An Outsider

VIGILANCE: Blood & Justice - A Superhuman Roleplay (Always Open)

Yeah, edgy and cool power. Like Shadow-kinesis, or Blood-manip. That would be awesome.

_{@Lord Wraith I hope you're taking notes.}

Marvel REBORN (ALWAYS OPEN!)

@Eviledd1984 Sheets looking better. Though why have you listed Lady Deathstrike and Harry Osborne in his supporting characters section? You make no mention to them prior to that. If it's just to pad the CS with recognizable names, there's really no reason to do that. Just leave that section blank, and you can work on acquiring a supporting cast during the IC, which is really far more fluid and rewarding than just name dropping. Though if there is a reason to have them there, please let me know.

As to the dialogue fiasco of 2017, like I said to begin with, it was merely constructive criticism. I made my piece, it got out of hand, now it's over. I don't need anyone to apologize to me. @Burning Kitty is free to continue writing in whichever style he's comfortable with. I'm just glad that it's done.

@Demon Shinobi If your having trouble with coming up with ideas on how to start your character, I might be able to help. Faen is going to be recruiting aspiring young heroes to face off with a world-threatening villain very shortly. Also it's nice of you to apologize for @MthePathSeeker, but it's not a problem. We all have to start somewhere, and we all make mistakes.

VIGILANCE: Blood & Justice - A Superhuman Roleplay (Always Open)

And on that note... how about we kick off the...

W E E K L Y D I S C U S S I O N:

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Obviously the storm swirling around Crescent City is occurring through unnatural means. What exactly do you think is causing it, or what do you hope is behind the storm? On the opposite end of the spectrum, is there one outcome that you would find disappointing? Or who/what do you think is least likely to be the culprit behind the storm.

@Lord Wraith

I think it was a cliché child-prodigy Hyperhuman.

Mass Effect: Underworld

@Vulkan Go ahead, but I wont see it till the morning. If it's desperate you could drop @MrDidact a line and I'm sure he could help.

Mass Effect: Underworld

@Vulkan consider that mention of reinforcements your opening to introduce your character.

Mass Effect: Underworld

U N D E R W O R L D

K A T A B A S I S

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_{Interacting with:@Silver Fox, @Dervish, @MechonRaptor, @PrivateVentures, @SgtEasy, @Arcarius, @Rithy, @POOHEAD189, @Mega birb, @The Spectre, @Leos Klien, @MrDidact, @Deos Morran, @Rivaan, @Vulkan}

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_{Staff Lieutenant Jake Anderson}

The screeching was the worst part. It was always the screeching. Before London it really hadn’t bothered him all that much, or at least not as much as it bothered the other guys. Yes, it was inhumane, and eerie, and just plain weird. It had always sounded like jagged nails being dragged across chalkboards being filtered through an autocue. It had always cut right through him. But there had been a time that part of him had been glad to hear that shrieking. Better to know that they were coming ahead, with good time to get ready for them, than to have them sneak up on you, sibilant and unseen. It was a small blessing, but it was a blessing nonetheless, and he’d take any advantage he could get in a fight. Now though? Things had changed.

Now he knew that those wails weren’t an early warning system at all, but the true cries of the damned. It had taken the fall of London, and the death of his -

No. Now wasn’t the time for painful reflections, or to wallow in self-pity. There’d be time for that later, when the job was done. Katabasis needed him at his best right now. The people living in the city above needed him even more than Katabasis did. The soldier, he reminded himself, not the man. He ground his teeth, and emptied another clip into the encroaching horde, only dimly aware of an animal-like growling emanating somewhere from the tunnels. Took him a minute to realise that it was coming from him.

Anderson deliberately took up position in the very rear of their small column, taking the brunt of the hordes attack. He was the Spectre here. Way he seen it, that made it his job to take the brunt of the shit. The Piranha was perfectly suited to mowing down clumps of the Husks at a time, and any that did manage to make it through the hell of his, Sicaria’s, and Rol’s crossfire quickly got themselves acquainted with the business end of his omni blade. Still, there were so many of them that it was only a matter of time until one of the desiccated bastards got lucky and managed to taken one of the team down. If Angel and Balak slowed their breakneck pace, even for a second, things were gonna get damn hairy for the group.

Fortunately the two-point men had done this all before, leading the squad on an unerring course through the underground compound. Anderson didn’t get much time to take in the surroundings, too busy keeping the monsters behind them at bay while also steadily giving ground, but he did have time to see the Husks in the mess hall leap off the mezzanine flooring into his huddled squad. He had a moment of indecision, wondering if he should abandoned his own self-ordained post to help those in the middle, but knew that he had to trust his squad, tried and true veterans all, to deal with the problem on their own. If he left his own position, that would allow the horde to potentially surround them and cut them off.

They continued on, down another hallway and then into a cargo bay, judging by the stack crates, containers, and heavy listing machinery. By the time that Anderson crossed the bay threshold the Husks had already sprung their ambush, and Angel had called the rushed retreat. A good call, though one the Spectre ignored for a moment, laying down some covering fire to give the team time to make good their escape. Rol and Sicaria had almost vacted the room when he began his own exodus, though not before he drew two fragmentation grenades and tossed them behind him, straight into the path of the main horde.

“ENJOY, YOU FUCK … ” He began to yell over his shoulder, before being tackled from his feet by a slavering Cannibal. He hit the ground with a pained oof, the large once-Batarian landing atop him, it’s bulk crushing the air from his lungs. Somehow he managed to get his right hand wrapped around the monsters throat, just about keeping it’s large, gaping, blue-lit mouth groaning inches from his face. Its jaws snapped shut a hairs breath from his nose. A waft of fetid breath and warm saliva washed over him.

The grenades went off, washing Jake in heat and noise and fury, sending Husks and parts of Husks flying in all directions. The last of his squad was out of the compound now, only him and an army of bloody thirsty abominations left within the concrete walls. Things were about as desperate as they’d ever been for the N7 marine, and he had no one to blame but himself. His Piranha had been knocked out of his hands, to where he wasn’t sure, and his omnitool, along with it’s handy-dandy monomolecular blade, was trapped under the Cannibals knee. Pretty soon the rest of the Husks would realise that they’re brother had caught a stupid human, and then he was really gonna be in the shit. With no other weapons to hand, he did the only thing left to him: He used his head.

With a grunt of effort he forced himself up as far as he could get, and slammed his forehead into the cannibals snout. A terrible idea when dealing with a regular Batarian, due to the fact that you’re more likely to injure yourself on all that heavy bone on the sockets around their eyes, and not much better when confronting a Cannibal, but Anderson was desperate. His gamble paid off, and the monster recoiled, not much, but just enough for him to risk letting the death grip on its throat go so that he could grab for his Carnifex. It was just recovering its wits when he palmed the weapon and put four rounds into its torso. Blue ichor spilled across his chest as the dead-thing slumped against him, though he was quick to roll it off him and clamber to his feet.

The screeching began to rise in earnest as the horde realised that there was still fresh meat amongst them, but Anderson was already sprinting at full tilt at that point, pushing and shoving his way through the Husks already pursuing his squad out of the exit, relying on speed and momentum to get him through. Thank God that most of the ugly corpses were too stupid to look behind them, too consumed with chasing the escaped Katabasis members, or they’d have the wherewithal to take him down.

The further he got, the more deeply packed the horde became, until his breakneck pace was slowed to almost a crawl. More and more of the Husks took notice of him, and he was forced to fight for his life again and again, Carnifex shots ringing out and the omniblade swinging clear, electrical-blue blood spraying into the air. They were wearing him down though, clawing at the joints between his armour and his mostly unprotected face. He kept his body flooded with adrenaline, the increased focus and reaction times keeping him in the fight, but barely. They just kept coming.

No. I will not die like this. I will make you proud, dad.

He forced himself onwards, leaving a trail of broken and bloodied Husk behind him. He’d never moved so fast in his life, never fought so hard. He ran out of thermals, and without skipping a beat flipped his pistol and used it to bludgeon the demonic shells reaching for him into the dirt.

The opening was in front of him now, but the horde there was packed wall to wall. With a grim sense of finality, he realised that he was never going to get through that many bodies, not with just an omni-blade and a pistol that had run out of ammo. For a moment, he asked the question: Why? Why here? Why now? What is good about this death?

Then the moment was over, and with a wordless snarl he pushed forwards.

It was at that very same moment that Fortia’s barrier, which had been drained far faster than normal thanks to the Husks ability to discharge electricity capable of shredding shields, shattered, and like the ocean that had managed to force the breakers to crumble into its waves, the horde surged forwards. They threw themselves at Katabasis, snarling and screaming, pouring out of the narrow confines of the tunnel entrance with grim intent.

Michael, the Cerberus scientist, watched as a pack of husks, led by a Marauder, bore down on Aegon, while more swarmed Phalanx, and realised that this was the best chance he was going to get to make good his escape from the Spectre’s clutches. Grabbing a couple of his fellow scientists and pushing them to their feet, he turned tail and fled down the tunnels. Two of the researchers, one of them the woman that had told Jake about the Husks, stayed where they were, but the others followed the greybeard. The escapees sprinted down the tunnel, hit a fork where several outlaying smaller tunnels joined the main thruway, and split up.

Anderson, who despite his own fatalistic premonitions, had managed to push his way through the press thanks to the hordes chaotic rush forwards, advanced towards Aegon and the others.

“I spotted mines affixed to the walls at the entryway of the compound” He huffed, blowing like a bellows. “Our lines broken, we need to blow’em now!”

Unbeknownst to Anderson and the Task Force, their position wasn’t as desperate as it seemed. Mere minutes away reinforcements moved to join them. But would the arrive in time to be any use?

Mass Effect: Underworld

@Rithy Not sure that concept will make it past Didact. Fairly sure he hates Kai Leng to. Something about him peeing in plant pots or something.

Mass Effect: Underworld

With all those bodies bearing down on her shield, wouldn't she just get forced inexorably back until she's been pushed out of the tunnel mouth then surrounded, rather than the shield breaking down.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

I'm still here. Been a little sidetracked by other commitments lately, but here nonetheless. Posted a little something of my own just now.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

_{Roland Axis
New Stratton}

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Roland was beginning to get the distinct impression that he wasn’t well liked amongst this group. Between the shit-dirty looks he was getting from the veteran corporals, and vaguely threatening glances he was getting from the Elven inquisitor, it was becoming exceedingly clear that he was Hoff’s squad’s persona non grata. He thought of responding with some veiled threats of his own, but in the end held to one of Theron’s favourite lessons; ‘The noisy cat never makes the kill.’ Simply put, threatening folks just didn’t a body any good. Better by far to hold your piece and let them think you an easily cowed fop. That way, if events ever got violent, they’d be all the more surprised when you slide a knife blade in between their ribs.

Besides, if it did come down to a mano a mano confrontation between him and the Templar, he wasn’t sure how much he liked his chances. That sword looked wicked long, and she handled it like it weighed no more than a lover’s kiss. No way a woman like that didn’t know what she was doing in a fracas. She was one problem that was going to take an application of cunning to sort out, not brute strength. Maybe he could even convince her that he was an ally, rather than an enemy? Doubtful, if the stories he had heard about her on the ship over were true, but still an option.

They waited for the heavy iron-reinforced gates to be hauled out of their way before setting off. Those same gates slammed behind them with a depressing finality, a deep, thooming crack echoing around the ruined buildings. There was no way those heavy timbers could be lifted out of the way in time if the worst was to happen, and the squad was forced to flee for safety. They’d be killed and devoured, just in sight of safety, long before the barriers were moved. Not a comforting thought for the young convict.

The silence as they trekked through the ruined city was oppressive. It weighed down on Roland, like a suit of old fashioned armour, pressing down upon his shoulders and neck, threatening to force him into the dirt. Even the quietest nights in Holden - those times when winter was at its coldest and the drunks, the whores, and the troublemakers decided that it was better to stay in their own warm homes than to risk the frigid streets - never became this silent. There was always some hint of noise. Cats fighting down alleyways, people talking to loudly in their homes, the gentle muttering of the derelicts perched in shadowed doorways. Here there was nothing, save the creak of old, battered structures swaying in the wind, the crunch of their own booted feet in the dirt, and the constant accompaniment of gunfire. It was unnerving in the extreme, and Roland clasped his loaded Ether gun closer to his chest, the weapon being the only thing providing him with a small measure of comfort in this awful place.

So alone was he with his own horrible imaginations that he didn’t even hear the rear-guard call out his warning. The thief kept marching forwards, one foot after the other, and barged into the man in front of him, a burly veteran. The two men grunted in pain, neither realising how lucky they were that Roland hadn’t accidentally stabbed his comrade with his bayonet. The bigger man turned around to glare at the conscript.

“Pay more attention to where you’re going, arse - ” suddenly the man’s eyes widened from narrowed slits, pupils going wide with fear and recognition. He shouldered his way past Roland and raised his rifle, aiming the barrel at a Shambler which was hurling itself at them from the shadows of a nearby building. The musket round went off with a thunderous crack, and the monster fell with a hideous, raking shriek.

Roland took a nervous back-step, then another. He’d never seen anything like the Shamblers in his life, or at least he’d never seen anything like it that could move. The things were rotting corpses, long strands of rotten flesh peeling from their decrepit forms, their long bony fingers curved into talon-like hooks. It was the eyes that were the worst though. How could they still be glazed over in death, yet still hold such a burning hatred in their dull pupils? What gave those orbs their animal-like cunning? Surely no power on earth had done that.

How could they expect somebody like him to fight something like that. He wasn’t a soldier, he was a thief! It was no wonder they were losing the war for this continent. He wanted nothing more to throw away his rifle and the flee from here, run all the way back to New Stratton, dive onto a ship, and sail all the way home. He tried to, too, but his legs wouldn’t listen to him. They were frozen to the spot, and he was helpless to do anything but watch on in horror as the Shambler hordes threw themselves at his small squad.

What happened next was all so quick that, thinking back, he was hard pressed to recall exactly what it was that had transpired, and in what order. Somewhere along the way he must have unloaded his own musket, though whether he hit anything, he just couldn’t say. His bayonet, when he checked it afterwards, was slick with blood and gore, and stunk to the heavens of a foul rot. He had vague memories of plunging it into a Shambler's belly, screaming profanities as he twisted the weapon, tearing at guts and bone. Had he killed the beast? He must have, there was the body, laying slumped in the dirt.

He was breathing heavy, and a cold sweat had drenched his back. The ammonia stench of warm urine tickled at his nostrils, and he realised with a start that he had pissed his own breeks during the fight. Considering the circumstances, he just couldn’t bring himself to care right now. The horror of what he had just faced was mingling with his joy at still being alive, and both emotions were so strong that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling.

The squad had been scattered during the action, and the only two he could see were the bounty hunter and the Inquisitor.

“I ... I never … Have you …” He struggled to arrange his words into anything even resembling a sentence, before doubling over and heaving his meagre breakfast all over the dusty ground. He continued to heave until nothing more but bile and spit came up. Then he heaved some more.