barkmeat2

The Gate -Obersturmbannführer Felix Herzog/TheWildHost-

Felix Herzong, battle-scared veteran of Germany's wars. You trodded through the mud and blood of war and watched many comrades and enemies fall around you. You rose through the ranks gaining experience and rank to lead your own and have finally been given this monumentous position. However not all soldiers are made equal in that you were:

>An soldat in the Wehrmacht, you were there in the trenches. You remember it all, the shelling, the disease, the charges, and the gas. You watched men die around you and made death a close friend. A myriad of scars both mental and physical are about you. As such your ferocity and resolve are one of the greatest in the Reich, and your skill in hand-to-hand combat tempered in the trenches.

>A hunter, a killer, a sniper. As veteran Gebirgsjäger, you are an efficient, impassive, and cold instrument of death. Your skill with a rifle and a scope are unparralled. Fearsome officers boasting there medals and titles were mere targets and marks among the trenches. Weeks and months in the countryside have made you skilled in the arts of tracking, stalking, and survival by any means.

>Panzergrenadier. Or at least back in the Great War, a grenadier. You are large and imposing, your stature demanding respect and loyalty in your allies; fear and hesitation from your enemies. You are a poster child for the Aryan race. A perfect and beautiful specimen, capable of taking heavy blows, and giving it right back. You have personally led valiant charges while being the most impressively equipped. Afterwards you broadened your mastery of heavy ordinances.

A Wolf's Love

Ribald

A man stood by his truck door, stark still and in shock in the dark woods. "Uh... Cat, you heard that right? I'm not going crazy here am I?" The German Shepard barked in agreement. What Ribald heard had caused his face to pale. Class 10 Packleader, an alpha. He thought of the dangerous situation he was in- but then he realized the dangerous situation he was in. HERE, of all places, an ALPHA. Thats A-L-P-H-A, a bossman, the head honcho, the finest specimen he could ever dream for. He giggled. The lads back at HQ won't believe this. A pack leader meant a pack, which meant more wolves, which meant more juicy, delicious specimens. The science he could do! The samples, the experiments, the interogations! He drooled a bit.

"Okay, Cat, new plan. Skip the grits for now. What- no just grab the trail mix in the glove box- We gotta do some recon."

He drove the truck in the general direction of the sound. When his truck couldn't continue, he footed it, making use of his 5 years of hunting experience. There was definitely an occult presence here. A grizzly, normally pretty passive towards humans unless threatened, got a bit too close... Its about 15 meters behind him now convulsing and choking on its own blood after a single injector bolt. He kept his presence masked, applying a myriad of chemicals to eliminate his scent. Cat, was getting antsy, she knew they were near, but her training kept her silent and close.

Signs of Whiskey Tangoes, were getting all the more intense. There den, whatever it was would definitely warded for intruders. He dared to go no further, but he had a lead. He started to head back, however he noticed the remnants of a hunt not his. Blood, deer blood. 2 dead, eaten. Scratch that, eaten quickly. Definitely a Whiskey Tango, didn't want to stay around for some reason. Probably a renegade intruding. He stopped again, a deer was alive, but scared, and tired. He saw it and it saw he, but opted not to move, it was far too exhausted. Odd, those Wolves could eat, leaving one alive was a new for him. It showed signs of pregnancy, another anomaly, 2-for-1's are highly sought after. Odd, but lucky for him, he took aim and took a dispassionate shot a it, hitting it square in the heart, no need for poisons, for it being an entirely quick death. Hopefully he wouldn't meet anything else out here.

Willard

The diner was warm enough, the smell of frying egg and bacon beckoned him to take a seat at the booth while that pink haired -a part of the new youth culture he never understood- girl took his order as per usual. Now, he wasn't the most hip and in touch old man in the town, but he was pretty sure that high school kids should be working, let alone this early. Shouldn't they be off with their friends, or sleeping in, or whatever. This fact of which caused him to feel sorry for the girl as she let slip a few yawns.

"Mr. Wilard. Good to see you up so early, just like always.

"Thankyou," he smiled as he sat, "but I could say the opposite for you. You should sleep in one of these days, take a morning off, I'm sure that one Becky lass can cover for you." He accepted the newspaper from her and took a sip of the good black brew. He meant to read through the daily news, but his mind was still heavy with the message that the wind brought. Surely, he had kept low over the past few months he was here. Sure he was making fast acquaintances with the towns folk, but he tried to not include any tidbits of his past... Would need to skip town or prepare for a confrontat-

"How are you this morning?" A sweet voice broke his line of thought. A plate of grits and steak placed gently in-front of him. He remembered where he was and chastised himself for the uncharacteristic loss of concentration.

"Uh- yeh. I'm fine." He quickly spooned a bit of the grits to change the mood, "Mmmm, finely made. I swear it tastes better this morning. Give ol' Joe my commendation." He didn't need to worry these good folks,and was determined not to be a bother to Still Water.

"How about you? How's school, er- uh- your folks? Your dad get that '78 fixed yet, or does he need me to help out again?" He laughed his baritone laugh, hoping to dodge any doubts from the girl.

@ViolentViolet

A Wolf's Love

@ViolentViolet

Holy moly, you sure are dedicated to your characters. Juggling that many personalities must be hard.

Civilization - New Lands, New Glory

A.) Improve Food
I.) Diplomacy

Holy Shit

A young man, tan of skin and stout of build confidently walks with his friends following behind him. He raises his hands showing his desire peaceful for peaceful discourse. The Ogres may not speak the same language, but the universal sign of peace, food and gifts, are offered from the carts. He gives them time to approach on their own, even pantomiming the act of eating and gift giving. Surely the Earth Mother's will would move the hearts of these great and imposing beings.

---

"All right ya shits. Our food is still meh, average even. How can we win this drawn out food-war if yah keep slacking about," Rye was a bit miffed the farms have grown and irrigation ditches were being dug, but he wanted more. Always more.

"Elder Rye, we are hard at work, great fields of many seeds are being processed and dedicated to the Earth Mother."

"BULLSHIT!"

"Elder Rye, language!"

"No I mean, the cow dung. The fields grown atop old cattle pastures grow vibrant and prosperous. I believe it is to do with the dung. The cows take and like good children of the Earth, return. We must do the same, our's and the cows' earthly wastes will be gathered, along with leaves and other gifts of nature and compacted to create a new fertile soil that will supplement our fields."

Summary

Ogres get gifts and smiles, they are offered blessings of the Earth Mother. Compost piles and natural fertilizer for the farms are created in addition to the continued process of farm building.

The Gate -Obersturmbannführer Felix Herzog/TheWildHost-

August 25, 1939. 7:00 PM. Outskirts of Berlin.

The thunder of applause dies down as the black-dressed man would take the podium. His uniform, like the uniforms of every man sitting in the massive underground dining hall, was pitch black and magnificently tailored. The shiny ribbons and insignia marking his uniform emphasizing the importance of his status.

The Reichsführer of the SS and second-in-command to Adolf Hitler, Heinrich Himmler stood in front of the entire procession a wide smile on his face as he addressed his audience. Scientists, soldiers, politicians were all in attendance awaiting his final word.

"Ladies and Gentlemen- we are at the dawn of a new age, of new prosperity, of new conquests. Our work has finally come into fruition today, the work of the Thule Society and our scientists will lead the Aryan peoples to greatness and it is my hope that we can use what has been uncovered here as a means of gaining an advantage in the coming years, as our nation marches to war under the guidance of the Führer. "

"Our first expedition to this land will set forth before the end of this day," another thunderous applause rocks the underground conference. "Now, I bet you wish to meet the commander of the expedition, Welcome-"

>A political officer of the SS. You received military training in you past, but it was your skill in word play and speech craft that swayed your allies and made your enemies complacent. Your oratory skills landed you this position, and your peers trust your abilities to lead.

>Oberst, a hardened veteran. Having risen to your rank by virtue of military experience and tactical insight, as well as quite a bit of first-hand combat experience, the high command see you as a commander most fit to brave the new world.

>A brilliant engineer. Having attained an education in several mechanical fields before entering the military, as well as a few courses in more scientific matters, you were a shoe-in for the Wehrmacht's military engineers. Though you aren't as savvy politically or militarily, the high command has deemed you worthy of your rank.

>Other, please specify.

I'll also need a name.

A Wolf's Love

Willard

Willard got up this morning feeling rather sullen with a crick in his neck, and to make it worse his coffee maker was being quite an asshole and withholding the black life-blood from him. He left the small suburban house -or urban house he guessed, there wasn't really a traditional urban high-rise district in town- in hopes of heading to the diner. He donned his work jacket and grabbed his wallet as he closed the front door behind him.He began to walk, but his blood pressure rose as he passed that eccentric lads house. It never felt right passing it and the boy was definitely someone from the Society, but that boy never seemed hostile towards him, instead asking if he wanted to watch the game or some other. Willard declined of course, but he was relieved that aspect of his old life had passed him.

Diner
He opted to walk the short distance, get some exercise in those old legs of his. A morning fog hung around town, but the school kids and workmen hadn't filled the streets quite yet so getting to the diner was rather peaceful. He moved to open the glass doors of the diner when a ominous wind carrying a feral howl sent chills down his spine, every instinct in his body told him to leave town, that he didn't belong, that he was an outsider. He felt this before, and he dreaded to think the implications of what would come. They hadn't acted upon his arrival yet, he'd have time. They wouldn't know he was even here if he played his cards right. He entered the diner, waved to Becky and ordered the usual steak and grits with coffee for breakfast.

Until the End!

Day 1: 27th April 2015, Monday, 7:00 PM Washington DC

Harley

It was the night of grand day, the stars had aligned- Yeah, okay buddy, I'll handle the narration, just... just get back to your corner. Ehemm. Harley is sitting at a his work station, filing reports and call logs, lazily snacking on some sunflower seeds as time goes on. Honestly he liked the job, he got his own nice thick walled office, so the voices were just the typical weird *HEY!* ones today, and he wasn't really required to attend many meetings. His life in the Greatest Country's Capital was rather mundane though. His condo -which was more of a glorified burrow- was in the suburbs on the same riverside as the DHS HQ so no scenic bridge crossings on a sunrise for him. Additionally the DHS HQ wasn't anywhere close to the popularly known DC landmarks -in fact he couldn't even see the gosh-darn Capitol Building from here, AKA technically the tallest thing this side of the Potomac river- and his commute didn't even take him past them either. He wasn't complaining too much, the tourists never came by here, and he hears traffic is killer on 17th Street anyways.

Until the End!

Name: Harley Hill
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Location: Washington, DC
Appearance:


Personality:
Quiet...kinda. The voices are loud, always talking. Always ignored. Some say twitchy, no wait, uh- yeh, most everybody says twitchy. Paranoid? Maybe. Cautious? Definitely. He wants to hold a decent conversation, but the voices are too loud. Yeh, always too loud, can't tell which ones are persons in front of him or inside of him.The teachers said he was nice, mom and dad too. It was- 'A little bit quiet, but a nice kid,'- if i recall correctly. But no, he was never quiet.

Bio:
Mom. Dad. A sister? Maybe? Might have just been another voice. But Mom and Dad, for sure. They raised him right. Raised him the good ol' American way. The Christian way.They told him magic was off limits, but he snuck off to toss around a few rocks, float a stray cat, or roll a bolder around the homestead. However, home, The Great Lone Star State, was far from here. He came to DC for a job, and kinda hoped the voices would stop if he left home. The job? Government Agent... What? I'm serious,he was a desk clerk for the Department of Homeland Security. Had a nice government funded condo, with a nice government funded car, and a nice government funded friend. Dr. Schofield, great guy. Never laughed when Harley told him about the voices, just gave him pills. Those were cool, voices took a nap for a short bit after each one, but he couldn't float the TV remote over during.

Power: Psychic, the voices sound weird and the pickup range is variable, some voices are plain fake but give interesting advice. Also, he's pretty sure hes related to that Mustached Kangaro-thing from that evolving mini-monsters game his parents never let him play, with the things always moving when he wanted to and stopping -rather abruptly- if he didn't want it any closer.
Family: Hasn't seen Mom and Dad for a while, hope they're fine.
Friends: Dr. Schofield.
Sentimental Attachment: Dad's old work hat.

Until the End!

Name: Harley Hill
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Location: Washington, DC
Appearance:


Personality:
Quiet...kinda. The voices are loud, always talking. Always ignored. Some say twitchy, no wait, uh- yeh, most everybody says twitchy. Paranoid? Maybe. Cautious? Definitely. He wants to hold a decent conversation, but the voices are too loud. Yeh, always too loud, can't tell which ones are persons in front of him or inside of him.The teachers said he was nice, mom and dad too. It was- 'A little bit quiet, but a nice kid,'- if i recall correctly. But no, he was never quiet.

Bio:
Mom. Dad. A sister? Maybe? Might have just been another voice. But Mom and Dad, for sure. They raised him right. Raised him the good ol' American way. The Christian way.They told him magic was off limits, but he snuck off to toss around a few rocks, float a stray cat, or roll a bolder around the homestead. However, home, The Great Lone Star State, was far from here. He came to DC for a job, and kinda hoped the voices would stop if he left home. The job? Government Agent... What? I'm serious,he was a desk clerk for the Department of Homeland Security. Had a nice government funded condo, with a nice government funded car, and a nice government funded friend. Dr. Schofield, great guy. Never laughed when Harley told him about the voices, just gave him pills. Those were cool, voices took a nap for a short bit after each one, but he couldn't float the TV remote over during.

Power: Psychic, just a fucked up form of telepathy (voices sound weird and the pickup range is variable, some voices are plain fake but give interesting advice) and telekinesis.
Family: Hasn't seen Mom and Dad for a while, hope they're fine.
Friends: Dr. Schofield.
Sentimental Attachment: Dad's old work hat.

Until the End!

>CS
>Locations
>Ctrl+F Texas
>0 results

All right then, going for next best thing: DC, Highest Gun per Household ratio.