sank into his body, only their light visibly pulsing beneath the surface of his skin. He felt the heat welling up in his gut and chest, boiling up his throat and burning behind his eyes.
He screamed until his voice died out and all that emanated from his dry, corse throat was pathetic gasps and whimpers. His body gave up thrashing and instead lay still, it’s energy spent but still the pain did not subside. His mind fought against the pain, sheltering his deepest self as best it could from the intense agony that had left him crippled but even that slowly seemed to erode as the pain refused to diminish and, instead, only continued to grow.
Finally, seeing no further option closed his eyes and let the pain in, let it wash over him and take him away.
Darkness rushed to meet him and he welcomed it.
7a9 Vincent White :
ec7 Nyx : Doom. !
043 Doctor Doom : Wind blew around the tattered rags that clinged to Victor’s scarred body as he slowly pulled himself up the small rocky path set up the jagged mountain. It had been nearly two decade since he had been up this path and almost nothing had changed save for the winds seemed more savage and the snow more unrelenting. His body remembered the motions as they pushed him forward despite the pain of his ruined body and the chill cutting through his body like blades. Still, even as he felt his body failing Victor’s pride and determination drove him forward, his ego refusing to be bested by something as mundane as the elements.
Every now and again his sharp green eyes would spot a frozen body or limb poking out of the snow, grim reminders of the fate of those who fell victim to the mountain. Every time Victor saw one of the dead his resolve drove him forward, he was not like them. He was not a pleb, some witless commoner who failed to reach the summit, he was destined for so much more. Despite the cold, despite the exhaustion and his failing body, Victor pushed forward as the rocky path narrowed before him, the edge of the mountain dangerously close, a sheer four hundred foot drop into white death.
Careful, Victor, one wrong step and all you have been through, all you have fought for disappears, victim of something as common as.. gravity.
He thought to himself as he pushed forward, his back pressed against the cold unwelcoming side of the mountain. Slowly, painfully he pushed on appearing like a small flea on the side of some massive beast trying to make his way from the ass to the nose. It seemed impossible, this task of his, but he had achieved impossible enough times to question the definition. Still, without his armor, without his power, without his use of spellcraft he was just a man against the brunt of nature’s wrath.
He had lost all feeling in his feet and hands by the time his green eyes finally spotted what he was searching for. He ignored the fact he likely had frostbite on his fingers and toes as he focused on the stone doors set out before him, strange letters barely visible beneath the heavy layer of snow. Victor stumbled forward and desperately scraped the snow away to reveal the full majesty of the door before him. His eyes quickly translated the letters as he muttered an incantation beneath his breath, his voice harsh and dry.
The door groaned and ground against the stone as they slowly slid open, a great, stale wind blowing out from the darkened entrance. Victor didn’t hesitate, whatever waited for him within was preferable from the unrelenting cold that battered him outside. Free of the howling wind, the ice and the snow, Victor felt the first bit of relieve in weeks. His green eyes scanned the dark passage set out before him as he recalled his first steps here.
Unfortunately he was not as young as he had been and his body was not as resilient. Despite his nearly unbreakable will his limbs were not as ironclad and he felt his legs give out as he fell forward, his body crashing down on the hard stone ground. The air was pushed out of his lungs as his withered body gave into the exhaustion. He cursed himself, he cursed his legs, his weak body, everyone who had a hand in leading him to this moment. He was glad no one saw the once great Doctor reduced to this, a shriveled, half frozen vagabond desperately searching for an answer to his salvation.
It was tempting, to close his eyes and embrace the welcoming darkness. To forget the Empire, to forget Latveria and those who had killed in his name.. Or died in it. To slip into that eternal night where he might find peace or at least some closure to his tiring existence. To be honest he fully expected to find himself in hell but at least hell would be warmer than his current location.
Victor blinked as he realized he felt.. Warmth. Not from himself but from the floor itself, the stone radiated a pleasant, welcoming warmth. The realization stirred him from his thoughts as his brow furrowed from beneath the tattered green hood. He took in a breath and allowed the warmth to seep into his frozen body. Behind him the stone doors slid closed with a thunderous crack and he was enveloped in the darkness of the unlit passage.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there on the floor like a lizard patiently absorbing the gentle heat of the stones before he pulled himself up into a kneeling position. Lifting his left hand up he made an arcane symbol in the darkness which seemed to blaze to life, collapsing into a green flame which hovered just above Victor’s head illuminating the passage. He took a breath and pulled himself up to his feet, leaning against the stone wall for support as he stepped forward.
Allowing his memory to guide him he worked his way deep into the depths of the mountain, ignoring side passages and rooms of the long abandoned monastery. The deeper he traveled the warmer the air grew and the hotter the stones became. Soon he arrived at his destination, a great workshop built above a pit of molten lava. It was here so many years ago that Victor had come as a young man in his quest to build the great instrument of his revenge against the X-Empire.
His green eyes stared down into the swirling, bubbling pit of glowing red rock and metal. His green flame snuffed out of existence as he was bathed in the dark red of the lava below. It was here he was truly born and where he would be born again.
Pulling his tattered cloak from his scarred and ruined body, Victor bathed in the intense heat radiating up. Had he still functional lips he might have smiled. In the boiling miasma below he would forge his new armor and a new face. In time he would cease to be Victor and once again he would reclaim his rightful name and title..
229 AT-: Autocorrect.... PJJ
229 AT-: Dayum.itd been quite a while since I've looked at ok I!
052 L: *Sits on his throne.* I want to poop here
052 L: *Peers*
d05 Judah : .
2ba Tsurugi : .
643 Azazel : *pets Raven's face* Maybe soon.
6cb Raven Darkholme : /swoon
6d4 Victor Creed : .
643 Azazel : .
482 Piotr Rasputin : .
35e Bishop : .
052 L: Could be I can't remember, could be I choose to not. Lets move along the story and try to find a plot'
a96 Lisa: Hm?
052 L: There was a place. And the name of the place escapes me.
951 Monolith : (T)
e36 Jackson Stone : (T)
14d Justin: Hi
46e Louisa Darling: Six pages deep into the massive packet entitled 'Spring Budget 2018', Louisa felt a disturbance in the Force. Not a small disturbance either, something she might easily put aside and work through. Rather than a soft scratching at the door of her awareness, it was more of a resounding knock that refused to be ignored. It was also dark and painfully familiar. Louisa would know it anywhere, not just as the hallmark of those few touched by Darkforce -- the very antithesis to the Lightforce she carried in herself -- but by one in particular.
Remembering to breathe evenly again, Louisa lifted a finger to let the pages fall back into place before slowly twisting around in her seat to glance over her shoulder. Even before she saw him, she visualized Vincent standing there, brooding half-in and half-out of the light pouring out of her office, with a quelling gaze designed to repel the unworthy. To actually see him was something altogether different, and yet she felt no pang of bitter sadness, only a general surprise that he was there at all. With just as much caution, Louisa rose from her desk, walked around her chair, and approached the window. Her hand rose, sought a nigh-invisible catch, switched it, and the window popped open with a muted click. Pushing with her other hand, she eased it open on silent hinges and leaned her shoulder against the sill, letting the night air sweep in and touch her face.
"Deep into that darkness peering," Louisa began, her voice low and mournful, "long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore?'" Lapsing into silence, she would let it hang between them a moment, although she didn't really expect him to finish the rest of the stanza. Finally, if he did not break the silence first, she said, "Hello, Vincent."
7a9 Vincent White : Though Vincent was free to walk in the light without consequence, the dark continued to be his preferred environment. It was where he was at home. What he knew. What he understood. Besides, the sunlight hurt his eyes. Not in the same way as before, of course, but it remained a pain in his ass. So, when he had the luxury of an option, he chose to do whatever he needed to do once night fell. Today was no different. While he didn’t sleep the day away, he stayed within the grounds of Leah’s graveyards until the sun was out of sight.
Once it did, Vincent made his way into Neo-X. It was still a pain in the ass compared to how he use to travel, but he was getting used to it. Beyond the occasional thug testing him, it was vastly safer, especially with Annihilation somewhere within the Darkforce dimension. That foe was beyond him when he was at his strongest. It’s what killed the real Nyx and gave him the companion he never knew he wanted. He supposed he should be thankful towards it. Whatever. The real one was lost, and he was stuck living life. It wasn’t all bad. It’s just he always thought he’d be the one to go out in a blaze of glory. The idea of being a dwindling flame never appealed to him.
Louisa Darling might feel the hairs on her neck stand up as the sensation of being watched inexplicably washed over her. If she looked out the window of her office, she’d seem him standing in the dark, staring in at her with an overcast gaze. If she saw him, he made no attempt at hiding, he just continued to stare.
ec7 Kurt Darkholme : .
59a Daniel Rand-K'ai : .
ca0 Priscilla Quentin: .
e72 Violet LaBelle: .
46e Louisa Darling: grumble mutter
268 Rogue: .
ec7 Kurt Darkholme : .
b5a Black Bolt: Plah
44a Duck: an app wouldn't be that easy. translating the code would likely be a nightmare.
6b8 Felinx: We're in /nx now, if you want help transitioning just let me know.
2b9 Drake Miller: ...
L sent a :msg: to Felinx.
Felinx sent a :msg: to L.
052 L: Huh. Fuck.
L sent a :msg: to Dirty.
Dirty sent a :msg: to L.
1d9 moth: Interesting idea.
6b8 Felinx: I still wish we had a PJJ app. I'm almost tempted to get a quote off one of those freelance code sites and put it on PJJ and ask if anyones down for crowd funding it if it is cheap(under a grand, maybe?)
44a Duck: Phone hates pjj.
44a Duck: Phone hates me.
44a Duck: :s
44a Duck: :s
1d9 moth: *Settles.*
Jessie sent a :msg: to Taskmaster.
Taskmaster sent a :msg: to Jessie.
a18 Jessie: this one
f4a Taskmaster: (Shieeet. Probably. Who dis I'm yakkin at anyhoos?)
46e Louisa Darling: (Discord then. You don't even have to download it if you don't want to, there's a browser version.)
f4a Taskmaster: (My pooter isn't good enough fer steam.)
46e Louisa Darling: (You should fix that, bro.)
f4a Taskmaster: (I got the book of faces, Nuffin else tho.)
f4a Taskmaster: (Good to see you too Fel.)
46e Louisa Darling: (if you have Steam or Discord or Facebook, lemme know.)
6b8 Felinx: Nice to see you again!
f4a Taskmaster: (I was curious as to why there were two rooms with EMPIRE X in em. I'm just touching base, heard AIM is going the way of the dino here soon so I wanted to reconnect with some players)
6b8 Felinx: *Gives Louie bunny ears in the photo, while sticking out her tongue.*
Felinx sent a :msg: to Black Bolt.
46e Louisa Darling: (The other one, /nx, is a reboot of this timeline if you're interested. This one is being kept open for nostalgia's sake I think.)
f4a Taskmaster: (Nice. Glad to see this hasn't been forgotten.)
46e Louisa Darling: (It's a little dusty and it's clearly a fossil but...she's still goin'!)
f4a Taskmaster: (Neat. *Snaps photo.*)
46e Louisa Darling: (Surprise.)
f4a Taskmaster: (*Didn't know this was still in use.*)
46e Louisa Darling: (*Flings hands* I'm not fixing anything.)
46e Louisa Darling: At this time at night, there were no more scheduled classes, no more recreational activities sanctioned by the institute, and the halls were deserted with the exception of members of the faculty, security, and janitorial staff. Students who had homes to go back to had left on buses or in family cars hours ago, and those that lived on campus were in their dorms. Ideally, they were either abed already or finishing up an assignment for the evening. As both a former student of the Institute and someone who remembered what it was like to be a teenager, Headmaster Louisa Darling knew well enough that the reality was most likely a far cry from the ideal.
The digital clock on her computer told her it was nearly 10:30 PM, which meant it was well after time to clock out and find rest of her own. And she would, Louisa told herself, just as soon as she was finished looking over the Spring Budget for the upcoming year. There was a lot to account for and even more to consider. In addition to that, there were four e-mails she had flagged for review earlier that day that still needed to be addressed. The entire history department was looking to finalize a date for their annual trip to the Charles Xavier Museum of Neo-X and arrange transportation. One of the Institute's largest donors was making inquiries about the next board meeting, presumably to propose several (unnecessary) changes. A student experienced loss of control during a training exercise in the gymnasium and scorched a large section of the floor and several rows of bleachers with a kinetic blast, requiring repairs and temporarily restricting access to that area of the facility. Thankfully, there were no injuries to the student body in the vicinity at the time, otherwise that e-mail would have been longer and much different. One of the counselors was retiring and all members of the faculty were invited to celebrate. There would be pizza and ice cream cake.
Louisa's eyes slid away from the monitor of their own volition. They passed over the various paperwork littering her too-large oak desk and fixated on some obscure point in the corner of her office. She wasn't looking at the wood paneled wall as much as looking in its direction; she wasn't really seeing it, or anything else for that matter. Had anyone else been there to see, they would notice that her gaze was unfocused, her expression weary. Louisa was tired. How could she not be? As Headmaster, her job would never be done, not until the day she retired -- because she wouldn't quit. She subsisted on the emotional and mental gratification of seeing students graduate and watching everything function as it should. And yet something was...patently /missing./
A voice in the back of her head -- Responsibility, she supposed -- told Louisa that she should go home. There was nothing here that could not be addressed tomorrow after a decent night's sleep. She lowered her hands to the arms of her chair, slid her feet back in preparation to stand, and then paused. No, she couldn't leave. Too much depended on her, on the assorted paperwork that still needed her signature. At least that's what Louisa told herself as she pulled her chair back to the desk and reached out to drag a file close for examination. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, at least while she was here, she could sense life all around her, whereas there was nothing at home, because it was empty.
46e Louisa Darling: *Settles in.*
052 L: *Walks in*
81c Heather Buchanan: yoink
abc Meredith Scott: yoink
4cb Selene: yoink
3f4 Paige Guthrie: yoink
2cf Elise Ramsey: yoink
e2a Cassandra Ross: yoink
eb7 Carol Danvers: yoink
378 Brandy: yoink
0cd Anya Maximoff : offloadin all my shit to the new chat xoxo
Black Bolt sent a :msg: to Felinx.
a0a Eveline West: merp
ed0 Rachel: hmmm
Nyx sent a :msg: to Mr. Sinister.
Mr. Sinister sent a :msg: to Nyx.
ec7 Nyx : 2
Jessie sent a :msg: to Felinx.
Felinx sent a :msg: to Jessie.
2d5 Mr. Sinister : Oh its that Kesha Dazzle
378 Brandy: profile is live
2d5 Mr. Sinister : *Has neither a bladder nor a uretha... Still peeing on everything.*
ec7 Nyx : *Isn't real, so for once that doesn't really bother her.* Stuff doesn't work like that, silly.
2d5 Mr. Sinister : *Pees on Nyx.*
ec7 Nyx : Psh. Riiight. *Sticks out tongue.*
2d5 Mr. Sinister : *Pees on everything* This is mine now.
196 Faith: blah
97e Francis Barton: smol Hawkeye
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