Jack cracked his neck and turned around, spotting a band of new enemies approaching. However, as he stared at them, a bullet whizzed by his head. Instinctively, he ducked to the side, dodging one bullet but allowing another to hit his leg. He shouted in fury and charged towards the offender, waving his bloodied swords like a maniac. With his right hand he swung wildly and the heretic ducked out of the way with a snarl. With his left hand he violently slashed with his other blade, and the sword cut deep into the man's shoulder and upper arm. In one fluid movement he tore the sword out of the wound and moved around the heretic a bit, allowing Mikail a clearer shot. He cast a pleading glance back at his shotgun toting ally, eager for assistance against this foe.
Epicface Member
dont you dare touch my easybake oven.
STATUS: For me, waffles and pancakes are vehicles for butter and syrup. 9 yrs ago
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- Epicface 9 yrs ago
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For me, waffles and pancakes are vehicles for butter and syrup.
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not sure if I can roll for dodge as a reaction to dodge one of those attacks? gonna just roll for it anyway just in case.
Jack (Dodge): puu.sh/pXm2H/284a450f66.png - 17+10=27, one Degree of Success
Jack (Init.): puu.sh/pXlgK/25b4bd6ffd.png - 9+4+2 = 15
+2 is from Paranoia, forgot to factor it in last time.
Jack (Dodge): puu.sh/pXm2H/284a450f66.png - 17+10=27, one Degree of Success
Jack (Init.): puu.sh/pXlgK/25b4bd6ffd.png - 9+4+2 = 15
+2 is from Paranoia, forgot to factor it in last time.
The moment the heretics revealed themselves, Jack drew his blades and eyed the poor souls with malice. He discerned that they had noted his presence, and so immediately ran ahead to unleash holy retribution upon these traitors. However, he did not shout or scream, nor did he yell some battle cry of his regiment or any such thing, instead charging forward with a steely, watchful gaze. Having chosen his prey, he twirled his mono-sword and thrust his second, cruel looking blade into the heretic's heart. He peered into the man's eyes, absorbing all of the fear and hatred residing within, then promptly ripped his sword out with an overall unnecessary amount of flourish and bloodlust after the moment had passed, bits of shredded armor and flesh flying towards the heavens. He kicked the cadaver to the ground, then glanced around for another target.
Upon seeing the crazy medic charge into a nearby heretic and impale a man with his bayonet, Jack raced over to the dying foe, holding his swords at the ready. As he rapidly approached, he began to hiss and growl with a primal yet contained fury overcoming him. He pounced upon the doubled up heretic, ramming a blade into his neck, causing even more blood to spurt onto Mikail's shotgun. With a wrathful howl, he tore the sword off of the heretic's neck, leaving only a thread of flesh connecting the man's head to his shoulders. "DEATH WALKS AMONG YOU!"
Upon seeing the crazy medic charge into a nearby heretic and impale a man with his bayonet, Jack raced over to the dying foe, holding his swords at the ready. As he rapidly approached, he began to hiss and growl with a primal yet contained fury overcoming him. He pounced upon the doubled up heretic, ramming a blade into his neck, causing even more blood to spurt onto Mikail's shotgun. With a wrathful howl, he tore the sword off of the heretic's neck, leaving only a thread of flesh connecting the man's head to his shoulders. "DEATH WALKS AMONG YOU!"
chap watched me roll so no screenshots apologies my brothers
2 hits at 1d10+5
1, 9 =
6, 14
2 hits at 1d10+5
1, 9 =
6, 14
Jack followed the rest of the squad, taking role of the rear guard. He watched the others with unease, being mildly perturbed by the strangeness of some of his allies. The medic still seemed too capricious and overall bizarre to be trusted, and the Stormtrooper seemed to at least slightly disapprove of the Ex-Penal's presence. Though the Black Saint seemed to be extreme (which was expected, naturally), the confidence the man had in his words somewhat put him at ease, though his statements were harsh and unforgiving, the steely nature of the man made his will similarly iron. This struck him as a contrast to Winstanley, whose previously glorious and golden words began to lose their luster. As the group moved on through the wreckage that could have been construed as a city, Jack jumped slightly as the new Sargent shouted at the squad. After eyeing the Macharius Cross with suspicion, he kept his head down and hands near his swords, maintaining a good distance between him and the new soldiers, with his allies being a buffer.
As Winstanly glared at him, Jack looked down instinctively, not daring to meet his sight. He felt as though the man was reading his mind, almost, revealing all of his secrets and judging him for them all. After a few moments, he saw a bit of movement, and released the tension that had built up, having noticed the Stormtrooper had looked away. He sighed out of relief and looked around to his fellows once more. His gaze rested on Mikail once more and, as the medic spoke, his expression grew from suspicion to extreme unease. The man seemed to be almost impossibly cheerful, leading him to believe that he may be delusional, to some extent. After a brief moment of contemplation, he turned to look at the Lord Commisar, who just revealed himself as the Black Saint. As the Commisar addressed the group, his eyes widened and he quickly sheathed his blades out of respect. He returned to having his head down once the Saint completed his speech, and tried to ready himself for the oncoming battles.
The speakers of the ship started to inform the crew of a change in orders. A very unfortunate change. Jack's face fell, and he put his seat restraints on, expecting turbulence as the ship turned and flew into a battle. His inclination was not unfounded as the aircraft began to shudder and shake and, eventually, after a loud explosion, the starboard side was no more. He turned to look at the Commisar, in his scarred and war-torn glory. "Looks like even the Emperor won't have any mercy on us either." He braced himself for the incoming crash, ignoring all the rest, though he couldn't help a shiver run down his spine as he heard Mikail begin to laugh, and he heard a gunshot and a thud. In a horrified frenzy, he wasn't sure if the madman had killed a squadmate, or if he had done them all a favor and had his last laugh. Either way, not caring enough to check, he looked down, sure he was standing in his grave.
When Jack regained consciousness, his vision was dark, and he felt a heavy object on top of him. He cleared off the debris off with some effort, with one thing in particular being particularly heavy. As he moved it off and rubbed his eyes to clear his sight, he noticed it was a corpse with a gaping hole through his head, clearly caused by some sort of energy weapon. This made him scramble away in horror, and he moved out of the remaining debris towards his companions. In his rush, he tripped and fell to the ground, resting before yet another corpse, one grasping a locket to his heart. After prying some of the wreckage off of the man, he looked down into his lifeless eyes. "I'll let them know, friend. I'll help... I'll let them..." Shuddering, he pried the artifact of hope off of the corpse, looking at the child eternally smiling at him. He put the locket in his bag and wordlessly stumbles over to the Stormtrooper, trying to ease his tumultuous mind, perhaps in vain.
The speakers of the ship started to inform the crew of a change in orders. A very unfortunate change. Jack's face fell, and he put his seat restraints on, expecting turbulence as the ship turned and flew into a battle. His inclination was not unfounded as the aircraft began to shudder and shake and, eventually, after a loud explosion, the starboard side was no more. He turned to look at the Commisar, in his scarred and war-torn glory. "Looks like even the Emperor won't have any mercy on us either." He braced himself for the incoming crash, ignoring all the rest, though he couldn't help a shiver run down his spine as he heard Mikail begin to laugh, and he heard a gunshot and a thud. In a horrified frenzy, he wasn't sure if the madman had killed a squadmate, or if he had done them all a favor and had his last laugh. Either way, not caring enough to check, he looked down, sure he was standing in his grave.
When Jack regained consciousness, his vision was dark, and he felt a heavy object on top of him. He cleared off the debris off with some effort, with one thing in particular being particularly heavy. As he moved it off and rubbed his eyes to clear his sight, he noticed it was a corpse with a gaping hole through his head, clearly caused by some sort of energy weapon. This made him scramble away in horror, and he moved out of the remaining debris towards his companions. In his rush, he tripped and fell to the ground, resting before yet another corpse, one grasping a locket to his heart. After prying some of the wreckage off of the man, he looked down into his lifeless eyes. "I'll let them know, friend. I'll help... I'll let them..." Shuddering, he pried the artifact of hope off of the corpse, looking at the child eternally smiling at him. He put the locket in his bag and wordlessly stumbles over to the Stormtrooper, trying to ease his tumultuous mind, perhaps in vain.
Jack was sitting by a window, staring out at the gruesome battlefield below him. There was something hideously majestic about the ravaged warzone, some tainted mixture of anticipation and disgust that has long since been brewing within him, all for this moment and for all the moments that await, and for the final moments, be they slow and drawn out, or gone in an all consuming flash. As he grows hypnotized by these sights, he starts to mindlessly fiddle with one of his swords. The gargantuan beings, pillars of flame, and ravaged landscape aside, this planet began to remind him of home, ever so slightly. Looking down at the blade in his hand, he wonders about how different things might have been; what other hellish landscapes he could have been sent to, and what brutalities he would have endured had he stayed in his homeworld. Perhaps this fate wasn’t so bad after all. After a brief moment, he shakes his head and quietly clears his throat. The time for thoughts like that is over. He sheathed his blade and instinctively checked his armor, nervously shifting it a little. He moves around his dog tag, which displays '24601' on the front, and a crude etching of the name Jack on the back.
Only as he looked at one of the men did he realize he was speaking; such was the oppressive cacophony of the engines. When he strained his ears, however, he could start to make out what the man was asking, in his strange yet not unwelcoming accent. When Mikail spoke, Jack stared at him with distant eyes. He seemed to be a quite happy man, jovial in personality, which was fairly surprising. Almost immediately after him came a woman named Elouviana, who was some kind of ranger and sharpshooter. It dawned on Jack that he hadn’t even seen her until now, as absorbed as he was with watching the scenery. After casting a wary glance around and noting the presence of a Commissar (or at least, someone who appeared to be one), he decided to speak up next. “I’m Jack. People used to call me Whistle. Ex-Penal. Minimus Sicarius. I’ll be at their backs, slitting throats and puncturing organs, maybe collecting intel if we need it. Good to meet you all.” He spoke quickly and to the point, though not without a small degree of civility, possibly caused by this suddenly introspective mood this flight had placed him in. As he greeted his fellows, he drew his assassin’s blade, a cruel looking weapon black in coloration with a very sharp tip, and spun it around a bit with one hand out of habit, the sword whistling as it sheared apart the air.
Only as he looked at one of the men did he realize he was speaking; such was the oppressive cacophony of the engines. When he strained his ears, however, he could start to make out what the man was asking, in his strange yet not unwelcoming accent. When Mikail spoke, Jack stared at him with distant eyes. He seemed to be a quite happy man, jovial in personality, which was fairly surprising. Almost immediately after him came a woman named Elouviana, who was some kind of ranger and sharpshooter. It dawned on Jack that he hadn’t even seen her until now, as absorbed as he was with watching the scenery. After casting a wary glance around and noting the presence of a Commissar (or at least, someone who appeared to be one), he decided to speak up next. “I’m Jack. People used to call me Whistle. Ex-Penal. Minimus Sicarius. I’ll be at their backs, slitting throats and puncturing organs, maybe collecting intel if we need it. Good to meet you all.” He spoke quickly and to the point, though not without a small degree of civility, possibly caused by this suddenly introspective mood this flight had placed him in. As he greeted his fellows, he drew his assassin’s blade, a cruel looking weapon black in coloration with a very sharp tip, and spun it around a bit with one hand out of habit, the sword whistling as it sheared apart the air.
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