Edward was somewhat confused by the sudden flurry of activity, people scurrying about to various modes of transportation and peeling off into the night, vaguely hearing something about a firefight and a chance to prove his worth. Well, that's not the kind of invitation you can turn down. He quickly trudged ahead, grabbed a watch from... was that guy still here? It was hard to keep track of everything. He stuffed it in his pocket, hoping he could hear it if it... did whatever it was supposed to do? Grumbling under his breath, he burst out into the street, jogging down the mostly empty road ways. He definitely need something better than this, he decided, if he was going to be keeping pace with young, acrobatic types.
Gradually, he lost sight of most of them, feeling rather alone as he huffed along, every pound of his gear adding some extra thudding on his knees and agitating the burning he was starting to feel in his lungs. Though he could not see the others, he didn't really need to. The staccato burst of gunfire were a clear enough indicator of the general direction. He hoped he'd reach it before they'd cleared off: It would be a disappointment to miss out because he hadn't thought to drive to the secret meeting.
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Wait.... we're helping the Fallen? Maybe I misread the OOC post, but I didn't see anything... redeeming about them. Guess I'll look over that again.
EDIT: Erm. I guess it's more of a good idea gone bad. Glad I reread that. For whatever reason, I thought the Fallen were going to play antagonists...
EDIT: Erm. I guess it's more of a good idea gone bad. Glad I reread that. For whatever reason, I thought the Fallen were going to play antagonists...
Edward listened to the proceedings with passive curiosity, wondering why he had bothered to show up at all... until the Green Skull had finally appeared. He had honestly never thought of working with the other masks in the room: In fact, despite his own forays in his neighborhood, he had half-suspected that the others didn't exist, or were simply other brigands working for themselves. The idea of working with them had been so remote as to be impossible. But here they were, and here was the offer.
He could sense the hesitation in the rest of the room, and was nervous: Surely, if we all hated this town's lawlessness as much as I do, he thought, then we would have no qualms about banding together. But the silence lingered and even the Green Skull seemed to get antsy. Finally, the Salamander stirred from the back wall, taking a few bold steps forward. Despite his resolution, nerves got the better of him, and he stumbled over his words. "I'm...uh... " He coughed and tried again, "I can't speak for the rest of you, but I'm willing. I need help, and I can admit that. I can't even manage to keep a few blocks around my place safe. So, if you get no one else, Mr. Skull," Edward wondered if that sounded awkward, or what he should have said instead, "You've got me." A few seconds of silence passed before it occurred to him that he should shuffle back to his place, which he did.
He could sense the hesitation in the rest of the room, and was nervous: Surely, if we all hated this town's lawlessness as much as I do, he thought, then we would have no qualms about banding together. But the silence lingered and even the Green Skull seemed to get antsy. Finally, the Salamander stirred from the back wall, taking a few bold steps forward. Despite his resolution, nerves got the better of him, and he stumbled over his words. "I'm...uh... " He coughed and tried again, "I can't speak for the rest of you, but I'm willing. I need help, and I can admit that. I can't even manage to keep a few blocks around my place safe. So, if you get no one else, Mr. Skull," Edward wondered if that sounded awkward, or what he should have said instead, "You've got me." A few seconds of silence passed before it occurred to him that he should shuffle back to his place, which he did.
Um. Yeah, I keep being gone and missing flurries of activity. I don't look to have missed anything plot-moving yet, though. I'm... keeping an eye open.
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Medieval rp info and discussion (Men/women/gay/straight)
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10 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Um. Well, that's good to know. Any other co-Gms in our midst?
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10 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Partisan said
How about:Deers being copperBoars being silverDragons being gold? That would be pretty cool and would differentiate the kingdom from others I suppose.
Sounds like a good plan, overall. I'd change "Deer" to "Stag" or something. Then we just work out how many X is in Y and we've got something.
Well, that's a start. I'm tentatively interested. I'd like to know more about what you've got planned, but we'll see where it goes.
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Medieval rp info and discussion (Men/women/gay/straight)
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10 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Oh. That's encouraging. I was a bit worried that this had died. Hadn't seen an OOC up or anything.
Um. Care to explain a bit more? You mean like... humans have established some kind of dominance over everyone, ruling from a distance with a heavy hand?
Skipping the route home, "Big Ed" Montag skirted through the derelict city blocks, furtively glancing over his shoulder, as if to ensure that he was truly alone. He had been to his hideout early, hoping for solace, but instead found that it had been discovered. He hadn't been able to tell at first: A few additional clumps of muck from the partially clogged walkway that led to his makeshift base, but these were easily overlooked. The third padlock had been looped through the third, instead of the fourth link on it's chain, which really should have tipped him off, but he was tired. The unmistakable evidence of an intrusion was in the form of a bright not, carefully laid on the bare, metal desk that contained his effects.
Edward had glared at it, feeling offended, almost violated by its presence. He held it up in his nubby fingers, straining to read it in the dim twilight of the little concrete room. His eyes narrowed as the message sunk home. He would have to leave quickly. In a flurry of activity, he emptied the drawers of his desk into a canvas bag, heaved it onto his shoulder, and trudged back out, replacing the locks on his door in their proper arrangement. When he emerged into fresh air, he huffed along down the streets, doing his best to disguise the weight of his burden to the fearful or frightful eyes of passersby, who were increasingly heading indoors.
And so here he was on an empty street, rapidly nearing his destination. He made one final scan of the streets, found them satisfactorily lacking in witnesses, and ducked off behind the barriers of a construction zone, locking himself in the Port-o-John. It took him a minute of fumbling in the darkness, but he managed to tie his bandana and slip into his coat with only marginal difficulty. Clapping the worn leather helmet onto his head, he stuffed his weapons into his pockets, along with the canvas bag, and slipped back out into the fresh air (Meaning it smelled of hot asphalt rather than sanitary chemicals.).
He passed a few parked vehicles, approached the surprisingly broad door, and let himself in. He found himself at the tail end of a procession that, had it not been overshadowed by an ominous solemnity, would have looked quite funny: A bunch of grown and semi-grown figures dressed up as if for Halloween in some parallel universe, looking like cheap parodies of non-existent superheroes. Not that anyone looked quite as cheap as he did: Beside these guys, he felt, for the first time, a bit embarrassed by his patchwork getup. He was surprised by the numbers: He hadn't figured there were this many doing his line of work in town, much less that they would have all been invited. Only now, already inside an unfamiliar building with oddly dressed strangers, did the idea of a trap occur to him. Cursing his lack of foresight, he slinked off to the back wall and leaned heavily against it, brushing past a man in a balaclava.
Edward had glared at it, feeling offended, almost violated by its presence. He held it up in his nubby fingers, straining to read it in the dim twilight of the little concrete room. His eyes narrowed as the message sunk home. He would have to leave quickly. In a flurry of activity, he emptied the drawers of his desk into a canvas bag, heaved it onto his shoulder, and trudged back out, replacing the locks on his door in their proper arrangement. When he emerged into fresh air, he huffed along down the streets, doing his best to disguise the weight of his burden to the fearful or frightful eyes of passersby, who were increasingly heading indoors.
And so here he was on an empty street, rapidly nearing his destination. He made one final scan of the streets, found them satisfactorily lacking in witnesses, and ducked off behind the barriers of a construction zone, locking himself in the Port-o-John. It took him a minute of fumbling in the darkness, but he managed to tie his bandana and slip into his coat with only marginal difficulty. Clapping the worn leather helmet onto his head, he stuffed his weapons into his pockets, along with the canvas bag, and slipped back out into the fresh air (Meaning it smelled of hot asphalt rather than sanitary chemicals.).
He passed a few parked vehicles, approached the surprisingly broad door, and let himself in. He found himself at the tail end of a procession that, had it not been overshadowed by an ominous solemnity, would have looked quite funny: A bunch of grown and semi-grown figures dressed up as if for Halloween in some parallel universe, looking like cheap parodies of non-existent superheroes. Not that anyone looked quite as cheap as he did: Beside these guys, he felt, for the first time, a bit embarrassed by his patchwork getup. He was surprised by the numbers: He hadn't figured there were this many doing his line of work in town, much less that they would have all been invited. Only now, already inside an unfamiliar building with oddly dressed strangers, did the idea of a trap occur to him. Cursing his lack of foresight, he slinked off to the back wall and leaned heavily against it, brushing past a man in a balaclava.
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