Red7VII

The Red Hoods: Rebirth

Location: Apartment > Maxwell Motors | Mentions: @c3p-0h

The Apartment

Sleep never came. With his associate snoring on the couch in the livingroom and Kiri being given her privacy in the man's bedroom, Zeke found himself sitting in a chair in the miniature dining area, just staring at the door. His thoughts were going out in several directions. He still wanted answers from Kiri, but knew the shock of their present circumstance was enough to overload anyone's grasp of reality. He needed to give her space. Let her come to terms with her new situation and then ease back into figuring out the mystery of how all of this is possible and what it truly means about Samael and what he may have brought with him in his escape through time.

His other thoughts hovered around his mission. Aldo has assigned him to a task. It was a means of proving himself to the powers that be who controlled the majority of Duncaster's underworld. Though the Red Hoods were officially no more, Zeke still lived by a code, even if he had to do it alone. With the recent appearance of Kiri, maybe that, too, will change. One must keep the horses in front of the carriage, as it were, which means that the first thing was first: It was time to abandon sentry duty start making some moves.

As Zeke left the apartment, squinted at the rays of sun booming down from overhead. He had lost track of time and the day was already well underway. Part of that was good. It means that there would be less to worry about in leaving Kiri behind, if only momentarily. She was hardly helpless. The Kiri he knew was a one woman army. But he never knew a Kiri that had asthmatic fits... With a small huff, he solidified his decision and began walking toward the street's sidewalk. He never could find many vehicles that could comfortably accommodate his size so he had become accustomed to using what Nature... God... the Devil... he used what he was given.

Vance Maxwell, he mentally repeated the name to himself. He didn't know the man, but he knew the name. Whole some modern werewolves tend to embrace independence, most with the curse have a natural urge to cluster together with those who share said curse. It's a natural instinct, a method of survival used since the beginning of time. They huddle together in packs to protect eachother and take on goals too large for any singular animal. Duncaster had a variety of packs with all different motivations. One that that is like to them all, however, is that they are led by a singular individual who was either born superior and have proven superiority with tooth and fang. This leader was known as the Alpha Wolf. While you could easily lose count of the werewolves that inhabited the city, the true Alphas could be counted on one's fingers with the assistance of a toe or two. They are, by definition, the strongest, most ferocious of the bunch and come with an inherent notoriety. Vance Maxwell was no exception.

By day, he's just like anyone else. A family man and small business owner, Vance runs Maxwell Motors where he sells and repairs used cars. By night, the man was a leader of a cult-like pack of monsters who were just itching for a little chaos while also presumably doing their part to help their kin survive. Where they met up at night to go over these devious plans, Zeke wasn't sure. But nighttime was still a ways off. Now, at this hour, the grand wolf had a fair hunch at where to check first.

Maxwell Motors

"I told you, sir, Vance is not in today," the lady at the reception desk said, trying to balance a stern tone with a soft delivery. Her blue jeans and collared red shirt reinforced the casual atmosphere of the office, despite the fact that they were moving tens of thousands of dollars on a weekly basis. Meanwhile Zeke stood towering in his plain black t-shirt and black slacks secured by an ebon belt with a gold buckle.

"Who's his second in command," Zeke let the question rumble out of his throat.

"His what," she shot back, seemingly dumbfounded. "You mean the vice president?" Zeke stared her down for a moment as if trying to decide if the suggestion was a trick or a joke at his expense.

"Sure," he answered finally, his eyes narrowing into slits, showcasing his shrinking patience. The receptionist then picked up her phone and pressed a few buttons before turning her back to the visitor and whispering into the receiver, covering her mouth as she did so to maintain some sort of confidentiality. Little did she know he could hear every word. The curse also came with some gifts. When she was done, she hung up the phone and looked back to the giant.

"Mr. Maxwell will see you now. Please, follow me." As she stood up and began walking away, Zeke's eyebrow raised up before he followed suit.

"I thought you said Vance was out," he reminded as he matched her pace down a hallway toward an office door.

"I did," she admitted as she opened one of two doors at the end of the hallway. "Vance Maxwell is not here. This is his vice president and son, Mark Maxwell." She stepped out of the doorway and Zeke peered in. He found himself looking as a very lightly decorated office with bland white wall, a few chairs made of wood and fake leather, and a cheaply constructed desk make to look like it was built of oak. On the other side of it was a man in a three piece blue business suit. He was trim and freshly groomed. Definitely looks like he controlled more of the sales floor than the workshop.

"Thank you, Carla," he said as he stood up before gesturing to one of the empty chairs. "Please, come in. I hear you're looking for my old man, but perhaps I can be of assistance." Zeke turned his gaze to Carla until she took her leave. He then entered the room, shutting the door behind him and taking an awkward seat in an uncomfortable chair. "Name's Mark," he reiterated, extending his hand for a shake. "How can I help you, uh..."

"I need to see your father. I need to discuss business with him." Zeke made no attempt to take the hand so Mark hesitantly brought it back to himself before sitting down once more.

"I assure you I'm authorized to make business decisions in his absence," Mark tried to assure him. "You've got a car you want to sell to us or something?"

"No." After the word, Zeke let the silence permeate for just a moment, building power behind his next words. "I have other business with him. Business he would likely be more comfortable dealing with tonight." At this Mark sat back a little further in his chair and began to look upon Zeke with increased suspicion.

"Who are you?" he asked finally, almost accusing him of wrong doing with his tone alone.

"Kin," was the sole answer. His lips bared back and he allowed his unnaturally sharp teeth to present themselves before hiding them once more.

"I see..." The suspicion hadn't left Mark's voice. If anything, it was amplified. "Do you have a phone number... brother?"

A phone call wouldn't suffice. Zeke shook his head and leaned in. "He needs to meet me. If it'll make him feel more comfortable, he can wait until dusk. Then I want to see him on the bridge by the River Dunne. All I want to do is talk." Mark considered and was about to continue their conversation but Zeke abruptly stood from his chair and walked out. There was nothing more that needed to be said. He was sure Mark would deliver the message and even more sure that Vance's curiosity would get the best of him. As he left the office and started down the sidewalk again, he heard a monstrous growl. He looked down at his stomach. It was clearly trying to tell him something.

Shinobu's Adventure Map

In terms of posting speed, you can expect anywhere from several posts a week to one per month.

So you're saying you work for a cable company...

The Red Hoods: Accepting Applications

The Red Hoods: Rebirth is open once again for applications.

In short, this is the 2nd RP is a series that hovers around fantasy/horror. Whereas the first installment has a medieval setting, this one is set in modern times.

Vampires, werewolves, fairies, demons... These aren't fantastical monsters. These are your neighbors. Welcome to the city of Duncaster, fabled home of the now defunct Red Hoods. Centuries ago, the Red Hoods were sanctioned monster hunters whose ranks were composed of humans and devilish creatures alike, ready to take on the darkness at a moment's notice and led by the great Blanchette Rouge, the original Red Riding Hood of legend.

The Red Hoods: Initiates and the medieval iteration ended with a fight against a powerful mage, Samael, with necromantic abilities who raised an army of the undead. As the Red Hoods and, indeed, all the forces the lands could muster, attacked the horde of zombies the tide was slowly beginning to turn in their favor. Once the Red Hoods had Samael cornered, the despicable sorcerer opened a portal in time and escaped into the future. Seizing the opportunity to continue their pursuit, some of the Red Hoods jumped in after him.

That brings us to The Red Hoods: Rebirth. The Red Hoods, as an organization, is historically recognized but practically disbanded. The portal opens up and Samael is now loose in the city in this new modern world. The Red Hoods of old, too, find themselves the proverbial fish out of water as they land into a new version of Duncaster with cars, electricity and automatic weapons.

A Unity Celebration commemorating the memory of the Red Hoods is currently underway and several people, including the Hoods Out Of Time, are drawn to the congregation. Meanwhile the seedy underworld of Duncaster has an agenda of its own.

Do you have what it takes to answer the call? Can you don the hood and stare down the Devil?

Applications are open for a limited time and there really aren't many spots to fill, so make haste and let's go kick some monster ass!

roleplayerguild.com/topics/179780-the…
@c3p-0h@MsMorningstar@NorthernKraken

The Red Hoods: Rebirth

Thank you for your submission. I will be discussing it with the team and giving you a verdict later today!

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

@Lightning Fast

Shimon
+
Dante

Shimon entered the room known as the Board, where various mutants chatted amongst themselves about their past, present and future contracts. Silvermist mutants, in exchange for room, board and legal protection, were expected to contribute to the wellbeing of Western and Central Europe by answering calls for aid. While not the only one of its kind, Silvermist Academy was the largest mutant-oriented institution that Shimon knew of. Which meant the largest mutant organization in the world was essentially a mercenary company. Shimon wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Granted, not all the work they did was of a violent sort. Shimon himself rarely went on combat missions, as his brutish style tended to frighten people he was trying to help. Besides, his more impressive and useful powers were the ones which aided in the growth of vegetation. Shimon had solved a number of minor famines single-handedly, and frankly, starving peasants didn’t much care where their food came from so long as their bellies were full. He silently sorted through the papers, looking for a job that suited him.

Dante’s footsteps echoed through the vast halls. Each step reflected his own heartbeat as he tried to focus. One foot after the next. Look down. Don’t draw attention. Be normal. His breathing began to get short and his steps much faster. The air seemed dense, shrinking around him. An internal pressure seemed to close it’s hands around his throat, squeezing with a gradual force that he couldn’t shake. As students passed, he tried to hide his struggle, turning his shoulder outward, cowering behind his own silhouette. Each wheeze was more effort, more panic. His eyes were hot and yet they were drowning in his own puddled tears. He finally turned the first corner available to him and gasped out an audible breath that sounded like it had fought a years long war just to exist.

He focused on his feet, on the ground, on relative quiet. He breathed. He willed it. Slowly he found his breathe and his muscles began to unclench. A sort of soothing overwhelmed his body as oxygen made its way back through his system. Through blurred vision, he looked around. His eyes fell on the only movement he immediately noticed.

“Sorry…” he began, his gasps lessening with each passing second. “Any, uh… Any good… huh… leads?” The water in his eyes began to evenly distribute and the person before him slowly came into focus.

The green giant looked down at this more ordinary-looking man, a new arrival who’d come into the Board looking rather shaken. He was tall, to be sure, although still dwarfed by the plant mutant. The man seemed to be breathing heavily, which did concern Shimon. “... You okay? You look as if you’ve seen something even scarier than me,” he joked, his suppressed accent shining through, “Or is it the big green guy freaking you out?”

“Meh,” Dante grunted with a wave of his hand, attempting to dismiss any questions about the matter. You’d think such a fantastical sight would send any man screaming. Whether or a curse of a blessing, Dante had seen this sort of thing for years now. Despite that, he still managed to silently revel at his schoolmate’s size and composure. “It’s nothing,” he finally declared. “Happens sometimes. What’s on the docket?” His last question sounded more like an order, his tone becoming authoritative, determined to change the subject.

As he looked at his peer, he began the inevitable process of sizing him up. Everyone here could do something and that could do it more spectacularly than anyone else on the planet. As Dante took in the visual clues, it was not hard to imagine the nature of this person’s assets, for this person’s assets was, largely, nature.

Shimon glanced down at Dante, fully turning around to face him even as he shuffled through the papers. “I mostly deal with famine-related fieldwork. When I do fieldwork at all, that is. Plants, crops...” Shimon paused, smirking, “You might be able to guess, that’s sort of my thing. Yourself?”

“I do a different sort of thing,” he answered matter of factly while shuffling over to the contract offerings. He didn’t look up or even extend a welcoming hand. As he glanced through the text he just simply said aloud, “Dante. You?”

“Sh-... Simon,” Shimon replied, “Simon. I think I’ve seen you around once or twice, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” The hulking creature gestured towards a set of tables where some of the other students were discussing contracts of their own. He carefully sat down in one of the metal chairs (taking care not to break it) and placed his stack of parchment and paper on the table. “More dangerous contracts, then? Real fighty stuff?”

“Hmph,” Dante huffed in return as he continued scanning the material as he sat. “I’ll do what I can,” he said finally. In the back of his mind snapshots of past horrors flickered on and off. With a clenched brow, he pushed those images aside and focused on the present. “You could probably do well with the… fighty stuff,” he offered. “You’re no shrimp and there’s a lot more money, most of the time.” All the while, there was nothing he was reading that piqued his interest. Nothing that said Yes, this is it!. His thin line of a mouth slowly formed into a frown of disappointment.

Shimon rolled his eyes, though he seemed more amused than frustrated. “Money for clothes I can’t wear, food I don’t eat, and furniture I can’t use. I think I’m going to stick vit’ the safer jobs. And besides,” he continued, setting his papers down, “They tend not to send me out on those missions unless there’s othe’ mutants to fight. No point in frightening a bunch of peasants into thinking a giant is attacking their town over some petty thieves. I know torches and pitchforks are cliche, but, velllll...” he gestured to the thick moss covering his chest, then motioned sticking himself with a sharp object, “They also happen to be two of my least favourite things. If ‘dey vant some crook dead, someone a little more subtle ought to handle it.” As the green gentleman became more comfortable speaking with Dante, his accent appeared to show more and more. Speaking English was hard enough; Shimon wasn’t going to bother pretending to be a local if he didn’t have to. “I just want to get out of this place every now and then, help a few people in the process. I get that some contracts need some blunt force behind them, but uh...” he gestures to himself, “Most... ehhhhhn... they do not need this much.”

For a moment, Dante forgot himself and couldn’t help but chuckle. Simon’s logic was charmingly flawless. He envied and admired his outlook but became somber once more at the notion that such an outlook was out of his grasp.

“You do what you’ve got to do,” he said finally, his voice trailing toward the end. His mind was too scattered. He set aside the contracts and looked toward the nearly empty hallway. In a tranced gaze, he surveyed the distant floor ahead, his eyes glossing over. Sleepiness was beginning to take hold. “Well…” he drolled. “Simon. Good to meet you.” His expression remained blank as he stared one thousand yards away. “I ought to be… going.” The words struggled to make their way out as the young man was running out of steam. The stress was taxing. Off doing the will of a madman, trying to keep everything underwraps, pretending to act like everything was fine. The void of slumber was beginning to call in response and Dante was finding it increasingly difficult to avoid it. “We should get fighty with something, sometime,” he said finally.

Shimon frowned and nodded. “I think... maybe you are someone who has done a bit too much fighting as of late.” Holding up a finger-analogue with one hand, Shimon held out his other hand flat as a series of white flowers began to sprout from it. Leaves and petals formed before Dante’s eyes, undergoing weeks of growth in mere seconds. “An Egyptian plant, called chamomile. Grind up these leaves, place them in boiling water, drink the resulting broth. It will help you sleep. You look like you may need it.”

Dante looked to the earthly mutant initially with suspicion. Many other students had an unhealthy appetite for competition and then here was this man in a tree’s skin offering him aid… for nothing. Hesitantly, Dante reached for the herbs and plucked them, quickly looking up to gauge Simon’s reaction, silently hoping that he didn’t inflict any pain. Satisfied, he stashed the plants in one of his pockets and gave a nod of respect to his new acquaintance.

“That’s good of you,” he offered. He sized the mutant up once more, still trying to accept his vast size. “And you’re sure you’re not into fighting?” The pitch in his voice continued to escalate in disbelief. “Well, thanks in any case.”

“Only for the right cause,” Shimon replied, smiling as warmly as someone with a moss-covered face could, “You are very velcome, khaver.” And with that, he returned to looking at the contracts, muttering to himself in some combination of foreign languages.

With a wave that reflected less enthusiasm than his actual appreciation, Dante started back on his journey toward his sacred temple of solitude; his chambers. Well there you do, he thought. This year’s off to a different start…

The Red Hoods: Accepting Applications

The Red Hoods: Rebirth is open once again for applications.

In short, this is the 2nd RP is a series that hovers around fantasy/horror. Whereas the first installment has a medieval setting, this one is set in modern times.

Vampires, werewolves, fairies, demons... These aren't fantastical monsters. These are your neighbors. Welcome to the city of Duncaster, fabled home of the now defunct Red Hoods. Centuries ago, the Red Hoods were sanctioned monster hunters whose ranks were composed of humans and devilish creatures alike, ready to take on the darkness at a moment's notice and led by the great Blanchette Rouge, the original Red Riding Hood of legend.

The Red Hoods: Initiates and the medieval iteration ended with a fight against a powerful mage, Samael, with necromantic abilities who raised an army of the undead. As the Red Hoods and, indeed, all the forces the lands could muster, attacked the horde of zombies the tide was slowly beginning to turn in their favor. Once the Red Hoods had Samael cornered, the despicable sorcerer opened a portal in time and escaped into the future. Seizing the opportunity to continue their pursuit, some of the Red Hoods jumped in after him.

That brings us to The Red Hoods: Rebirth. The Red Hoods, as an organization, is historically recognized but practically disbanded. The portal opens up and Samael is now loose in the city in this new modern world. The Red Hoods of old, too, find themselves the proverbial fish out of water as they land into a new version of Duncaster with cars, electricity and automatic weapons.

A Unity Celebration commemorating the memory of the Red Hoods is currently underway and several people, including the Hoods Out Of Time, are drawn to the congregation. Meanwhile the seedy underworld of Duncaster has an agenda of its own.

Do you have what it takes to answer the call? Can you don the hood and stare down the Devil?

Applications are open for a limited time and there really aren't many spots to fill, so make haste and let's go kick some monster ass!

roleplayerguild.com/topics/179780-the…
@c3p-0h@MsMorningstar@NorthernKraken

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

Mentions: None | Theme: God's Gonna Cut You Down (Manson Cover)
Location: Langston Forge > Silvermist Academy

"It doesn't have to go this way, Tomas," Benedict warned, his voice ending with an upward inflection. The rotund young man stood just a bit taller than your average man, but he was significantly greater in terms of girth. There was barely evidence of hair atop his head as he liked to leave it close cropped and clean. His eyebrows, however, gave away his hair's nearly midnight black color. His face was as smooth as a baby's and his garb was ornate, vibrant and clean. The quality of his clothing was a testament to his financial status and the vast riches afforded to him by his particular line of work. "Give us what you owe, old man. We've kept this shit hole protected for nearly a year now. We've fulfilled our end of the bargain. When's the last time you've had to deal with any ruffians or hoodlums?"

"Before now, you mean?" Tomas was curiously brave for a relatively poor blacksmith that currently found himself restrained to a metal chair of his own creation, the dry ropes digging into his anchored wrists and ankles. Coby, Benedict's younger and a bit more visually appealing brother couldn't contain the huff of laughter that escaped his lips at the audacity of the tied up man before him. Sharing his brother's sense of fashion and grooming, the two of them looked like a comparison of the same man, one before eating three massive turkeys in a row and one afterward.

Benedict's face went sour. If facetiousness was the emotion dominating this man's mind, then Ben wasn't making progress. Tomas lacked fear. Ben would need to correct that. Being the underground prince to Robert The Barber, the elder son often just assumed he would inherit his father's infamous reputation. Every now and then something happened that reminded him that he would have to earn it. Baring his teeth and snarling, Benedict's arm raised up before introducing the back of his hand to the side of Tomas' face with a hard slap that induced a blink from everyone looking on.

"Have you forgotten who the fuck I am?!" Benedict shouted almost directly into the man's ear, spit spraying into his canal. Tomas, his face already beginning to show signs of bruising, winced at the acoustic assault. Without waiting for an answer, Benedict let his fist fly into the bridge of the man's nose, ending its journey with the sound of a sickening crack.

"He's gonna kill him..." Coby whispered to Dante, quiet enough that Benedict didn't notice. Dante, dressed starkly different than his two cousins, grunted out an affirmation. Wrapped in clothing with a dark, earthy tone, Dante looked more like a common man than any sort of criminal royalty. Despite his uncle by marriage being the notorious Robert the Barber, Dante's father insisted on being humble and blending in. When your job is to protect a man who everyone wants to see dead, then being able to become a shadow is invaluable, he had explained to his son many years ago.

If you ever got the opportunity to meet Luthor Stagnum, you'd likely laugh at his words. His body defied expectation. As you looked upon him, you would see a husky man in his twilight years. Were you to give him a poke, however, you'd quickly discover that the meat under his flesh was rock solid and that this bear of a man was still capable of breaking bones with ease. He was hardly someone you'd ever expect to be able to hide in shadow. As Robert and Luthor's hair went from dark to gray, they knew it was high time to start training up their predecessors; their sons. To that end, Benedict had become much more involved in the family business during his teenage years whereas Dante was being groomed as his enforcer.

"L-look, it's not that I don't want to pay, it's that I can't. I just don't have... I mean, business just isn't..." Tomas' defiant attitude appeared to have suddenly vanished, replaced with yellow, sniveling pleas. A quick glance at Benedict revealed his obvious satisfaction with the change in Tomas' tone.

"I don't want to hear it, you steaming pile! If you want to do this on your own, that's fine by me. You fend off the hard folk. You keep the perverts and rapists away from your family. Go ahead! See how long you last without The Barber," Benedict dared. He then pointed at Dante who stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he spectated. "You see him? You know who he is? What he can do? Who's going to keep the freaks away from you without The Barber's Blade?" Benedict then gave Dante a nod, a silent order that demanded a demonstration. Dante complied.

The young mutant whipped his arm out as if he were about to throw a flying disc that didn't actually exist. Once the arm straightened, it elongated out of his sleeve. His joints and bones cracked while his musculature slurped as it's form quickly and nearly instantly changed. Suddenly, where once there was a wrist and hand now existed an organic sword that extended out of Dante's sleeve to a tip that rested just under Tomas' chin. Benedict grinned malevolently at the display while Coby scrunched his nose in disgust. Tomas appeared to share the disturbed young man's sentiments as his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell agape.

"I'm telling the truth!" the man shouted in a panic. "I just, I don't have the money right now... I-"

"I call horse shit!" Benedict fired back. "You're a smithy for crying out loud! There has to be something around here worth our time." Ben then moved his attention to his own surroundings within the workshop, his brow beading with sweat from the heat of the forge. Nothing immediately stood out. There was a lot of iron tools, but if Robert wanted to keep siphoning this well, it would be foolish to take the man's ability to generate coin. Once his cousin had distracted himself with the scavenger hunt, Dante retracted his organic blade, reassembling his veiny hand to it's previous state. His face was stone. He took no pleasure in these sort of errands, nor this side of the business in general. Stealing is one thing. Intimidating, torturing, killing, threatening... that part continued to make him uncomfortable no matter how much exposure he had to it. Benedict's frustration rose exponentially with each passing second that he couldn't find a suitable tribute. There was no way he could go back to his father empty handed with nothing to show for the effort. That's when his eyes fell on the blazing forge itself. A devious, sickening thought crossed his mind and the monster of a young man embraced it whole heartedly. On his way to the flames, moving to Tomas' backside, Benedict picked up a dirty towel from a work bench and grabbed an iron poker by the handle before shoving the pointed tip into the inferno, holding it there as the heat became acquainted with the metal.

"I'll tell you what," he began slyly, speaking to the back of Tomas' head. "I'll exercise a little compassion. Business has been rough. I get it. Do you think you could have what you owe to us by tomorrow?" His voice had gone from sharp as glass to smooth as silk in mere seconds. Coby and Dante looked on, knowing what was coming next. Poor Tomas, though... he had no idea.

"Abso- Yes! Yes, I absolutely will. That's all I really need. Just another day and I'm sure things will pick up!" The sincere relief in his words made Dante's stomach turn. Coby appeared to be suffering from affects even more severe as his hand nervously began to elevate to his mouth, covering it up as he watched.

"Not a problem, Tomas," Ben assured him. "I just want to make sure you don't forget," he explained calmly.

"Oh, no. No, sir, I most certainly won't ever forget."

"That's good. It really is." Slowly Benedict turned the poker in the flame, the black iron now glowing red hot. "All the same, though, I would really prefer to leave you with a surefire reminder. Dante. Hold his head and open his mouth." Coby and Tomas both immediately looked to Dante as if he were a haunting specter. The intense and utter fear projecting from them both ironically steeled Dante's reserve. If Dante refused, it was obvious now that Coby would not acquiesce in his stead, which would just lead to more problems for the both of them later on. The Barber was not a fan of insubordination. And so, Dante obliged. Moving behind their captives' chair, he took a good grip of his forehead and chin and moved them apart from one another, displaying Tomas' pearly yellows and flailing tongue as the man moaned out in panic.

"I'm going to be sick," Coby announced, the once rosy color of his cheeks now looking like porcelain and perhaps even a shade of green. Quickly and dramatically, the youngest cousin fled the scene, stopping just outside where their trio of horses were hitched as he leaned over, staring at his own feet, gagging at the thought of what was about to happen in there.

Benedict made his way to the front of Tomas, pointing the business end of the hot poker just a finger's length away from the forced opening of his mouth. The hairs in Tomas' nose began to curl at the heat emanating from the red hod rod. "Ha, I bet you don't forget for a loooong time," Benedict declared with a maniacal laugh. And then, he shoved the rod forward.

The sounds that escaped that workshop were not ones that Coby had ever heard in his sixteen years. Immediately his breakfast forced itself up his esophagus and made its new home in the snow below. Shortly after, Dante and Benedict emerged, the two of them strolling to the horses as well before stopping to witness Coby's shame.

"Methinks you should exchange your tunic for a dress, Coby," Benedict stated harshly. "I can't believe you're my brother. Mother must've slept around. Perhaps she cheated on father with a shit collector and now here we are with you years later." He spit toward his sibling before looking to Dante. "You should have been my brother, Dante. You were unflinching. A real man. One who will serve at my side and help me rule these peasants, aye?" Dante forced a smirk while a dirty look from Coby did not escape his peripheral vision. "Until then, 'O Barber's Blade, I suppose it's off with you back to the 'Mist. You keep sharpening that mind and those arms. I need my Second at the top of his game." Looking at Benedict's smile, you never would have guessed he had just, moments before, mutilated a man beyond repair. There was always something terrifyingly sinister behind his eyes, no matter what emotion the rest of his face telegraphed.

"Right," Dante said finally before mounting his steed. Without so much as a proper farewell or even a wave, Dante rhythmically bounced upon the horses back as the snow gave way under the its feet, sounding like a sort of unique drumline as they continued on the trail back toward home.

Dante soon would have to slip back into the grounds as quickly and quietly as possible. He liked to keep this part of his life locked away. For the past six years, he had done a relatively good job at keeping it under wraps. As he and his cousin were preparing to replace the previous generation in this twisted family business, he knew it was only a matter of time before word got out of his darker deeds.

He would deal with that day when it came. For now, all he wanted was to be along in his room in his bed thinking of literally anything else other than what had just transpired.

The Red Hoods: Accepting Applications

The Red Hoods: Rebirth is open once again for applications.

In short, this is the 2nd RP is a series that hovers around fantasy/horror. Whereas the first installment has a medieval setting, this one is set in modern times.

Vampires, werewolves, fairies, demons... These aren't fantastical monsters. These are your neighbors. Welcome to the city of Duncaster, fabled home of the now defunct Red Hoods. Centuries ago, the Red Hoods were sanctioned monster hunters whose ranks were composed of humans and devilish creatures alike, ready to take on the darkness at a moment's notice and led by the great Blanchette Rouge, the original Red Riding Hood of legend.

The Red Hoods: Initiates and the medieval iteration ended with a fight against a powerful mage, Samael, with necromantic abilities who raised an army of the undead. As the Red Hoods and, indeed, all the forces the lands could muster, attacked the horde of zombies the tide was slowly beginning to turn in their favor. Once the Red Hoods had Samael cornered, the despicable sorcerer opened a portal in time and escaped into the future. Seizing the opportunity to continue their pursuit, some of the Red Hoods jumped in after him.

That brings us to The Red Hoods: Rebirth. The Red Hoods, as an organization, is historically recognized but practically disbanded. The portal opens up and Samael is now loose in the city in this new modern world. The Red Hoods of old, too, find themselves the proverbial fish out of water as they land into a new version of Duncaster with cars, electricity and automatic weapons.

A Unity Celebration commemorating the memory of the Red Hoods is currently underway and several people, including the Hoods Out Of Time, are drawn to the congregation. Meanwhile the seedy underworld of Duncaster has an agenda of its own.

Do you have what it takes to answer the call? Can you don the hood and stare down the Devil?

Applications are open for a limited time and there really aren't many spots to fill, so make haste and let's go kick some monster ass!

roleplayerguild.com/topics/179780-the…
@c3p-0h@MsMorningstar@NorthernKraken

The Red Hoods: Accepting Applications

Bump!

⚫ The Fates' School for Gifted Monsters ⚫

Changed my dude's name to Dante Stagnum