illirica's Test Thread


Silythus Tower, Inc. Test Variant - ver. 1.0

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Testing - "Philosopher"

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Good character on this one. Too close to serif?

Testing = "Space Grotesk"

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Legible, too austere? Quotation marks are unfortunate.

Testing - "Signika Negative"

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Heavy, uninspired.

#FFF536 - #FFF536
#170802 - #170802
#506930 - #506930

Silythus needs a photo, this one?




Silythus Tower, Inc. Test Variant - ver. 2.0

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To Whom It May Concern?

Attn: Mme Anastasia Mikhailov, Mrs. Emily Brownstone?

Silythus Tower, Inc., c/o Hiring Manager?

Thank you for reviewing my application to [position?]. I was pleased to meet [?] with [???] and [???] on [Date?] regarding my employment. I was impressed by the [detail from interview?] at your company and am pleased to accept the position.



Silythus Tower, Inc., c/o Hiring Manager

Thank you for your consideration of my application to your corporation. On review of the acceptance letter graciously provided, I understand that memory loss regarding the application and interview process is expected. I would be interested at some later date to review my candidacy with the hiring team and discover what part of my application most recommended myself to your team, so that I may better focus my skills as an asset to Silythus Tower, Inc.

In the meantime, please find attached the requested information. If there is anything else I can provide, I can be reached at this email address.

With my best regards,
Giselle Hart



Name: Giselle Vivian Hart

Age: 31

Gender: Female

Department Preference: Design

Skills, Professional: Artistic concept design, web design, QA (interfacing and design), font design

Skills, Unprofessional: Fluency (German), Dance (ballet)

Equipment: NA

Licenses and Degrees: Licenses: Photoshop, Illustrator, Procreate. Degree: BA Artistic Design

Biography: I was born in a suburb of New York. My father was a theater director, and my mother was a ballet dancer and an Austrian immigrant. I grew up learning arts and dance, and opted in to a specialized arts academy for middle and high school. My creative passions tend more towards art and design, especially painting. I achieved a collegiate degree in the arts and have been working as a freelance artist for the last decade.

Appearance:

 
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A Name
Eshe Kanika, Sekhem of the Black Jackals of Anubis


A World

Duat Mechane, a world built on gears and bones. It was once an asteroid, perhaps, or a moon: hollowed out to the core, with the glinting lights of the metal cities lining the walls of the chasm that stretches ever-downward. At the center of it all lies the Resurgence Machine, a long-ago gift of the Ankh'Yulians. The twisted arches of black metal stretch out in every direction, turning the corpses of the dead into the fuel to run itself and the world around it, tainting the slurry of humanity with the barest amounts of once-gifted Soul to turn it into raw energy to power the machines of the world that support the people that die there, giving them the time they need to create more weapons to kill one another, so that they all may return to the Duat in time.

Riddled through its capacious tunnels and up and down the climbing chasms, the Everwar rages. The Resurgence Machine needs fuel, and the people of the world must provide it corpses - one way or another.


A Race

They have sought perfection in the images upon the tombs - tanned skin, black hair, black eyes. They look human, for to look otherwise is of the gods, not the mortals. Yet they are not without change - the people of the world can survive on the barest amounts of oxygen drawn from the thinnest of air. Their inner ears are fine-tuned even in a vacuum, and their bodies think and act easily in three dimensions rather than two.

Their bodies are holy to them, as are those of their enemies. Destructive weapons are anathema, for anything that does not leave a corpse goes against the tenets of the world itself.



A Description

Half a person, half mechanical, Eshe's body is melded with the metal embrace of the Black Jackals, the corpse-gleaners of Duat Mechane. She lives, or half-lives, for a time, in control of herself and her small unit of ghoul-Jackals, those who no longer possess minds of their own, dead bodies in cold metal, moved about by the commands of the still-living commander with them, until the day when she, too, will become one of the mindless and another shall take her place.

If she cares to take off the headpiece or arm-and-leg armor of her mechanical body, Eshe looks much like a human, so much so that some find it quite disturbing. The torso of the mechanical body, however, cannot be removed, for it is grafted on, skin and spine and flesh and all machinations of the interior. To be a Black Jackal is to submit to a quarter-life: half mechanical, and half foreshortened.

An Image

An Excerpt

The straps around her limbs held her taut against the metal slab as the knife descended, parting skin and flesh and baring her organs to the gods and those who followed the gods. Blood drained into channels for the purpose, spilling down off the slab into basins where it would be collected, and the machines in the dim unseen background whirred softly, pumping chilled fluid into her veins.

Eshe watched, her eyes half-open, as the hands reached down and gently lifted the organs from her, one at a time, to be placed in their waiting vessels. First, the ones she would not need - kidneys, liver, the long rope of intestines. Everything was sacred. Everything was saved. They would be distilled of their essence in those jars, crushed into slurry and mixed with the cold viscous synthfluid and the barest whisper of Soul, kept for her and her alone, to power the thing that she was about to become.

The embrace of the mechanical carapace was not one sought by many, but there were enough of them - always enough. Some, for desperation. Some, for fanaticism. Some, for love. The Black Jackals of Anubis, corpse-gleaners of the Everwar, those that braved the fields and the alleys and all the many places where people killed one another, to bring back the dead to the Resurgence Machine and feed its animations.

Once her own essential organ mixture was gone, she would be fed from those same dead, filtered through the Machine - but because it was not of her own, she would lose herself in it, become mindless as they all did, a machine herself for the next Half-Dead to command, as she would command the mechanized corpses of those who had lost themselves before her.

You will struggle to breathe now. Words, from the attendants. Eshe blinked once, for understanding. The suffocating came quickly as her lungs were removed to their jars, the tubes replacing them yet to feel natural. She counted, in her mind, as she had been taught: zero, one, ten, eleven, one hundred... until breath lost meaning and the machine's supply was satisfactory.

Her calm was regained, as it should be, controlled and prepared, the synthetic fluids doing their part to keep her sedated. Consciousness was key to the machine, of course, but the mind must not panic. That was why they had to be willing, all of them. For one reason or another - but yes, willing. Eshe let her gaze travel around the dimness where she knew the jars were waiting, and wondered how long they would last her before she, too, was gone.

If she had any feelings about this matter, they ceased as a hand descended, and tore the heart from her chest.

 
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Do I look
FAMILIAR
?


Name: Sabine Surekis

Age: 23

Nationality: Belgian. Like a waffle.

Dreams: Chasing the thrill. Skirting the edge. If you keep moving fast enough, your real dreams will never catch up with you.

Fears: That one day, someone will talk me into sticking myself in one of those metal coffins.

Virtues: I keep life interesting.

Vices: I... keep life interesting.



Brief History:
I was born. Dead parents club by two and a half, foster care by three. What can I say, I was adorable. It was fine. No sordid backstory, sorry. Did a lot of skiing and stuff growing up. Snowboarding. Parasailing. Basically anything that involved going fast or getting up high or falling down fast. My foster parents kept me busy to keep me off drugs, so I ended up an adrenaline junkie instead.

Got my first flight bike at fifteen and started skirting the war zones. Got a little camera drone so I could pretend I was doing it for the views and not just because it's fun to skirt up to the Splinters. Started learning the names of the Witches in self defense because my followers kept asking about them when they appeared in the vids and "hell, I don't know" wasn't a good enough answer. I guess by this point I've seen as much as a lot of them.

When I was 18, someone came by and popped the question. You know the one - hey, since you seem interested in that stuff anyway, wouldn't you like to be part of the forces defending our world? It'd give me a reason to be out there all the time, they'd even send me where it was going to be the most interesting. I could get even closer - really get involved, be part of the circle rather than just watching from the outside and wondering what it's really like. It would be the life I dreamed of - and yeah, I dreamed of it a lot. That question. You know the answer.

Sweet baby Moses in a basket, no fuckin' way.

 
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Test

Test

Test

 
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