Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Feb 14, 2024 23:09:28 GMT 9
The world collapsed, but Lacrimosa kept his footing. He looked around, at the swirling dust, the people staggering back to their feet. He hummed low in his throat, dismissive. No one here was prepared. No one here understood what they came for.
Philistine fil-uh-steen] n. a person who is lacking in or hostile or smugly indifferent to cultural values, intellectual pursuits, aesthetic refinement, etc., or is contentedly commonplace in ideas and tastes.
Precisely. Lacrimosa took a step forward, only to be assaulted by something flashing on his screen- a prompt, a demand. Lacrimosa regarded it with cold calculation-
And then turned, countenance softening, looking past Alistair- to little Saint. A blessing in his own right. “Saint,” He called, voice gentle despite the rising chaos. “I believe it’s only right that I give you this…” He said, offering the present.
Wisteria stared at the three, voice mute and mournful.
That settled, Lacri turned, striking at the ground once more.
He would find his answers here.
[Fossil2]Rui_Uvgo1d15
Wisteria || 45/100 1d15 |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Feb 6, 2024 7:35:39 GMT 9
None of it mattered. Not Alistair or his latest paramour, not the people clumped and clustered, not the children running amok. Not the so-called doctor, or the bizarre noise in the air.
All that mattered was the thrum of the earth, the way it sang in his bones. Potential. Clarity.
Remains [re-mains] n. any pieces, scraps, fragments, etc, that are left unused or still extant after use, consumption, the passage of time, etc.
Lacrimosa hummed, unnervingly at ease, bringing the weapon up and the down, as Bunya had, through a human skull with a sickening snap, a CD shattering as it was bent, a wooden board kicked enough to break.
And it would all break, and offer up what it knew.
[Fossil]raa7LSx11d15
wisteria || 50/100 1d15 |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Jan 26, 2024 13:09:13 GMT 9
Opportunity [op-er-toono-tee] n. an appropriate or favorable time or occasion; a situation or condition favorable for attainment of a goal.
Lacrimosa pretended to look like he was listening to Bunya. He cared not for what she had to say- fossils were not his area of interest. Safer, quicker passage into Mistra was.
And the appearance of “magic,” as being displayed by one of the programs? That was curious, at least.
He watched the circle with interest, aware of but uncaring about the form that flickered just before him- the shape of a little cat, marked only by the dark space within the glow. It opened its mouth in a silent cry, and the magic flared.
Lacrimosa blinked, looking up as his eyes adjusted. He didn’t recognize this place- a deep cavern. This was not familiar. He hadn’t seen even breath of this- why? How?
Something like glee bubbled up silently in his chest.
Potential [puh-ten-shuhl] n. possibility; potentiality: a latent excellence or ability that may or may not be developed.
He took the primitive tool in hand. Whatever was to come- he would find it.
wisteria || 100/100
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Jan 20, 2024 1:36:33 GMT 9
Angelo watched him, eyes bright, keen. Always searching, always yearning. Sarthor gave a smile, soft, gentle. His hunger was palpable in his voice, the soft pressure behind his voice.
He wanted to know.
Understanding.
Consequence.
"It said a great deal... Perhaps too much to be easily recounted here." Sarthor mused. Thinking. "However... I keep all my sessions recorded, at my practice."
"Would you like to see for yourself, what happened?" |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Jan 18, 2024 1:27:37 GMT 9
CURRENT BYTES: 6,721 DATE OF CHARACTER APP: Mar 30 2023 CLAIMING TYPE MOD: Secondary,  EQUIP TO?: |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Jan 18, 2024 1:25:02 GMT 9
Sarthor was decidedly atheistic. He was a man of science, after all- There was no proof of any divines, only the ramblings of those who hear voices. As such, churches were works of architecture and art… but that was it.
However, the church was always quiet, and that was all he needed.
He sat, by one of the windows, looking at the colored light cast onto the floor. “You’re the Corruption.” He said, voice gentle. He did not need to raise his voice; the creature could hear him easily enough.
Corruption [kuh ruhp shuhn] n. tje act pf corrupting or state of being corrupt. moral perversion; depravity.
Lacrimosa hummed softly, low in his throat. An affirmation, then. One that raised so many questions. He needed to sort them. “Why do you commune via definitions?”
Diction dik shuhn] n. style of speaking or writing as dependent upon choice of words. the accent, inflection, intonation, and speech-sound quality manifested by an individual speaker, usually judged in terms of prevailing standards of acceptability.
Another hum. So it was a choice, then. That answered little-
“You said your name was-”
Requiem [rek-wee-uhm] n. Roman Catholic Church. Also called Requiem Mass . the Mass celebrated for the repose of the souls of the dead. a celebration of this Mass. a plainsong setting for this Mass.; any musical service, hymn, or dirge for the repose of the dead.
“Right.” At this, only, Lacrimosa frowned, looking at the stained glass window. Why Requiem? Why something inherently religious? Was it to mock him- to act as his foil?
Chiaroscuro [keer ahr uh skyoor oh] n. the distribution of light and shade in a picture. the use of deep variationsin and subtle gradations of light and shade, especially to enhance the delineation of character and for general dramatic effect.
“Hmmmm.” Lacrimosa brought a hand to his chin, eyes closing. "A balance, then… I see. Thank you.“
This, he could work with. |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Jan 13, 2024 14:15:54 GMT 9
 {orioncayge (TW flashing image)}The darkness and shadows crept, writhing and twisting, contorting. They, though, did not lash, or claw, or strike- What was physical harm to a fighter who could not die? What were physical wounds to a man with much more to lose?
Heedless of any dick Orion may have in hand, the darkness swarmed, soft and ephemeral as clouds. But the light and strength (and Class) was sapped from him all the same, path illuminated not by him, now-
But by a single CRT monitor.
"So, an exciting time for our viewers just tuning in, Bob."
The screen flickered, warped, faces obscured by chromatic aberrations. The voices were unmistakable.
"Absolutely- a pivotal day, as Southside is finally being held to task for the massacre that occurred almost seventeen years ago- the Black Valentine Riots."
Sand and shadow gave way- to blood, seeping faster into one shoe than the other, metallic and wet and hot against skin.
A tv behind Cayge flashed on, massive as a cinema screen. "Troy Cayge has finally been brought to justice, for the heinous murder he committed that week."
"However there's still one more at large." The hosts had turned more serious, a grim edge entering their voices.
"Yes- the one responsible for the entirety of the Black Valentine Riots."
Shapes formed on the once-sand. Outlines. Blood-seeped tape. Not chalk. They spanned Orion's field of view, obscured only by the still-clinging shadows.
A paper fluttered into him-
The picture shifted and warped, sometimes a man in his late twenties- and sometimes a scared child.
"This is your fault, Orion."
The paper shifted, prying away, folding into sharp edges, thin limbs. It fluttered to the ground a little paper man, and looked up at Orion impassively.
images from Persona 4, Vol. 3
{Alistair}
The words were bright against the dim screen, hazy and doubled in waking eyes. For an instant, the world was quiet, only quick breathing, and the sudden snap of dry wood-
Followed by a loud, questioning coo, rising in pitch and frequency as the speaker was ignored. Other sounds followed- the muffled flow of cars on the street, the hum of an ancient radiator, the fan of the WorldView as it worked-
Until all that, too, fell away again.
The loading was cut by anothrt sharp cry, the cage rattling amidst the calls. The pigeon threw himself against the wire, shrieks growing louder and more insistant.
What crawled out of the broken cage, as it slammed against the sunroom windows, was not a pigeon.
Black arms spilled out, clinging to the ground as it dragged a bulbous body. It grew as it went, body sticking as it reached the doorframe, the wood splintering and cracking.
By the time it reached the stairwell, a turqoise maw snapped into the supports, frame vanishing into the beast.
{Big Bee}UX man was cold. Frost falls, on and on and on. Constantly. UX man snow-shroud, lost. Sandy, too, VDU contact, too. Lost, lost, lost.
No forward, no athwart. Only cold, only lost.
Frost would wax and wax, as moon. As cold. As sorrow. As... how was that called? Old Scrolls V? Cold as a jarl's hold and as cold as a slogg'd task was arduous.
Suddenly, with relief, the malaise he'd been plagued with lifted. Like deep breaths after drowning.
It did nothing for the snow and sleet, the cold that clung to him, the days and nights of turbulent agony. But whatever had claimed his mind had backed away, at least for a moment.
Blizzard obscured vision. There was no more desert to be seen, no path to follow, or retreat with. Only ice and snow, and flesh raw and reddened, burnt and cold- There was no shelter from the chill, air growing more white and frosted-
And, the puffs of Big Bee's breath almost seemed to be coalescing before him, swelling into a shape. Soft and glassy, faceless, swirling in the air as if it had always belonged. It swirled this way and that, as if regarding him, before reaching out with a massive tentacle-like appendage.
{Saint}The welcome rang like chiming temple bell,
sonorous and unyielding in the dark.
But the sands still rumbled, threat’ning and cold,
And from the shifting whirlpool came a shape
Monolithic and inhuman at once,
Cruel organics and machine laced as one.
There were no eyes to track the small angel,
Only a mouth to mock, and flames to eat
Consuming all that dared to stand below.
The statue shifted, shuddering with fear
Or impatience, yearning for a relief.
The steel shifted and groaned, and turned despite
Attention falling to the spot of life
And in a burst of flame, began pursuit.
{Laguna}Silence droned.
A wheel still spun, a movement lost to her, now.
Beyond the smell of oil and loss, the snap of lightning and power lines, light sparking against pooled liquid.
It sparked against two crumpled piles of once-metal, things that would never work again.
so many things that would never work again
The cables snapped and thrashed, serpents reaching for prey to latch onto, light sputtering from the edges.
the edges became hands, reaching, judging, arbiters.
Alone.
no
Alone.
no
Alone.
no
Alone.
laguna did not have the fortune of being alone
{The Captain}The world sputtered and flickered, sands roiling like seas, despite being everything the water isn’t. There is no echoing call, no siren-song of direction. No storm to guide, no deep red sky. There is only blackness, the cruel nothingness of a starless spread, no guidance, no marker.
Save for one.
There, amidst the sands, is a buoy, pale creamy white against the shadow-black sand. It bobs, sometimes higher and sometimes lower, a single speck of safety. Slowly, in the way of objects, it drifts closer, the surface marred by plankton, flickering in bioluminescent colors. Karenia brevis. Lingulodinium polyedrum.
It drifts closer, massive and wide despite all appearances to the contrary.
It moves closer. There is something connected to the buoy, under the sand.
It looms closer. It is not algae. It is not a buoy.
There is no water to save you, here.
{Navarre}The crowd swarms. They push back at Navarre- but do they even see him? Are they aware of him at all? Or is he just a ghost, here, ephemeral and unable to affect any change? Despite how their faces turn away,
Eyes are still locked on him, searching, judging. Condemning.
Did his brother ever care? Had he ever shown it?
The gravestones shift, moving, one settling against another, building and growing and swelling.
There are more eyes on Navarre, now. They are watching.
Judging.
Condemning.
Sentencing.
What do you know? Is it enough?
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Dec 31, 2023 13:30:42 GMT 9
#s://media~discordapp~net/attachments/322481299875168256/1090850611446173696/Shibusawa~Tatsuhiko~full~3772105~jpg Wrath was not an unexpected result. When faced with agony, humans reacted in a variable of ways- but the list was short. Sarthor merely waited, letting Angelo choke out his words and anger.
He was wrong, but saying as such would do no good, unfortunately.
"It was performance in a trauma, where you had to quickly assess both a patient and a chance of success, and what the outcome would be. Is there a doctor you know that would wade through devourers of flesh to treat a patient?" He still had that soft smile, fond, head tilted a bit to the side. "And after... it's easy to ascribe our actions to the blasé- it's 'just a game,' after all. But death is a different matter entirely. One that goes against our most basal instincts. And yet."
Saint had exceeded every expectation. And he explained himself clearly, logically. Still looking at the business card, but that was easy to remedy.
What happened when I died?
"When-?" That finally seemed to nick the armor, Sarthor frowning and just looking at Angelo a moment.
"Ah, that." Sarthor reached up, movement delicate as ever, fingertips pressing against his forehead as if with headache for just an instant, the movement turning to tucking hair behind an ear. His tone was that of someone discussing the ending of a book, a video they'd seen. Something of import, but little excitement. Mundane.
"You fell, and the feast was served."
It was said plain, clinial. Not shying from the implications, gaze still fixed on Angelo as ever. Sarthor's eyes tracked him, as if judging his response. "And with the feast, came the Corruption. A Parasite had gotten into the meal."
The words were said with weight, with purpose. Corruption. Parasite. Chosen specifically among a myriad other synonyms.
"It came to me, and offered me a degree of understanding." |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Dec 3, 2023 0:37:25 GMT 9
#s://media~discordapp~net/attachments/322481299875168256/1090850611446173696/Shibusawa~Tatsuhiko~full~3772105~jpg At that, Sarthor did frown, seeming not disappointed- but maybe disinterested. Maybe reconsidering his friendship with Angelo. "You make do with the cards you're dealt..." He said, musing, eyes narrowed, something sharp and piercing in them.
"I can't say I understand, Angelo. During our first excursion in Mistra-" He spoke of it so calmly, as if unbothered by the horror, the pain, his own death- "I can only think of two doctors who would go to the extent you did. Myself... and my assistant." There, finally, some of the derision left his face. "I would very much like to exalt you to a third, Angelo."
He reached into a pocket of his coat, pulling out a business card, thick and smooth, inky black with gleaming white text.
"Let me be blunt, Angelo- I am offering not only passage to Johns Hopkins, but also a job at my practice, should you devote yourself to your studies. I see great potential in you- Which, honestly, is not what I was expecting to find in UNOVR." A small smile finally flicked over his lips.
"Let's add a different card to your hand, hm?" |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Dec 2, 2023 12:18:12 GMT 9
Stepping across the virtual threshold- there is a spark of light, and silence. Your pokemon is gone. Your UI, too, has vanished, unresponsive to spoken word or gesture. The desert spills out in every direction, any trail you might have left obscured.
You are, well and truly, alone.
The shadows of night and corruption swirl around your feet, like affectionate cats, before the darkness truly descends, Corruption feasting upon your soul, your essence, to draw its shape and form.
What do you fear? What do you see?
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Nov 18, 2023 11:46:07 GMT 9
#s://media~discordapp~net/attachments/322481299875168256/1090850611446173696/Shibusawa~Tatsuhiko~full~3772105~jpg Sarthor just watched Angelo gently, unflinching as emotion started to claw at the younger man. It would do him no good to draw attention to it, in any manner.
He gave a soft blink when Angelo eeked out a name. “Cleveland state.” He repeated. That… was not a medical college. It was an undergrad college. He gave a bit of a hum, thinking. “That’s a bit beneath you, though, isn’t it?”
He raised a hand to his chin, looking over Angelo thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t you much rather attend somewhere more suited for your skills? Johns Hopkins, perhaps?” |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Nov 18, 2023 11:45:43 GMT 9
laughter. high and bright. the cackling of a hyena, calling for pack, calling for prey. lacrimosa offered tuesday only a soft smile. transactional. what a way of putting it.
“you make it sound so simple…” lacrimosa mused, eyes trailing over some of the drink tins. “what do i seek here…” he let his gaze move to her again, head tilting a bit as he smiled again.
“i want to know how this game works.” |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Nov 15, 2023 8:23:18 GMT 9
 The barren district is falling into the soft black-golds of twilight. This part of Ostella is quiet, still and calm- save for a solitary trainer, responding to a late-night message, summoned to the dark sand and darker sky.
Some of the messages are personal-
Saint - Let me show you what I’ve found.
Alistair - I need your help in the new region.
Some are not.
I think I’ve found a secret in the Dust District- will you help me look?
Please help me- there’s a strong creature here and I’m cornered.
All messages come with a map pin- and, upon arriving to the spot, you are alone. The shadows of the nearby ruins stretch impossibly long in the evening wan light, the air silent save for the scrape of sand.
Whoever sent the messages- they aren’t here now. To be alone in the desert- even a virtual one- is a death sentence. Thankfully, you’re a trainer. Standing there, on the threshold before the black desert, where golden sands meld to grey- this is your last chance to choose a guardian.
What pokemon do you summon? What is your bond?
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Nov 12, 2023 9:56:00 GMT 9
#s://media~discordapp~net/attachments/322481299875168256/1090850611446173696/Shibusawa~Tatsuhiko~full~3772105~jpg Sarthor smiled a bit at Angelo’s falter, gently amused. Polite, respectful. The same, then, as he is in game. He stepped back, quiet and patient, to let Angelo slide free of the booth. He gestured, softly, guiding Angelo to another section of the Lounge, far enough to allow a bit of privacy, without making it seem like he was walkign the other man off to seclusion for some more… uncouth reason.
“It really is a pleasure to meet you in actuality, Angelo.” Sarthor murmured, musing. “But- I digress. Tell me: you told me, months ago, that you were a student of medicine. Is that still the case?” He asked, voice calm and considerate.
His eyes flicked over Angelo, thoughtful, considering. Angelo was sharp, quick thinking, resourceful. And… was willing to make the hard decisions. They were all admirable qualities- useful ones. “What school is it you’re attending?” |
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Nov 12, 2023 9:55:45 GMT 9
her interest is palpable, tangible. her eyes go bright, flicking from the flower to his hand, to him. her voice is brilliant, seeking and claiming- he is now useful.
but was she useful to him? what could she offer to him, in return for aid? she was a dazzling display- gleaming armor. shimmering cloak. a powerful countenance. classes and classes- stacked power and power. “oh? i’m not sure what use i have for plants here, though…” he breathed, another laugh.
what could she do for him? what could he wring from her? |
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