Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

"Oh, that's bullshit!"

The main London compound was as good a place as any, Johnny found, to kick back and enjoy himself, and his melodious Irish vocabulary was already floating through the main room of the building as his thick, strong hands wrapped around a piece of plastic, furiously mashing buttons here and there as he struggled to save his pixelated friend from oblivion and failed, the cackling face of death claiming the animated sprite.

"Sonofabitch." he muttered with a roll of his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, making his way to the fridge and running a hand over his face. For a man who could probably have walked through the game fine himself, Johnny had remarkably little aptitude for such things, which was actually alright in the long run. Johnny was not a gamer.

Johnny was an assassin, like everyone else who worked here, and he was a damn good one at that.

It seemed as though the London base had been getting cherries of late-nice, easy picking missions that neither taxed nor kept interest. While Johnny had been on enough missions to get over his rookie's sense of achievement ('You're not winning medals, boyo, you're working'), but even he was starting to get bored with the missions he was given. It was one thing to not bitch and whine about a few cherries, but when all you're doing is picking off pigeons (or so it felt)...well, everybody gets a little bit on edge.

The temptation to knock back a cold beer was almost overwhelming, though instead he reached for the Dr. Pepper to try and maintain what little gaming edge he had, and went back to the couch to give it another try. He idly wondered if Balir was thinking about letting the London branch go to the newbies and shipping the old hands out, but he didn't dwell on it. Everything in due time.

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(Hey, no problem. I'm busy too :P)

Balir's expression quickly turned to a scowl upon hearing the word "half-pint". Tatsuya's attitude would be one problem that he'd have to take note of.

"I'm wiring you £10,000 now for your work. As far as extra work, I'm sure you're eager to get on more assassinations right away. I was going to have you infiltrate the Yakuza, the Japanese mob, in order to kill a member. However, in light of your attitude," Balir practically spit the word. "I'm sure that you would be more suited for another mission. Oh! I've got a great one. There's another business man that some jerk wants killed. He works on the eighth floor of the Asahi building of the Akasuka district. Have fun." Balir hung up without another word. That should keep him steaming for a good long time.

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"I do not fear death because I was dead for thousands of years before I was alive and it caused me no inconvenience." - Mark Twain

Also, this.

Jack ended up in Naples, Italy thankfully he did have 3 weeks of learning italian, he left the airport with all his bags cleared and no problems jack thought to himself "ha if oly they knew" he shook his head and walked down the street.

Looking around he saw the buildings weren't that tall it might be easy to be seen never mind thats more of a challenge. Jack walked over to a bench he watched a few people walk by then entered a small alleyway behind the bench getting his phone out making a call to Balir "Balir its Jack ive just arraived at Naples now weres my apartement and refresh me of my target please buddy." He waited for a responce still lokking out to make sure know one was watching.

Mr. Stephen Harlan looked to the casual observor as the type who enjoyed checkers in the park with old war buddies; something about him made one imagine the smiling faces of grand children walking with him in the toy department. This is why it became incredibly surreal to see this gentle looking older man break a man's fingers with the butt of his pistol.

Stephen's hand was like a vice, pinning the younger man's hand to the table; the other pistol whipped the man across the face for struggling. The man spat blood and, Stephen noticed, some teeth; he also stopped struggling and collapsed to his knees, sobbing. The old assassin sighed, twisting the man's wrist and lifting him up to his feet with practiced ease, his eyes settling on the face of the man before him.

"So why did you think that was smart?" he asked calmly, as the man's eyes opened again. He stared back at Stephen, as if he didn't understand.
"I'll ask you again; why do you think it was smart to do that." Harlan had leaned in this time, whispering the question into the man's ear.
"Y-you told me to-" he began, but nearly screamed as pressure was increased in his arm.

"No, I told you to get her to let you into her apartment. That was all; get invited in. What you took it upon yourself to do is tackle her into here and try and get your sick jollies." Harlan sighed, placing the pistol back on the table; he used his now free hand to adjust his glasses.

"Come on, man! I'm an assas-" He began, only to be cut off.
"In training." Harlan reminded him, catching him with a cuff behind the ear.
"I heard we could have anything! Just go out and TAKE it, man!" The man whined, as his arm was surpisingly released.

"Being a... member is not all about greed and what you want." Harlan grew weary of the conversation, turning his back on his protege; his eyes fell on the prone and trembling form of the innocent girl in the corner, terrified and unbelieving. The sound of his Colt being unsafetied sounded behind him, cold steel pressed against the back of his head.

"Ah screw you man, they all said you was soft!" the man growled.
"Soft...? Is that what they say now?" Harlan asked quietly.
"Yeah man, can't even kill a little girl!" He laughed aloud, spitting blood.
"That makes me soft, or human?" Stephen responded.
"Friggin wuss. Hell, I'll kill this girl right now!" He yelled triumphantly, the gun traversing to the whimpering young woman.

The weapon was no longer in the man's hand; in fact, it was in Harlan's hand, coming cross ways of his face. His training brought up his forearm to block the blow, but his eyes could only widen as his mouth filled with steel, the second .45 cocking back.

"I really hate it when kids like you wash out of the program." Harlan said calmly, walking the man back as he mouthed protest and pleas. His back came against the window, but the balcony sliding door; and Stephen took a step back, the gun coming free of the man's mouth.

"Come on, MAN!" he nearly screamed, as Stephen Harlan looked to the girl.
"Close your eyes." He said simply, and the girl did so; and Stephen's ex-protege did the opposite, his eyes wide and white.
"COME ON MAN!" He screamed, before both Colts thundered .45 rounds into him. He rocked back with each shot, crashing back through the glass sliding door and tumbling over the side of the balcony. It was with practiced detachment that Harlan stepped through the broken glass door, looking over the edge to confirm the kill.

"Come on, man." Harlan said with a sigh, holstering his pistols. He turned, walking past the trembling girl; his hand drew a blanket off of her couch, the assassin placing it around her comfortingly.

"Are you okay?" He asked, turning on the fraternal charm.
"Y-yeah..." She whispered, a consoling hand placed on her shoulder.
"This guy was trying to rob you... and a good samaritin, who you can't really remember, it was such a blur... he saved your life." He recounted, pulling out a roll of bills equivalent to $10,000 american dollars.
"Oh... okay, yeah..." She smiled weakly up at him.
"Good girl. The cops will be here soon." He ruffled her hair slightly, before stepping out.

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It was thus that Harlan found himself in a small diner in his native New York, watching the news report unfold just like he'd coached her; good girl. He pulled out his cell phone, thumbing the call button for Assassin King himself.
"Hey Kid, this is Harlan. That boy you guys suggested me? He washed out, just like the last two... I think you better let me choose my own recruits again, because these guys are a bunch of brainless thugs."

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"When they ask how I died, tell them; Still Angry." -Quellcrist Falconer
"It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex.
It was Kovacs who closed his eyes.
It was Rorschach who opened them again." -Rorschach

Balir didn't take three steps before his cell phone rang again. "Calm down..." He told himself. "It was all part of the job of being the head of an international corporation." And still, the fact that he couldn't even make it down the hallway made his blood boil over. He inhaled deeply, then shouted at the top of his lungs in French, his second language (useful to know, being based on the Côte d'Azure), "PUTAIN! CETTE PORTABLE FICHUE!" Balir stood still for a moment, just staring down the hall. Then, slowly, he reached for his cell phone. He flipped it open and checked the name (Jack Greenslade) before answering it.

"He-" Balir was cut off by Jack's rambling.

"Balir it's Jack I've just arrived at Naples now where's my apartment and refresh me on my target please buddy."

"Jeez, slow down there Jack." Bailr sighed. Jack was a character alright. A very... talkative character. "Let me check on up on your mission dossier." Balir plunged a hang quickly in another of his many pockets, soon pulling out a highly advanced PDA. With some of the best memory of any personal digital assistant in the world, it stored a lot of his archived mission data. He could also retrieve information from the Assassin's Guild Inc. servers. Balir had no idea how they did it, he just left that sort of stuff up to the real "techies".

He ran his finger over the scroll wheel on the side searching out Jack Greenslade's mission profiles. With a click of a button, he brought it up on the small screen.

"Alright Jack, you with me? You're staying at the Hotel Real Orto Botanico. You've got an indefinite reservation under the name Elliot Slade, your preferred alias, if I'm not mistaken. You've got to take out a woman named Allergro Botticelli. Unfortunately that's all the information I have. Balir out." With that Balir hung up the phone.

He sighed and slumped up against the wall. For the first time in his life, Balir had begun to realize how young he was. He was just a kid, after all and he doubted he could keep doing this forever. He was afraid he was going to break eventually. He was just a kid.

A kid who killed his own father, a Master Assassin. Balir looked up and stared at the opposite wall. He had actually killed his own father. He had done it. But was it really that hard? Jack was so unsuspecting and trusting. Would he have had what it took if Jack had been ready to fight him for real...? Balir didn't know. But there was one thing he did know. He had killed his father. Regardless of the circumstances, that was pretty freaking amazing. Balir was no ordinary kid. He could hold out. He could endure. After all, he was living his dream job at the age of eleven years old. Balir only took some solace in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to deal with-

A digital version of Nightwish's Ghost Love Score began to sound from his pocket.

-his phone. He plunged his hand into his his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. It was Stephen Harlan. Aah yes. The nutjob. He also happened to, unfortunately, be one of the very best assassins in the United States, or anywhere for that matter. Balir hated the guy's violent personality, though. It was all beat the crap out of this, put a few bullet holes in that. However, there was a part of him that actually unnerved Balir a little (He would never admit it of course). Balir could think of maybe three people in the entire assassin's guild that would actually have the stones to try and take him out. Harlan was one of them.

"Hey Kid, this is Harlan. That boy you guys suggested me? He washed out, just like the last two... I think you better let me choose my own recruits again, because these guys are a bunch of brainless thugs."

"Dammit Harlan, you know I hate it when you call me 'Kid'. I'm sorry to hear about that guy. One of my advisors said he looked promising. So, what happened to-" Balir paused. He knew what had happened before he even finished the question.

"Never mind," He continued. "If these guys really aren't working out for you, I trust your judgment enough to let you seek out new talent yourself. However, may I remind you that you are on a very short leash. Very short. I still remember how we had to identify that guy by his dental records after you got done with him. And even that was pretty tough, seeing as how a chunk of his jaw was missing. I'm not going to let you forget that you know. So as long as you can find someone whose brains you won't blow out at the first opportunity, you've got my approval. I will be having your recruitment watched, however. Balir out."

Balir started walking down the hall and out towards the main lobby. Maybe he'd take a personal day out in the sun for once. He might just get out and see the beach or something. At least long enough for him to throw his cellphone into the Mediterranean.

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"I do not fear death because I was dead for thousands of years before I was alive and it caused me no inconvenience." - Mark Twain

Also, this.

Having heard nothing from her boss and being bored out of her her skull, Beth headed down to the London Compound.

"Hey Johnny," she said, gingerly inspecting the fridge and deciding against touching any of its contents. "Hey; has Balir given you any decent targets recently?"

She found a seat as far away as possible from her colleague while still actually sitting on the couch.

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Whilst scrolling through a page filled with technical specifications for various air vehicles, Michael pondered to himself. Setting down the teacup in a saucer next to the laptop, he pushed his chair out as he stood and made for the telephone mounted on the wall near his front door. Picking up the handset, he peered at the list of names next to the corresponding numbers, dragging his index finger down the list of 12 names until he simply came to 'B'. Tapping in the numbers to call the master assassin, Michael held the phone up his ear as he went to retrieve his tea once again, listening to the constant ringing. As always, he would wait for a response before speaking.

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Abel sat near alone on the plane, though it was a private plane in the employ of the guild, it still felt cramped, air travel just wasnt in his liking; Abel's eyes kept wandereing to where his bag and weapons were being kept of course he could not personally hold onto them while on the plane, some part of the rules forbade that or so he was told, personally he just thought the airstaff were uncomfortable with giving him his weapons in an enclosed area.
The plane had left Russia some hours ago, he had been moved over to the St.Petersburg compound with the intention of subduing a small conclave of army personel who had gotten it into thier heads somehow that they no longer needed the guild and had thus been thinking over hunting the assassins, of course they could never have pulled such a stunt off, but better to be safe standing knee high in a room of corpses, than join them yourself.

He had finished his briefing with Balir some half-hour after completing his mission, and was to be transferred back to his home compound in New York City; As per usual the debreifing had been short and sweet, not that the mission had gone badly, quite the opposite it had been done with in short order; it was more that the child leader of the guild gave Abel the creeps, he was so young, barely up to Abel's shoulders and yet he was the leader of a group of experianced Killers, something with that just didnt sit right with him.
Neverthesless 'no point in worrying about what cant be changed' Abel's simple logic told him, and with that he ordered a Rum straight and laid his head back to rest.

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What are you clutching to, my enemy? Why are you advancing through storm and chaos? Is it hate? Maybe hope?
Or perhaps you are just like me, that simply, this is the only thing you have left.

Tristan reached room 56 easily and entered, there was no problem of course he had made the hotel's computer show there was a problem so he could enter. He placed his technicians bag on the bed and started rumming through the contents. He pulled out his laptop and started it up, he selected an soundfragment and played it. The sound of some drilling filled the room for a moment before it was turned off and Tristan's voice sounded cursing and then some other loud noises.

The fragment stopped and Tristan waited for a bit and got out of the room, he got a annoyed look in his face and knocked on the door of the room next to him. He waited for a while untill the door opened and a large man wearing a hotel bathrobe looked at him. Tristan smiled slightly and started speaking. "Het spijt me ma-"

The man snorted and Earl Parks started to speak. "I don't speak that language of yours Dutch guy, what do you want."

Tristan got a slightly emberassed look on his face. "Ah English, so sorry... ehm I don't know if it's possible sir but there's some problems with the hotel's electricity grid and I wondered if I could work in your room for a moment couse I've got some problems in the room next to you."

Parks looked at him for a moment and Tristan looked a bit frigthened. "Sure, just don't touch my stuff or you'll pay for it."

Tristan quickly nodded and stepped into the room. "This won't take long..."

Parks snorted. "It better be, now be quick about it you already interupted my shower with your barhing into my room and that loud noises you were making nextdoors."

Tristan stuttered and apologised but Parks ignored him and went into the bathroom. Tristan waited for a moment before he got an look of disgust on his face and started to do his work. Whistling he looked around the room untill he noticed an open laptop on a table. Interested he stepped closer, this was the latest thing on the market where did an mercenary like Parks got this piece of technology?

Tristan switched the screen on and checked, noticing that there was a password needed. Rummaging through a pocket he came out with a device he attached to the laptop and he activated it. It would normally take 11 minutes for the device to crack a password and copy all the files but Tristan was lucky if he got 8 minutes. Whistling he continued his work, he even started to sing a short Dutch song.

He walked to the bed and listened if he still heard water running from the bathroom, satisfied it still was he kneeled besides the bed took out a small, round device and attached it to the underside of the bed. Taking out an remote device he pressed a button and saw a small red light flicker on the device he just attached to the bed.

He stood up and sat on the bed for a moment, checking his watch 6 minutes... He walked to the laptop and saw his device had now cracked the password, a minute early than expected. 'Must have been something easy then...' He saw several maps on the screen and just selected them all and started to copy them.

He looked over his shoulder at the bathroom door but it was still closed. "Come on, come on... hurry it up..." It looked like hours untill he finally got the message that it was complete. Pulling out his device he froze for a moment when he heard the water stop running. He ran to his bag and just lifted it when the bathroomdoor opened.

Parks stared at him. "You still here?"

Tristan had again a emberassed look on his face. "Yes, sorry took a little longer than anticipated sir, thanks again for your time and I aplogize aga-"

Parks waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah just get out of my room!" Tristan bowed his head and walked to the door. "Wait a second!" Tristan froze in his tracks, his hand outstretched towards the doorhandle. He heard Parks moving towards him giving him a screwdriver. "Is this yours?"

Tristan smiled. "Ah, yes... must have fallen when I grabbed something out of my bag... thanks..."

"Sure, now get out already!"

Tristan obliged immeadiatly and exitted the room, he walked for a moment before letting out an sigh of relief. He thought he was caught... well if mister Parks didn't check under his bed then everything would go smoothly...

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The Dawn of a New Age

(Just a note, this phone call post is a response to Metal Monstrosity)

Balir took a few steps outside. Then a few more. He looked up at the bright sunshine and had to shield his eyes. The sound of the waves was almost hypnotic in the background. The sounds of seagulls and the water, the smells of the sea and the outdoors... Balir was struck with the thought that his dad had definitely had good taste when it came to choosing a location for the headquarters. On a whim, he decided to head down to the beach - a short walk. As he got farther away from the compound he noticed people hanging out at the beach. They were laughing and enjoying themselves quite a lot. Balir sighed. This might be a little more depressing than he had originally anticipated.

As he walked, he noticed people begin to point and stare. Mainly at his cloak, which was admittedly quite out of place in the beautiful weather. He distinctly heard the word "mantello". Yeah, they were talking about him. What did he care, though?. They could stare. He could kill any one of them without a thought anyways.

Balir was really admiring the sea. The water looked beautiful. Balir pulled down his hood in order to get a better look at the landscape, revealing a long face with blue eyes and short, naturally spiky white hair. Balir hated his hair. It made him stand out. It made him conspicuous. He was going to dye it, but the cloak was more useful for holding his weapons and communicators. The moment of serenity on the beach didn't last long however, when Balir snapped to consciousness. What the hell was he doing? He was out here, when he needed to be planning guild activities back there at the compound. With an irritable sigh, he turned around and left the sea side. He took a few steps, listening to the sound of the water, when suddenly he heard another sound...

The Ghost Love Score* coming from his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. Quickly grabbing his phone, he turned around and made to throw it into the sea with a gigantic throw, yelling as he did it. Fortunately, he got control of his emotions and stopped mid throw. Instead, he just flipped it open, not even looking at the name.

Balir sighed into the phone. "This is Balir... what do you want?" As he spoke into the cellphone, he suddenly became aware that people were staring at him even more than before. They had frozen mid-action just to stop and stare at his yelling. So, before whoever it was on the other end of the line could answer, he said, "Hold on." and turned to face the group of staring beach goers. He pulled the phone away from his face and shouted, "TIREZ-VOUS! LÂCHEZ-MOI!!" The onlookers, quite startled, quickly dispersed.

Balir raised the phone to his face again and said, "Désolé- er, sorry. Who is this again?"

(*The link leads to a spot where I've uploaded, for you downloading and listening pleasure, Balir's ringtone. )

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"I do not fear death because I was dead for thousands of years before I was alive and it caused me no inconvenience." - Mark Twain

Also, this.