the littlest edgelord (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inconsequence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2017-05-15 11:37 am
inconsequence) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-05-15 11:37 am
Entry tags:
- *event,
- dragon age: marian hawke,
- dragon age: neriel lavellan,
- dragon age: solas,
- marvel 3490: natasha stark,
- marvel 616: lorna dane,
- mass effect: commander shepard,
- mcu: wanda maximoff,
- metal gear: liquid snake,
- original character: andyr prince,
- star wars: rey,
- the raven cycle: ronan lynch,
- the walking dead: carl grimes (crau),
- tron: rinzler (crau),
- undertale: asriel dreemurr,
- undertale: chara dreemurr,
- undertale: frisk,
- undertale: mettaton,
- x-men movies: erik lehnsherr,
- x-men movies: james "logan" howlet,
- x-men movies: jean grey,
- x-men movies: kurt wagner,
- x-men movies: laura
If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN | MINGLE]
Who: Who wants to kill some slavers? You do! Of course you do!
When: May 15th and onwards
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff
What: The slavers that targeted the crew of the Moira in July are overdue for some justice. Chara breaks some regulations to make that happen. THIS IS A MINGLE LOG; anyone and everyone who wants to get in on this and kill some slavers is absolutely free to do so! Chara is relying on there being some chaos for this to work.
Warnings: PROBABLE DEATH. Probable references to slavery, trauma, and also death. Chara.
The Ingress opens to a spilling wash of gray and white, a monochrome cast of shadows and hard angles. The Runoff, it seems, is not a place of many colors; every inch of it is drab and washed out, cold and impersonal as the people who would employ such a place for their own twisted ends. A swirled nebula of stars glimmers overhead. It is night.
Knives are useful tools, but their reach is limited. A quiet transmission to the network, a select few messages delivered to a select few individuals, the hissing strike of a match igniting on the edge of a box. The place is angular and looks to be comprised of some sort of galactic equivalent of asphalt, likely inflammable. Still, it is entirely too dark. Too gray. Too poorly maintained. Tents and shabby establishments line the streets, places where, evidently, personal agency may be bought and sold on a whim.
It does not take long to find a structure of cloth and wood, and the whole of it soon emanates the rank, coppery tang of some interdimensional brand of gasoline.
Knives are useful tools. But they did not come with knives.
Or rather, they did not come only with knives.
One of the stalls is alight in a matter of moments. Red and gold tongues of flame gobbling the establishment whole, filling the place with both the color and light that it so lacked. Knobs of wood harvested from the wreckage form handy torches to set anything else aflame, to thoroughly raze the entire area to the ground, every stall and ship and vendor that supported and enabled the inflorescence of slave trafficking and slave keeping. Armed guards begin to converge on the disturbance at once. But small as said disturbance is, there is no guarantee that it will not come to grow.
That is, of course, where you come in.
One child alone cannot possibly take the entire place down, and flame can only take things so far. It is hardly enough when their aim is one of total destruction, however unrealistic an expectation that might be. They'll need help. Lots of it.
So won't you join the dance?
When: May 15th and onwards
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff
What: The slavers that targeted the crew of the Moira in July are overdue for some justice. Chara breaks some regulations to make that happen. THIS IS A MINGLE LOG; anyone and everyone who wants to get in on this and kill some slavers is absolutely free to do so! Chara is relying on there being some chaos for this to work.
Warnings: PROBABLE DEATH. Probable references to slavery, trauma, and also death. Chara.
The Ingress opens to a spilling wash of gray and white, a monochrome cast of shadows and hard angles. The Runoff, it seems, is not a place of many colors; every inch of it is drab and washed out, cold and impersonal as the people who would employ such a place for their own twisted ends. A swirled nebula of stars glimmers overhead. It is night.
Knives are useful tools, but their reach is limited. A quiet transmission to the network, a select few messages delivered to a select few individuals, the hissing strike of a match igniting on the edge of a box. The place is angular and looks to be comprised of some sort of galactic equivalent of asphalt, likely inflammable. Still, it is entirely too dark. Too gray. Too poorly maintained. Tents and shabby establishments line the streets, places where, evidently, personal agency may be bought and sold on a whim.
It does not take long to find a structure of cloth and wood, and the whole of it soon emanates the rank, coppery tang of some interdimensional brand of gasoline.
Knives are useful tools. But they did not come with knives.
Or rather, they did not come only with knives.
One of the stalls is alight in a matter of moments. Red and gold tongues of flame gobbling the establishment whole, filling the place with both the color and light that it so lacked. Knobs of wood harvested from the wreckage form handy torches to set anything else aflame, to thoroughly raze the entire area to the ground, every stall and ship and vendor that supported and enabled the inflorescence of slave trafficking and slave keeping. Armed guards begin to converge on the disturbance at once. But small as said disturbance is, there is no guarantee that it will not come to grow.
That is, of course, where you come in.
One child alone cannot possibly take the entire place down, and flame can only take things so far. It is hardly enough when their aim is one of total destruction, however unrealistic an expectation that might be. They'll need help. Lots of it.
So won't you join the dance?
no subject
Yeah. Think they are keeping them below deck? [He's okay with them sticking together, taking the side his eye can keep Kurt is his peripheral vision. He is more used to this than Kurt and the thoughts of consequences other than those of doing nothing for the slaves don't occur him. All that is on his mind is doing what's right, and to be honest he's forcing his thought to stay on that. He fears what would happen only if he didn't. His mind needs to stay sharp, and focused. Rage will only blind him.]
I am the one that should be saying that. But I think that's a good idea. With the two of us, we might be able to come up with a better plan than I had before.
no subject
Most likely. They wouldn't want to make things easy on us. [Good, because Kurt doesn't have anymore plans to run off from someone who's willing to help him fight for the slaves. He is sure there will be consequences, but that crosses his mind a little too late. There's no way that they can turn back now-- not when they've already gone so far.
Sparing a glance toward his partner, he raises an eyebrow in curiosity, tri-fingered hand clenching more firmly around the hilt of his sword.] Did you have something specific in mind when you came to this place through the Ingress? [Because he sure as hell doesn't.]
no subject
Glancing back to his friends look on him, he gives a half hearted smile.] No... well, maybe. I'm just here to help things go smoothly. Find them and get out.