No rush, I've enjoyed all the posts so far!
Abstract Proxy Member
- Last Seen: 6 days ago
- Joined: 3 yrs ago
- Posts: 432 (0.43 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Abstract Proxy 3 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Bork Lazer,
Red Wizard,
Dark Light,
vietmyke,
Guardian Angel Haruki,
wintersoldier,
wanderingwolf,
TokyoPewPew,
Snowdrops,
FourtyTwo
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Time to gamble, friends.
Well, not for Cold Hands, but I am with you in the gambling spirit.
Well, not for Cold Hands, but I am with you in the gambling spirit.
In
Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]
→
12 mos ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Moved my character over to another sheet and changed the Earth the Shadowpact is in from Earth Prime to another Earth.
I am so ready. :)
Thanks to GM/Co-GMs/random passers-by's for accepting us! You may regret subjecting yourself to the B-Team Shadowpact, but our dumpster fire will warm your souls.
In
Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]
→
12 mos ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Abstract Proxy>
I'm not familiar with the character of Anna, did you create her specifically for the RP?
Yep!
I can go lore hunting though if you'd like me to stick to someone more established (my main goal is just to swap out the original Ragman with someone with a much more nuanced perspective).
In
Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]
→
12 mos ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Who's Ragwoman supposed to be, by the way? Is the suit of souls just on a gal for the time? Or a stylistic gender swap?
Leaning into the lore that the rags have existed for a long time as the "Great Collector Artifact" it felt like a nice time for the keeper of the rags to be someone new.
I like the idea that Rory Reagan, Vietnam vet, pawn shop owner, and vigilante has finally decided he is too old to be fighting baddies in the night.
The Suit of Souls now resides with Anna Levina, a mid level Gotham criminal with some perhaps not so distant ties to the organized crime of a distinctly Russian flavor. Given the theme of the Shadowpact we wrote up, I wanted to lean into a Ragwoman that is less a law abiding citizen and more a woman working to redeem herself, much like the souls trapped in the Suit of Souls, who can only find freedom by willingly helping the Ragwoman do good. It's not quite a curse as with Guillotine and the demonic sword she is forced to wield, but I'm hoping to explore a bit more the idea that Ragwoman understands/sympathizes much more with the criminals/villains/evil-doers she interacts and that she isn't exactly happy to have to carry the heavy (to her mind) mantle of Ragwoman.
I would love to have the now retired Rory make an appearance though, he could probably dole out some good advice.
I'm glad the idea of a team split up by players seems interesting, it sort of naturally ended up being how @Bork Lazer and I approached this.
Dominika Kovač Pignatelli
Dom felt a sudden red heat burning her cheeks as the Scion of Time stormed into the room and delivered a scathing joke...if it could be called a joke. Although she had heard far worse in the shipyards, there was something particularly embarrassing about being bluntly wielded as a weapon to mock another Scion. However, she could not say that Prince Lucas was not entirely wrong. Theobald seemed to be a man of fiery temper and explosive violence.
"I'm Dominika," Dom said, moving to smooth over the awkward moment. It had never been her fortunate or habit to interact overly much with the nobility before she became a Scion. However, the dockyards had seen plenty an upstart capitalist, sharp tongued and full of bitter reproach that they doled out freely. Insults rarely moved her and she cared little if jokes made at her indirect expense.
Stopping in front of the child princess standing near the table, Dom smiled and curtsied, "Some tea would be lovely, Your Highness, I am most pleased to have received your invitation. We should not be alone at times like this and I am glad to be welcomed into your wonderful room."
Accepting a cup of tea from the diminutive royal, Dom did not wish to bring up the ambush and the horrors that had unfolded, she could see no way to broach such a grim subject without seeming false in her optimism. They had been attacked. They had been ambushed. Scores of innocent bystanders were wounded and likely dead. She did not doubt many soldiers had likewise been harmed or killed. A templar among them. And a Scion was missing.
So Dom aimed to distract, "I always enjoyed the story of Messy Marie, my mother used to read it to me often, it taught me much about the importance of cleaning...but also the value of cleverness. What is your favorite story?"
Zohra "TOFU" Amina Imalayen
Slamming her throttle full forward, Zohra followed Karel's lead and kept her light mech hurtling on a winding course parallel to the enemy Hunchback that had suddenly turned on to ambush the lance. More targets for the pilot of the Hunchback to focus on. More forced choices for the outnumbered pilot to make. The VTOL and their suicidal jump jet infantry were a problem best left to others with far crueler weapons than hers. She didn't want to risk the crossfire like Karel and instead settled on an offset attack, enough to spoil an AC 20 she hoped.
The inside of her BattleMech heated up as Zohra and the RVN-2X rocketed forward. Keeping an eye on the horizon had left her with far less shooting to do than her new friends, but any flanking maneuver had been forestalled. It was time to make her RVN-2X sing, Zohra thought, her fingers resting heavy on her triggers. Shifting in her pilot chair from the sudden movements she demanded of her BattleMech, she struggled to line up her crosshairs on the Hunchback. Telemetries satisfied her targeting computer in a blessed second as the crosshairs flashed a bright green, screaming at her too shoot.
With a breath and a prayer, she fired an alpha strike that slammed into the front of the Hunchback. At close range the medium lasers struck home scorching the center and left torso of the already battered Hunchback. Watching her large laser burn deep into the center torso slagged moments before by her medium laser, Zohra almost felt a pang of pity for the enemy pilot...almost. Her short range missiles fell on the Hunchback scant milliseconds later, peppering the enemy medium mech and sending a puff of black smoke and fire erupting out of the right arm of the venerable trooper.
Completing her hit and run attack, Zohra darted at an angle away from the Hunchback and raced after Karel attempting to link up with the other pilot and his light mech. Hunter Killers they had called it in the academy. Two light mechs were better than one.
Ziska
Things had gone from bad to worse to just bad again. One Panther down. One Mechbuster down. One Hunchback taking a brief nap in the snow. Ziska could smell blood in the water...on the snow and not just her own blood.
Hooker and his Marauder had changed the situation. Ingrid was right, deadly right. Aggression had become the name of the game. There was no time for caution and no time to hesitate. The die had been cast. Her BattleMech, her beautiful, sleek RVN-3L was battered and bruised. Its beautiful wings reduced to tatters, but it didn't matter. MechWarriors were just pawns, pieces on the board to be gambled, as long as the victory as achieve, what did it matter how it was won? And so Ziska shifted her throttle forward, sidestepping the heavy tank that had shielded her as she charged.
She didn't care, how they won the battle, Ziska knew that much. Winning the battle. Surviving to fight in the next one after that. And the next one after that. That was all that mattered to a mercenary. Honor didn't buy drinks. Mercy wouldn't save you.
Calmly tracking the prone form of the Hunchback as she leaped over scattered ice, Ziska placed her crosshairs over the left torso of the prone Hunchback and pulled the trigger. Three missiles leaped from her launcher, followed by a sudden beep beep, and a the artificial voice of her BattleMech announcing, "SRM Launcher Error, please stand by, SRM Launcher Error, please stand by, SRM Launcher Function Restored, please fire again."
Ziska cursed, keeping her BattleMech darting across the snow at a full run even as she struggled to present a difficult target on the narrow bridge. There was too much firepower on the board for her to be still or hide behind the Merry-Go-Round any longer. Darting forwards, the RVN-3L ran gracefully across the snow. Ziska had reached a quarter of the way across the natural bridge when the foot of her BattleMech sunk momentarily into a snow bank, sending her NARC sailing just wide of the Crusader and her TAG laser beaming futility off a frozen rock instead.
That time there was no swearing. Ziska didn't have the luxury to offer poetic words. She had places to be and people to kill. The Firewitch was waiting.
A sudden muffled thump, turned into a loud roaring explosion as the ammunition in the left torso of the stricken Hunchback finally detonated. Ziska allowed herself a brief smile, but no more, as she keyed her mic, "Hunchback down, got his ammo."
Dominika Kovač Pignatelli
Dominika awoke at Veradis Castle. The nightmare faded slowly behind the heavy walls. Left behind was a melancholy feeling, a bitter tasting drink laced with anxiety.
Kasper, the Scion of Shadows, had saved her. He had cut down several of her assailants to rescue her. His templar Zacharie had spirited her away in the seconds of silence that followed. She was grateful. She wasn't a fighter like some of the others. She had grown up on the docks. She could stand up for herself. She knew how to shout. She knew how to curse. She knew how throw a punch. But she didn't like hurting people. She hadn't killed anyone. Not yet. Instead, she had maimed. Remembering she was filled with nausea. The sound of bones crumbling, pulverizing between layers of unforgiving metal. The screaming that followed, maddened curses and weeping eyes full of endless pain. The scene of horror she had created played again and again in her mind like an infernal violin string being plucked asunder.
Guilt tugged at her heart. She had been forced to act. She had no choice but to defend herself. She had been attacked. She had been in grave danger. All the same, she felt mostly ashamed. She had been violent. She had been cruel. She had not intended to be. She had not wanted to be. She had maimed. She had maimed unthinkingly and unhesitatingly. She had sundered a limb with her powers. Was that really what Incepta wanted?
She wasn't so sure.
Maybe it was right that she had lost her powers. She had earned the pain she felt, the sickening lurch that overwhelmed her as her powers were torn from her. The weakness that had sent her reeling to the floor. Whatever the affliction was, it had merely lessened. It surprised her. How empty she felt. It was a dull, throbbing pain, that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It had to have been much worse for the other Scions, enmeshed in their powers as they were, bound together by long years. She could remember months earlier, before she had become a Scion, it was not so long ago. To feel so different now, so foreign from that version startled her. And frightened her.
Surrounded by the finery of the castle, Dom did not feel terribly cheered. Fine places held no great comfort for her. She felt apart, out of place, and even more disconnected from the other Scions. Her shoulder hurt, but it was no great wound, merely an ugly bruise that would fade soon enough. In happier times she would have marveled at some of the metal work adoring the castle, but the her thoughts remained scattered.
She had felt as if she was still dreaming, watching someone else from afar as a medical team attended to her. Her joys were easy to number. She was alive. Ionna was alright. She held no doubts about her templar. She carried no volcanic anger like the the Scion of Fire. Ionna was brave. She had acted well. She had fought honorably. And she had been heroic. She had tried to rescue Nadine. That was all that mattered. To strike another for acting so selfishly seemed cruel and Dom could not approve.
"Your Holiness, you have a moderate bruise on your shoulder, I have applied an ace bandage that should speed up your recovery," the medic treating her said, returning her from the storm that crashed over her thoughts. She managed a quick, sincere thank you, before requesting a moment alone.
She saw herself as a brittle metal. Full of cracks following a heavy blow against a stronger object. She had wanted to run. She had wanted to do anything but fight. Wiping away unbidden tears, Dom took a slow, deep breath. She knew little of battle magic. She was inexperienced as a Scion. Her hands were shaped by the tools she had used to build ships. Her heart belonged to the ocean, to the distant horizon. And her mind was full of ideas. She knew metal. She knew her tools.
Metal could be melted down. Metal could be reforged. Metal could be tempered. She had to be strong. She had to become stronger. Tears could wait. They had to.
Dressed in clean clothes. Dom followed a servant through the winding corridors of the castle. Afraid of getting lost, she had asked for help in finding the Snuggery. A hot shower had offered only short relief, but at least the blood had washed off, it hadn't helped much that it wasn't hers. She did not bother with makeup, she'd had to reach back, to the shipbuilder she had once been. She thought only of the great project, the work they were engaged in for the Goddess. Steps had to taken. Dom would have preferred to remain in the quarters she had been provided. She longed to forget, to let images from the ambush fade. She wanted to retreat to her workshop, to bury herself in one of her personal projects. However, her feelings were not important. Her fears didn't matter. She had a duty. And she had a purpose.
Such lofty ambitions did not change the redness visible around her eyes. She couldn't help it. To cry in private seemed an acceptable response. Dom hoped that Nadine was alright. She liked the Marchioness, she had been so kind. It was impossible not to worry. To feel sorrow for the newly injured and dead. She did not need to wonder long what her predecessors would have done. She knew they would have fought. Mikhail Vadim and Maxwell Alderman, they were soldiers, commanders, and masters of war. It would have been nice to speak to them, they would have known what to do, she thought, trailing the servant as she politely recited the storied history of the castle.
In desperation she almost asked the kindly servant for advice, before the woman stopped abruptly and gestured towards a set of double doors, wrought from oak in a manner that spoke to Dom of the delicate ouch of a master woodworker. With a low curtsy, the servant vanished in a swish of her ornate dress, and Dom found herself standing alone.
Raising her hand, Dom knocked gently, before stepping uncertainly inside of the room as the doors opened for her, catching the tail end of Justinian's comment as she .
"Perhaps...we can be four? I would welcome some company on this night," Dom said with a smile only somewhat contrived. The other Scions might have answers. They shared her grim experiences in the ballroom. Even the poor child princess.
© 2007-2024