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“An archive of things that never happened”. An in-character forum for fanfiction and roleplaying. Beware - spoilers abound!

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Vavakx Nonexus
Vavakx Nonexus
Posts: 713

11/30/2016
The shape will stir. Stirs. Has always stirred. It will glare and squint with it's reflection-filled eyes. Then, lean back in thought. Their smile turned sour - a-waste-of-everyone's-times - then abominable - well-he-does-not-have-to-go-to-waste - and, finally, satisfied - he-will-have-what-he-desires-and-more - as tired luminescence, green as the deepest mysteries or lush forests, will spread through the air...

...

They are but two figures sitting in some rowboat in the middle of a quicksilver sea, each person moving in a different direction. Teak oars dip into boundless reflections and emerge and dip again. One of the two, covered in layered pelts and skins, looks and gazes and longs for the lights of the West. The other, a stack of bandages and absinthe, has begun unwinding his wrappings. When he is done, nothing of him will remain. He yearns for the South’s flowering gardens.


Another push upon the wooden oars. Another step closer to the shores. Again, they push. Again, they near their final stop. The glum lights of Wolfstack and the bee-crested columns of Adam’s Way. One figure leans towards another. “Behind our mirror, V names VIRIC, the colour of shallow sleep.” Too close for comfort. There is barely place for the two of them on this rowboat. “We do not know with what tools reality will be built, but dreams. Dreams will be built with Viric lights." A hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dare keep you here any longer now. There are more wonderful delights for you to be had, before you reach these shores.” A push. Descent into silvered depths. The end of breath. Far away, the rustling of leaves...


Something viridian and circular sits in the bandage palm of the Tomb-Colonist’s bandaged hand, the exact shade of green that haunts the sunset. The cabin’s original emerald-eyed resident, moderately disheveled, is rather insistently waving him away.

--
Vavakx Nonexus, the Deranged Solicitor: Black-and-Gold. and a Particularly Fancy Dress.

Blabbing, the Hobo Everyone Knows: The One Who Pulls The Strings. Someday.

Hear the Deranged Solicitor's story along with several others at The Tower of Mind and Law: Tales from 'Euphemia'
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Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 376

12/1/2016
Drake rouses from a slumber. He recalled dismissing Florence from his cabin after his encounter with the Mirthless Tomb-Colonist, before slamming his door, collapsing into a chair, and passing into a deep slumber. The emotional and physical fatigue of the voyage had caught up to him.

He spends the next several days moving as if in a trance, as the ship grows closer and closer to London. The others are aboard, put he only makes perfunctory conversation with them. He evens keeps some distance from Emma. Only one instance rouses him from the fog of his troubled mind.

As he walks through the corridors back to his room, after a day of miserably standing on deck, he hears a shriek from a cabin down the hall. Drake races over and finds Florence inside. Based on the clothing strewn about the cabin, this was Sketch's room.

"What's wrong Florence?" Drake inquires. The Intrepid Scholar looks at Drake in horror.

"The cologne. The sandalwood cologne. It's here... Sketch was the one that attacked me." Florence intones. Drake stumbles out of the room, the revelation hideous to his ears. He retreats back to his cabin, where he remains for the remaining two days of the voyage, contemplating what must be done.

At last, the great horn of the Reck sounds, and the ropes of Wolfstack find friendly purchase aboard the long-gone ship. Drake appears on the deck.

London- something would have to be done. This misery had persisted for too long.

Emma is already on the docks, flirting with zailors. The other members of the expedition are making their rounds, saying goodbye. Drake gives each of them a curt 'thank you,' and notes to Florence and the Sun Scorched Sailor that he hopes to see them again soon.

As Drake gets off the Reck, Emma runs up to him.

"What now, brother?" She asks with a smile.

"First, I'll take you home and get you settled. Then, there's something I need to find." Drake remarks, walking into his future.

--
Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker & Matchmaker
Emma Dynamo- Pulled from the past, ready to make a splash
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A skulduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
Interested in hunting the Shade with us? Check out our google doc!
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Barse
Barse
Posts: 459

12/1/2016
[OOC: I guess this is the end - if there's anyone out there who's not a part of the RP who, for whatever reason, has been following this weird lumbering tale, then thanks! If not, you'll be pleased to know we'll be gone from your Unread Topics list as soon as everyone's miscellaneous business is wrapped up. It's been a pleasure writing with everyone involved, and as my first proper RP it's been fab. You're all the best, delicious friends.]

The Scorched Sailor smiles a satisfied smile as he surveys the lights of London. The Reckoning Postponed rocks gently on the swell. It's good to be home.
edited by Barselaar on 12/1/2016

--
The Scorched Sailor, Captain of The Reckoning Postponed.
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Infinity Simulacrum
Infinity Simulacrum
Posts: 329

12/1/2016
The Mirthless Colonist emerged hastily, his cane pressed under his arm. Tuff shadowed him eagerly with a pile of miscellanea in his arms: a suitcase, the mirrorcatch box, an assortment of pouches. The bandaged wasn't much for pleasantries, but he made an effort to nod and greet the few people on-deck with him. These were powerful people, perhaps he'd have use of them, or they of him. Six pearls clacked merrily in the pouch tied to his wrist, as if excited to see the London sights. He threw a small rostygold bust toward Barselaar, his promised payment.

Then, he took a leap, the small drop lasted an instant. He landed on solid London ground. He didn't look behind him, he barely saw what came ahead. He just walked, quickly. The Viric pearl he kept separate from the others. He knew they could see him through it, even if they didn't know it. Perhaps he'd report the Solicitor to the Labyrinth-Keepers, perhaps he didn't dare.

He looked up, the lights of Wolfstack had made place for the markets of Spite. Costermongers passed by him, braggards and thiefs and other Spite filth intermingled and eyed him suspiciously. He took a deep breath, and dissapeared into the crowd. Tuff needn't follow, he knew where to find him.

...

The sun surely shone, he'd see it soon. A few more minutes, maybe.
Those minutes dragged on for hours, the seconds ticked by too slow. He inspected his timepiece meticulously again, it counted off with unmet precision. Tick. Tock. Wasn't there someone back on the Reck like that? He grinned.

The light caught him off-guard, embraced him. He quickly stood up and spread his arms. He felt the bandages around him smoke and sizzle. He stood on the bow and closed his eyes, he felt the warmth wash over him, char him, embrace him. The sailors -sailors- around him recoiled in terror.

...

When he opened his eyes again, he stood unbandaged, his skin was still withered and scarred, but looked better under the pure light. He passed his hands over his body, his feet, his legs, his torso, then his arms. He was still the same, the cider -or perhaps something else- kept him going.

He clutched the railing. Oh well, there were plenty of mysteries to uncover topside, weren't there?
And there was someone he had to see.
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 12/1/2016

--
The Martyr-Child comes. It hungers and as it hungers does it feed. It yearns for its wretched egg- that which is horror and only horror breeds.
0 link
ForScience
ForScience
Posts: 64

12/1/2016
London, again, after the Iron Republic and Irem and even back to France for seven minutes. It seems a bit less claustrophobic now. For the first time, she sees the city not through thick glasses but with her own eyes.

There's a shade of green she hasn't seen in a while, on a docker's jacket. Had she been colorblind, too? Goodness. Having her full range of vision back is immensely satisfying.

Less satisfying is the memory of the Coolheaded Physicist's broken body tossed among the rubble, and of screams, and of stifling smokey air. Living through the accident was bad enough the first time. But, the Scholar consoles herself, she saved people. People who were dead until she interfered with the past. Perhaps some of them have even made their way to the Neath! She missed some of them. All of them, really.

Florence says a friendly goodbye to her fellow passengers, though she still has no idea who most of them are. A sincere thank-you to the Scorched Sailor, a hug for Emma and an attempted one for Drake (he does seem a bit on edge), and a pointed effort not to think about Sketch. Then she gathers up her things and sets off, towards her little room above a bookshop. There are observations to be compiled, samples to be carefully stored away. There's science to do, and Florence does not intend to put it off for a moment.

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/ForScience - The Intrepid Scholar. A dauntless yet melancholy scientist who would like nothing better than to unravel the deepest mysteries of the Neath.

http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/rainbowsprinkles- The Pathetic Seeker. She tries her best, really! It's just that she isn't good at anything. She can't even destroy herself properly.
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Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 376

3/19/2017
(OOC: Is there a part of me that regrets adding to this completed work? Yes. But discussions on the IRC have required me to set some things up. This is tangentially related to Argo, and ties in with a certain coffee-loving character I have introduced, running concurrently with the Shade Hunt.)

The spirifer's den has no artificial means of illumination, which is appropriate. The notable souls emit a faint light, and the room practically glows as a result. The cloaked girl only has a few minutes before the special constables raid the establishment, but the spirifer does not know this. The cloaked girl skims the souls on display. She looks to the spirifer.

"I was told you have a queer soul? One from some time ago? From a professor who wasn't?" The girl asks. The spirifer pauses a moment in thought before nodding.

"I know the one yer talkin' 'bout. Ain't no one wanted that soul for a long time. It's cursed." The Spirifer admits, before walking over to a small chest, and rummaging through it. After a minute he produces a bottle with a very bright soul in it- it seems restless. The girl races to the spirifer and snatches the bottle from his hands. She turns it over to look at the name on the bottom.

"Ah ye, he was a strange one, Charles Ske-" The man begins, before the girl punches him in the stomach. The spirifer doubles over in pain, and the girl takes the opportunity to quickly depart from the den. After making several detours to lose any potential pursuers, she makes her way back to her father's establishment in Veilgarden. She enters his office.

"Dad, I got what you wanted." She says, holding up the soul. The Antioch smiles.

"Good, good. The Dynamos' acquaintances are of a renewed interest to me. The Shadow of London will soon fall, no doubt, and the Network will be ready to operate again. This will come in handy, I guarantee."
edited by Drake Dynamo on 3/19/2017

--
Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker & Matchmaker
Emma Dynamo- Pulled from the past, ready to make a splash
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A skulduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
Interested in hunting the Shade with us? Check out our google doc!
+3 link




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