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A private roleplay between juliebarnes and wednesdaysun.

1656 readers have visited this universe since wednesdaysun created it. juliebarnes are listed as curators.
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Introduction

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a private roleplay between juliebarnes and wednesdaysun




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Long, long ago, a mysterious group insinuated themselves in court life by disguising themselves as minstrels and jesters. They hid themselves in plain sight, entertaining all with tales and songs aplenty, all whilst acting to protect the interests of their less fortunate subjects. They were able to bring to life the content of what they sang in their amusing little ditties.

It wasn't long until they began to notice. The position that had once afforded them a both a glimpse of and some level of influence over court politics without suspicion found itself jeopardised, and one by one they withdrew until the nobles could not find a single one to prove their theories. The group scattered and laid low until the nobles started doubting themselves again, eventually insinuating themselves as they had before in smaller pockets of ordinary society.

They called themselves the Motley Order — a throwback to their origins — and continued to thrive in relative anonymity for more than a thousand years.

The Order and their descendants have spread far and wide, ranging from professions anywhere between famous musicians to preachers to teachers to writers. Being of creative minds and souls, they flock to places where they feel their abilities may be put to the best use.

The Order, however, once again faces jeopardy from The Noble's Son, the scion of a family entrenched in the business and politics. Having taken particular interest in the mysterious case of the disappearing minstrels, he has spent three years investigating their whereabouts on what little information he could gather. After observing similar patterns in The Journalist, a writer for The Fox Times in Renard Park, he sets about on a manhunt, leaving the Order scrambling to keep their gifts away from being used for foolish personal gain.

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Rules

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Add New »Show All »Characters

Character Portrait: Lilah Tsang the normie
Character Portrait: Abraham Gray The Journalist
Character Portrait: Ben Noble [WIP] The Noble's Son
Character Portrait: Ned B. Sumner The Sage
Character Portrait: Dae Kyung-ja the heavy
Character Portrait: Laurie Rivken the raconteuse [wip]

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These poor, unfortunate souls were once a part of this great world, but have been abandoned. Why don't you consider viewing their profiles and making a decision on whether or not you can roleplay them accurately?


View All »Places in Storytellers

Thanks a Latte Coffee

Thanks a Latte Coffee by wednesdaysun

An established café near Renard Park's Fotheringhay University. Open from 0730 to 0200 the next day.

Robin's Nest Learning Center

Robin's Nest Learning Center by wednesdaysun

One of several kindergartens in Renard Park, nestled just near the border of the suburb of Ingram.

The Fox Times

The Fox Times by wednesdaysun

Renard Park's main periodical publication.

Renard Park City Hall

Renard Park City Hall by wednesdaysun

The heart of Renard Park's local government. The Noble family's domain.

Downtown

Downtown by wednesdaysun

The heart of Renard Park.

Verbatim Books

Verbatim Books by wednesdaysun

An independent bookstore in Pollack, one of Renard Park's districts. In addition to selling books, the store also holds workshops, open mic nights, and other functions.

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Arcs are bundles of posts that you can organize on your own. They're useful for telling a story that might span long periods of time or space.

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Events

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Abraham Gray
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Image

Nothing to see here. Move along, 2755482.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lilah Tsang Character Portrait: Abraham Gray
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DATE & TIME
13 January 2017
0930



WEATHER
Clear


CHARACTERS
INVOLVED


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Abe Gray

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Lilah Tsang

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Mallory Hadleigh

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For as long as Abe could remember, he had long suffered from a tiredness no amount of sleep could cure. No amount of extra (and time-wasting) naps, sleeping pills, therapy, or hypnosis (per his mother’s especial request) made him any the less likely to collapse headfirst onto his bed at at least 9:30 PM and attempt a light doze until 2 AM the next day… if he was lucky. For a long time, he thought the longer he stayed this way, the closer and closer he would inch to insanity. He would go insane from sleep deprivation and there was nothing he could do about it.

This morning, as he crawled ever so slowly to consciousness from somewhere in the void between dreams and reality, he wondered if the feeling of restedness suffusing him was something his inevitable fate had thrown at him by way of a taunt. A very cruel, long-running taunt.

Rested? He was never rested. But with 8:43 plastered all over its face, his clock begged to disagree, and then it was a blur of basic hygiene, a change of clothes, one bite of untoasted bread, and thick overcoat and messenger bag.

“Abe,” chimed the receptionist, finally able to contact him through the din of the white noise in his head. She had her arm outstretched in front of him like she was waving hello, but her face didn’t seem to get the “all smiles” memo. “This was left for you.” She lifted up a familiar brown paper bag from a nook at the front desk.
“W-who’s it from?”

She handed him the card that came with it.

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“Who was it, then?” she asked, now curious about the woman who had come by to give it to him. Graphic designer type. Maybe she could contact her about a job.
“Neighbor.”

He flipped the card over, chuckling after he’d given it a once-over.

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He gave his messenger bag a sort of half-panicked pat down and sighed in defeat. Just where was his mind today?
“You know, reminder apps are helpful,” the receptionist shrugged, handing him his paper bag. He took it and decided to ignore the subtle jab as he shoved the package into his messenger bag.


“Hey, Lilah,” someone mumbled as he brushed past her on the way out the door. “Good morning,” she replied automatically, barely looking up from the coffee stain on her jacket which she’d given up on trying to scrub out. It had already proved itself to be stubborn enough five minutes ago.

Good morning. What a joke, honestly. She’d barely been out of her apartment fifteen minutes before some college student - still hungover from the weekend, no doubt - had lurched into Lilah right outside Thanks A Latte, spilling coffee onto her jacket, then paused to throw up by the entrance of the coffeehouse. At least Lilah’s shoes had been spared, more’s the pity to the employee that would probably have to mop up the mess.

That didn’t excuse the spill on her jacket. Lilah sighed, rubbing at it with the heel of her hand once more in some ineffectual hope. She would probably survive in the office, but she’d have to keep the jacket on if she went out, it was far too cold to go without.
In a sudden burst of spite, Lilah made a wish that the college student was experiencing a very bad headache.

“Lilah,” a familiar voice called across the office, and she peeled her jacket off and dropped her stuff onto the desk immediately, knowing what that voice meant. When Mallory called, Mallory wouldn’t wait, no matter how close a relationship she shared with her photographers.

Lilah strode over to Mallory Hadleigh’s desk, trying to act like it was completely normal to go without a jacket in mid-January. “Morning, Mallory. Assignments this morning?”
“You bet,” her editor said, barely glancing up from her computer. “You should probably put another layer on, it’s cold out. With Gray today, he’s covering the weird occurrences around town. People are claiming it’s an alternate universe thing.” Mallory’s frown made it very clear what she thought of this theory.
“That’s all I’ve got for you today, get some shots of the ‘anomalies’ -” here Mallory indicated air quotes with a raising of her eyebrows, her fingers still busy on the keyboard “- and a couple of interviews. Then polish up the photos from yesterday’s shoot and send them to me.”
“On it. Thanks.” Lilah turned away, fighting the urge to scowl. Gray was, in her opinion, a bug-eyed weirdo who had it far too easy, sitting around in the office most of the day, his head in the clouds. Her distaste didn’t erase the fact that she had an assignment with him, though, so she shrugged her jacket on and gathered her stuff up again, deciding to swing by Gray’s office before she picked up her equipment.


The goal was to get himself to look like a normal, professional, human person again before any superiors could see the mess he was. He had the slight advantage of his winter coat and the advantage of a thick beanie pulled over his head to avoid have to deal with the additional problem of an unruly pouf, he supposed, but he couldn’t hide the rumpled collar, misbuttoned shirt, partially opened fly or one shoelace undone as he strolled into his office to deposit his messenger bag—lunch, laptop computer, important files and all—rather unceremoniously onto his office chair. He tried to make quick work of himself there before smoothing himself out to get coffee.

Just as he was returning, nursing a cup of, thankfully, freshly brewed coffee, he half-jumped at what he thought was a sort of form just as he was turning into his office.

Lilah twirled her fingers through her hair, counting the ceiling tiles in an attempt to curb her frustration. It didn't quite work. It felt like she'd been waiting for Gray for forever. In the time she’d been waiting, she’d gone to fetch her camera and returned, toting an additional camera bag alongside her knapsack. Not too weighed down today, but still… just because she was travelling light didn’t mean she was inclined to stand around waiting like a jilted girl who hadn’t quite realised it yet.

Shit,” Abe muttered under his breath, shaking off some of the coffee he’d spilt on his hand. “Sorry. Morning…” He took a moment to figure out who it was that he was talking to. “Lilah.”

She turned at the sound of his voice, raising an eyebrow at him. Not enough to be too snippy on a Monday morning, but enough to remind him where he was. “Good morning. I’ve been assigned to go with you today, on the anomalies around town. You’ve seen your schedule of work?”

He was mid-gulp as she spoke, but sped up just as soon as it looked like she was about to wrap up. “Hm? Yeah. Went through it on the bus here. There have been several that we know of, plus two more recently reported through social media posts at a… public park and a kindergarten.” He set the coffee cup down onto his desk to retrieve a spare pad and a few pens, then placed his laptop gingerly inside. “We’ll go by proximity for convenience’s sake then we can map out the timeline later. The one most people will be worrying about is the one at City Hall. That’s the nearest. The clock tower’s bent out of proportion. Some think the hackers over at Cambridge thought it would be funny to bring their antics over from MIT.”

College kids again. Her lips twisted in annoyance, but she thought maybe she’d better hold off judgement until she saw the hack itself. “If it is, they’ll claim credit, right? Pretty bold of them to mess around with City Hall.” She readjusted the weight of her bags on her shoulders. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah.” He shoved the pens and pad into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, following her out of the office. “After you.”




Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laurie Rivken
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Footnotes

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DATE & TIME
13 January 2017
0830



WEATHER
Clear


CHARACTERS
INVOLVED


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Laurie Rivken

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Keren Rivken

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Asher Rivken

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Jeronimo Jurado Beltran
"Nemo"


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Fabian Johnson

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Claudia Savona

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Kiều Yên Linh

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“You’re not going to be late, stop shovelling food into your mouth like that. You’ll choke.”

Laurie stopped halfway through a mouthful of chocolate babka, beaming sheepishly at the affectionate scolding. “Horee,” she managed around it. Her mother pushed a glass of orange juice towards her, face still scrunched in concern. “Are you sure you don’t want any lox? There’s an extra bagel here, and I made so much. You didn’t have to eat the leftover babka. I tell you what -” she held a hand up to pre-empt Laurie’s protest “- I’ll pack this up for you so you have a snack if you’re hungry at work. You don’t have to eat baby carrots and mashed potatoes like your children do at break.” Without waiting for a response, she sealed their remaining bagel in a little airtight baggie, then placed it in a Tupperware box with a healthy serving of lox, scrambled eggs, and fried onions. The box she stuffed into Laurie’s backpack, sitting by the door. Sensing that the remainder of his breakfast might be added to Laurie’s box, Asher Rivken began piling his lox onto his own bagel, making sure that he kept his plate out of his wife’s reach.

“Your father, on the other hand. No worry of starvation there,” Keren said in a stage whisper, jerking her head at Laurie’s father. Laurie almost choked on her babka, swallowing it just as she tried to stifle a giggle. “What did I tell you?”

“I got it, ma,” Laurie beamed once she was able to speak again. “The teachers’ pantry is always stocked, I never starve at work. But thank you for the bagel.”

Keren patted her on the head clumsily, unaccustomed to physical affection even after almost twenty years. “That’s my girl. Have a good day at work.” This last comment was directed at both Laurie and Asher, who had begun to rise from the table after downing his coffee in one go. He reached across the table to pat Keren’s hand gently, then turned to Laurie. “Well, the children call. Shall we?” Picking up his briefcase and Laurie’s backpack, he led them both outside to where the car was waiting.

Ten minutes later he pulled up by the curb, leaning over to place a kiss on Laurie’s cheek. “Thanks, dad. See you tonight.” Laurie hopped out of the car, rounding the corner towards Robin’s Nest Learning Center. A few of her coworkers huddled on the curb out front, murmuring amongst themselves.

“Hi,” Laurie greeted as she approached them, looking from nervous face to nervous face. “What’s happened?”

She was greeted with a moment of silence, which Nemo finally broke. “Hard to say, Laurie. Come see for yourself.” He opened the door. It was still dark inside, a sight Laurie was unaccustomed to. Normally the kindergarten was brightly lit, and she could hear the sounds of the air conditioning and children playing, yet the building was empty and quiet, and a shadow seemed to flicker in the corner of her eye. Despite her thick sweater, Laurie shivered.

“Up there. Look.” She followed Nemo’s finger, pointed up at the ceiling, to see… herself?

It took a minute to digest. Claudia’s desk, the shoe cabinets, even Nemo and herself, all reflected on the ceiling, as if someone had broken in over the weekend to install a mirror through all of the kindergarten. “Fabian touched it, and he said he felt himself. It was warm, it’s real, and it’s freaking me out,” Nemo explained, his voice a hushed whisper. “We have no idea what happened, it wasn’t like this on Friday and Claudia swears she activated the security system when she left, no one could have come in.”

The pair rejoined the rest of the teachers outside just as Linh hurried up, late again, no doubt due to the bus. “Claudia texted me!” she gasped as she pulled up, trying to catch her breath. “What do we do?”

Laurie worried at the hem of her skirt, wondering exactly the same. It looked like something that could happen if the Order hadn’t kept one of their own under control… but it wasn’t like she could handle it on her own, whether it was fixing the problem or narrowing it down to the culprit. “For now, let’s keep the kids outside. Go inside, turn on the lights so nothing seems off, but we’ll tell them we’re having classes outdoors today since the weather is nice. The playground a few blocks down should be fine. We’ll just have to deal with whatever it is after the children go back.” Already she could see Elyse Spencer coming down the street hand-in-hand with her father. “Don’t say anything to scare the kids, okay?”

Her instructions were received well, given that the others had little idea themselves. Instantly Fabian turned in Elyse’s direction, waving to her, and Claudia headed back inside to do as she was told. “I’ve already called the police and reported it, but seeing as no one’s in immediate danger they won’t be in any hurry. I’ll stick around and talk to them when they get here, please round up the little ones and make sure they don’t get in any trouble,” Nemo rattled off at top speed, hurrying to keep Claudia company before he’d even finished talking.

“Do you think we can get it fixed by tomorrow?” Linh asked nervously, picking at her nails. She turned to Laurie, expression expectant, as though she’d be able to find a solution the same way she’d found a last minute plan.

“I don’t know, Linh.”





Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ned B. Sumner
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Footnotes

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DATE & TIME
13 January 2017
0730



WEATHER
Clear


CHARACTERS
INVOLVED


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Ned Sumner

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Francis Holt-Westerman


MIDDLESEX COUNTY
ORDER
REPRESENTATIVES


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Mary Frayle

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Joaquin Reynoso
"Wacky"



SENIOR MEMBERSHIP
CANDIDATES


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Alisha Jain

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Martín Yañez Pech

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At the crack of 7:30, six people approached Thanks a Latte Coffee on Sassamon Road.

They were fortunate that the place wasn't more crowded. A café like Thanks a Latte situated where it was two blocks away from a research university like Fotheringhay was a place begging to be filled with droves of undercaffeinated and overstressed academics and students alike, amongst others. Already, there were a few students in the premises beginning to occupy several tables, placing their stacks of books and papers, stationery, and laptop on the tables they intended to commandeer for the next few hours. Others more were coming in to pick up their morning fix before traipsing into work.

The group made their orders at the counter and left to secure a longer table in one cosy corner of the room save one, who waited patiently by the counter for their food. Carrying a tray of warmed pastries, she approached the long table they were all sat at and set the tray down, distributing each plate to each person who ordered them.

“Shall we begin?” She turned to look at one of them. “Wacky, would you do the honors?”
Wacky nodded. “This is a private conversation. The matters discussed here will not leave this area... this circle.” The ambient noise of the café—soft jazz, chatter, all—muffled the moment he’d finished his sentence. “As long as we are discussing these private matters, what we say will be intelligible to no one outside of this circle. Are all in agreement?

One by one, each member of the small congregation said their ayes, each time a strange change in aura washed over each individual responder before it shimmered out.

“Good. Since we’ve only just met, I think introductions are in order. My colleague and I are representatives of the Middlesex County Council body. I’m Mary Frayle.”
“Joaquin Reynoso.”
“And you’re all the most senior members in Renard Park?”
“No.” Ned waved an index finger back and forth between him and Francis. “We are. They’re aspiring to it.”

Perhaps what he said didn’t inspire plenty of confidence in the juniors judging by the unease that came over their faces. Not that he cared much for their approval at this point. He needed to take on two birds with one stone: there was the pressing matter of potential exposure of their kind, but there was also the last battery of tests he needed to run to help complete the juniors’ training. He might as well get all the work he needed done done.

“Relax, they aren’t greenhorns. They’re senior candidates. They know what they’re doing.” He stood up to shake hands, and then the rest did, half-dazed at the abruptness of it. “Ned Sumner. Francis Holt-Westerman.”
“It’s just Francis.”
Ned ignored the interjection, continuing to speak. “He mostly deals with the youth; I mostly deal with adults. Senior candidates Alisha Jain, Martín Yáñez.”

Something about him didn’t sit well with Mary, but she was at least glad he knew the urgency of their agenda.

Well. Down to brass tacks, then. You’ve been made aware of the situation?”

One of the juniors turned to her seniors as if to ask permission. Ned waved dismissively. “As of the last Crier calls we intercepted an hour ago, there’ve been five,” began Alisha. “Four of them were relatively minor ones dotted around south side Pollack, west Thornberry, and near Watertown, where we assume the general area of the epicenter is. They seemed to intensify the further they spread out.”

Martín spread both open palms outward. A map of the city unfurled in front of them. He pinpointed the four minor anomalies on the map with a finger, leaving a glowing dot in its wake. As he was marking points on the map, however, two people had bumped into each other in front of the establishment and the other party in the mishap, a pale, hungover looking thing, sauntered over to their table and patted him on the back, grabbing his attention.

Aye,” he said, offering the congregation a weak smile, then leant over to Martín to whisper in his ear.

After muttering an admonition to him, the latter sent the messenger on his way. “Six now. There has been a recent development... here.” He added another glowing dot to the map. “City Hall. Apparently, the tower is looking more… flaccid than usual. Despite that, the clock carries on like nothing.”
“One of our biggest concerns right now isn’t the cleanup or memory rewriting. We’ve set up our respective teams for it and will be ready to move after this meeting.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. “It’s social media. People have been talking about this on the Internet. It’s not an easy thing to clear.”

Wacky raised his eyebrows and smiled at the seniors. “They’ve been trained well.”
“Go on. Thank the nice council member.” Alisha rolled her eyes at Ned. Martín noted Francis’s faint smile, and said nothing.
“At any rate, this is what we’re here for,” said Mary. “We’ll deal with the more complicated matters concerning its potential nationwide spread. What we need you to do is to clean up and contain the anomalies as quickly as you can before any more media gets a hold of it.”
“Mary and I will be helping to oversee the candidates for seniorship as well. This’ll be a good time to observe larger-scale negotiation for the both of you. Ms. Jain, you’re with me. Mr. Yañez, with Mary.’

Both assigned pairs stood up, although Mary shot Ned a disapproving look for remaining seated. So much for understanding the urgency of their agenda.

“We’ll follow.”
“That’s that, then. Meeting adjourned.


Ned took out a slim, black vape pen out of his jacket pocket and took a puff, blowing smoke rings into the air. He could feel eyes next to him boring into his face. “It helps put me at ease,” he explained nonchalantly, leaning back into his chair as he took another puff. “You should try it. Maybe it’ll put you at ease for once.”
“Right now it might make someone want to deck you, and I’m not standing up for you if and when that happens.” Francis, already on his feet, stretched at the waist, cracking his vertebrae loudly. “Get you anything?”
“A ristretto.”
“Sit tight.” Three minutes later he was back with two steaming cups, passing the smaller one to Ned. He settled into his chair, leaning back in his seat and warming his hands around the cardboard holder.
Ned downed his drink in one gulp. “It’s way too early for this shit. Another troublemaker.” He waved his hand in the air as if to erase what he said from existence. “Another powerful troublemaker. He could get us all killed.”
“I doubt it’s that serious,” Francis countered, unperturbed.
Au contraire. Harmless as it is by the Rules’ standards and by the Sib’s parameters—the lesser damage, the better, et cetera, et ceteraanyone could triangulate its origin. Four points around south Pollack, somewhere in Thornberry, Watertown just west of here. That’s enough points.” He took a quick huff of the pen and blew out more smoke rings. “Find him, and they find us.”
Francis lifted one shoulder and dropped it. He was, generally, much less worried about the Order being discovered, and more concerned with doing his job well.



WARP IN NORTH EVERTON KINDERGARTEN.
ROBIN'S NEST LEARNING CENTER.
CLEAN UP REQUESTED IMMEDIATELY.
FIVE WITNESSES.
REQUESTING WIPER ASSISTANCE.

WARP IN NORTH EVERTON KINDERGARTEN.
ROBIN'S NEST LEARNING CENTER.
CLEAN UP REQUESTED IMMEDIATELY.
FIVE WITNESSES.
REQUESTING WIPER ASSISTANCE.

WARP IN NORTH EVERTON KINDERGARTEN.
ROBIN'S NEST LEARN—


“Oh, God, it won’t shut up,” Ned grit out, massaging his temples. “Do they have to repeat it so many goddamn times?”
Francis sat up. “Robin’s Nest, that’s where my mentee works. Let’s go.”
“Mentee, huh? Larry, was it?”
Laurie. Get moving.” Francis was already halfway out the door.
Chuckling, Ned got up and shrugged his coat on, following his comrade closely behind. “Gosh. I wonder who spat in your oatmeal this morning.”





Storytellers: Out Of Character (OOC)

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[Storytellers] [Other Guilds] The Sybilline

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The Sibylline were once a nameless guild believed to have co-existed with the ancient Greek Sibyls themselves. Recent times, however, have seen them take up the name as a means of establishing a link to their past.

It is a guild of precognitors, or those who can see the future and outcomes that branch out from every action. However, due to the difficulty of mastering precognition, its primary objective is to serve as a training ground to improve and fine-tune future sight. Those who choose to stay on with the Sibylline take on further training to become mentors themselves, and those who meet their standards join the community of mentors.

One of its oldest working relationships is with the Motley Order. Guided by their shared goal of protecting the interests of the oppressed, the Sibylline help ensure that, should the Order execute missions, the actions taken have the least possible negative outcomes. If none, all the better.


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Precognitors generally possess the ability to see, hear and, in some cases, even feel future events, but Sibylline precognitors (Sibyls) and the training they receive focus heavily on being able to see as many outcomes of every action as they can. The more experienced they are, the more their minds are able to withstand the tremendous stress that witnessing tens upon hundreds of possibilities inflicts. However, using the ability expends a great amount of energy, and as a result it is often ideal for them to limit and space out its usage.

Sibyls are also able to see into the future through visual and tangible clues such as photographs, videos, mementos or the like, using them as guides to piece together a larger picture. Many use multiple clues at once during divination to sharpen their visions. For many, audial clues do not appear to work except in rare cases of a blending of other sound-linked abilities.

All Sibyls are able to project their visions, and may do so either by materialising it out of thin air as if to play it back or through coming into contact with the intended person or persons.

There are certain fixed elements in certain timelines that remain static, limiting their ability to see into those elements' futures. However, that can be changed through certain changes in action that affect the timeline, or through a shift into a different one.


[Lore] Powers (More Information)

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In this universe, superhumans are not limited to one singular ability. Occasionally, they may have what is called a 'blending', or the appearance or manifestation of a minor form of a tangentially related—or even a completely different—power.

For instance, a person with the instinctive ability to know where anything they have already come into contact with may at some point or simultaneously with the manifestation of their power, perhaps through dabbling into divination, discover that they have limited precognitive ability through different types of reading (scrying, rune reading, astrology, tea leaf reading, etc.)

The degree to which this minor form chooses to manifest itself is, as of current study by the superhuman community at large, completely random, and can, in some cases, be affected by factors like upbringing or current mood.



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For powers predominantly reliant on willpower such as the Order, psyche blocks are amongst the biggest obstacles to proper—and safe—conjuration.

Psyche blocks are psychological barriers that arise from negative emotions, deep-seated insecurities, trauma, or even as an outgrowth of mental illness. (N.b.: The mentally ill can use their abilities in spite of their illness. In some cases, there are people whose illnesses present themselves as psyche blocks, and people who do not have that limitation at all.) Side effects vary.

If the psyche block does not weaken their powers to an extent or render their powers completely useless, superhumans can cause anywhere from minor to major damage to others or themselves. If left unchecked, the damage caused by psyche blocks can prove fatal, if not irreversible.

Resolving the source of the psyche block can weaken or eradicate it, allowing the person the proper use their powers again.


[Lore] The Motley Order

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It is unknown when or how exactly the Motley Order came into existence, although it is undisputed that for centuries, their main objective has been to work for the good of the oppressed and downtrodden. A guild not unacquainted with espionage, it is said that the Order entered the courts to manipulate circumstances in court politics to benefit common folk. They often worked closely with precognitors to ensure that their actions had no adverse consequences—a relationship that still endures to this day, as not a single branch of the Order worldwide goes without representatives from precognitor guilds.

Several members of the Order mixed with the Romanichals of the British Isles, and migrated to the United States, bringing their heritage (and teachings) with them. Several of the members of the Order in the Americas may be of the same extraction, although Order members of other ethnicities do exist.


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The Order is a guild of reality and illusion manipulators, trained and divided two ways: the Minstrels and Jesters.

Minstrels are able to will things into reality verbally, whether it be spoken or written.

Jesters, unlike Minstrels, whose incantations are dependent on verbalisation, only need to draw from their imaginations.

Both are able to create illusions that appear to defy the laws of physics themselves. Given a certain higher level of mastery of their abilities, advanced members may even create permanent, tangible objects or actual phenomena. However, their abilities are contingent on how strong their imagination, creative drive, and willpower is. One with little to none of these things are Wanting. The Order takes measures not to allow members to fall into that fate, as accumulated negativity can be used as energy enough to use their powers, albeit in a more stiff and volatile manner, and ultimately lead to its abuse. It is of note that powered by this energy, especially paired with strong emotional feelings or drives, even the Wanting can create with extensive and intimate knowledge of a particular field in lieu of an imagination.

It is possible—but incredibly difficult—for a person to manifest their powers both ways.

There are, however, limitations.

First, their abilities are progressive, not retrogressive. They cannot alter what has already transpired; they can only dictate the direction in which certain events are to flow. Even then, this does not guarantee that any idealised future events will remain as the caster intends. The course they take their reality manipulation is contingent on whether or not their incantations conflict or interweave themselves with others'.
Second, their abilities do not extend to being able to raise the dead. The timeline of the dead has stopped; as such, the incantation will bypass any dead.
Third, they encounter what they call 'barriers'—limitations as to how far one changes the future and how far into the future the changes are made. Once encountered, Minstrels are forced to start their incantations again. Written word Minstrels will observe their writing disappearing off the page; spoken word Minstrels will have difficulty speaking the next words as their mouths will be forced together as if glued shut.


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There are certain fixed elements in timelines mapped out by precognitors that remain static, and cannot be changed. The Order has a name for the people resistant to their sway—Surda (sing. Surdum), Latin for deaf. (Colloquially called 'yawns', especially amongst the younger ones.) The Order cannot change elements in a Surdum's timeline, and as such are able to withstand the Order's influence. However, it does not necessarily follow that they remain Surda all throughout. Through certain changes that affect the timeline, or through a shift into a different one, it is not impossible to turn them into what the Order calls Auditores—'listeners', or those whose timelines can now be changed.


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There are two ways one may become part of the Order: inheritance and induction.

Inheritance can occur in two forms:

The first is inheritance from a mentor. In cases such as these, the mentor may intend to retire from mentorship or Order duties and wish to pass some, if not all, abilities and teachings to them in an attempt to preserve the culture, as is consistent with Order apprentice-mentor culture, an age-old yet tried and true practice. In some cases, the inheritance may come as the mentor is dying.

Second is inheritance through birth. Not all offspring may inherit the ability. There is no way to determine how one inherits it. Some may be fortunate to have the next generation inherit it; others may wait more generations, or even not live to see the next one to inherit. At least one parent must either have the ability in their bloodline or be induced.

In very meritorious cases, people with great potential and who already show promise and control of their abilities are inducted in. In the middle ages, induction would have taken on a ceremonial flavour. In present times, however, the candidate's ability is determined by trusted members of the community (comprised not merely of elders but of a mix of ages and abilities) and is screened thoroughly over varying probationary periods.


[Lore] Universe

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Superhumans exist in the universe of Storytellers. However, armed with lessons learnt from some of history’s most terrible purges, most fear the fallout of a reveal to the world at large and prefer to stay either hidden in plain sight living under the cover of normality, or withdraw into the shadows of society, waiting for the moment they can be allowed into the sunlight again.

Each living situation differs. Although some may opt to isolate themselves, most generally gather together in groups not unlike the guilds of old. Each ‘guild’ varies: some prefer the company of those with common powers whilst others enjoy a diversity in ability. It has been found that those with more volatile abilities tended to favour the former type, as it is far easier to establish the necessary systems to control the volatility. Properly organised systems can provide those who have recently come into their abilities—more often than not a threat due to their inexperience and the risk of unintentionally exposing themselves and their community—an environment to better explore and control them within its safe bounds, and to mitigate any damage to normal society at large.

The Motley Order falls under the former. Due to the unpredictability and difficulty of controlling reality manipulation, the ‘guild’ is extensively organised, often preferring to keep its members under its watchful eye, from surveilling its lesser-experienced members, encouraging deep mentor-apprentice relationships while training, and scouting for anyone—young, old, what have you—with at least an inkling of ability for warping reality.


[Storytellers] Lore

hi
fancy seeing you here
thanks for dropping by

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The Universe

The Motley Order
About
Powers
Divisions
Auditores: The Order-Receptive
Surda: The Order-Resistant
Ingress

Other 'Guilds'

so long
farewell
auf wiedersehen, good night