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Most Recent Posts
<Snipped quote by ComradeMaxx>
Okay cool. In that case I'll say I'm in for the crisis as long as it can affect me out in space and I don't have to get the team to Earth.
Unfortunately we've tailored this first Crisis in such a way that we can't really extend it to that sort of scope. A certain part of the fallout may be felt by the Guardians, though, depending on a lot of different factors that verge into spoiler territory. Once the cat is out of the bag we'll be able to discuss that connection, in-depth, though!
@HenryJonesJr
Here's Wraith's announcement from last Sunday I'm definitely not behind on writing that Crisis post, though- damn you employment
With the coming end of the season we're doing awards, too. Though I'll note here that the end of the season will not necessarily mean you have to be finished with your current story arc, either. There won't be any gamewide time-skip or anything like that, and the season's end will not be marked by a change of thread like it was in UOU. It'll be more of a milestone for the RP and an easy jumping on point for any new applicants who want to come in for the next season
Here's Wraith's announcement from last Sunday I'm definitely not behind on writing that Crisis post, though- damn you employment
The Crisis will be launching this week. We're still taking a head count for those who are interested in participating. We're trying to make it as accessible as possible for everyone who wants to participate but in the event that you aren't able to, there will be others in future seasons. We're really looking forward to wrapping up this Season and giving it a proper send off so be on the lookout for that.
With the coming end of the season we're doing awards, too. Though I'll note here that the end of the season will not necessarily mean you have to be finished with your current story arc, either. There won't be any gamewide time-skip or anything like that, and the season's end will not be marked by a change of thread like it was in UOU. It'll be more of a milestone for the RP and an easy jumping on point for any new applicants who want to come in for the next season
We can handle the formatting, by the by. Just send us the raw information, probably in a paragraph or less, and we'll go from there.
Paging @HenryJonesJr, @Iceheart and @Xandrya as those we haven't heard from yet via other channels
EDIT: Damn you, Wraith
EDIT: Damn you, Wraith
Putting together a roll call for everyone looking to participate in the Crisis. If you wanna get involved, speak up, because things should be kicking off soon! The earliest we're looking at is sometime this week.
THE BOOK OF FATE
Issue #3: ARBITRATION CLAUSE
Viceroy City Police Department ♦ Viceroy City, South Carolina
Mitch's mouth had been dry for a good two hours, yet none of these kind officers had bothered to get him a drink.
It wasn't as if he hadn't bothered to ask, either. Quite the opposite, in fact, as the detectives that had been interviewing him could attest to: Mitchell Shelly had been asking for a cup for water since they had his ass dragged into the station. Wasn't the only thing he was telling them, either. He kept going on and on about how he was a 'superhero' and this entire thing was just a big misunderstanding. Cape Imposter Syndrome was a tale as old as time the world over, but Viceroy had seen a significant uptick in crazies since the town started to swirl down the shitter.
"I could really use that drink." He muttered again, his lips hidden behind the thick curtain of blond locks that Mitch called 'hair.' His head was angled down, giving him a view of his torn-up work boots and equally worn blue jeans.
It'd been a long day for Shelly, better known in Viceroy City- and beyond- as the Resurrection Man. He'd lost count of how many times he'd died this time 'round. Too many to remember, 'specially when his brain was splattered on the concrete half of those times. Difficult to recall things when the thing holding one's memories is busy looking like somebody dropped ground beef all over the street.
"Shut your fucking gob about it already. Tt ain't happening." The detective across from him snarled.
Mitch had to admit, for how obnoxious this guy was, he at least kept to character. He hadn't once dropped the 'grizzled old cop' act in all the time they'd known each other- it wasn't much more than a hundred and twenty minutes, but still! It was a thing to be lauded, if nothing else.
"You've been playin' coy with us for two god damn hours. Two. But we need answers, n' we need 'em now. And you're gonna give 'em if you ever wanna see the light of day again. Why'd you kill those people?"
"You're sneaking in the conclusion, detective," Mitch waggled a finger in his direction, "'cause I didn't kill anyone."
"Bullshit!" He snapped, slamming his palm against the table. "We found you with over thirty bodies!"
"And I was among the victims!"
"There wasn't a scratch on you, but you should be fuckin dead."
"Because I'm-"
"-Resurrection Man," he screamed over Mitch's tired point. "You told us the first two hundred and eleven fucking times!"
"I told you, I can prove it!" Shelly protested.
"We aren't going to shoot you, you crazy bastard!"
Both parties let out an exhausted sigh, the cop practically leaping out of his chair. They weren't getting anywhere with this, yet it was the only lead they had. There wasn't an ounce of evidence that anyone else had been at the scene, and this 'Resurrection Man' literally had the murder sitting a few feet from him when they arrived. The VCPD officer wasn't sure what the perp had been trying to pull by putting himself in a bloody shirt and laying among the dead, but they hadn't found even an iota of damage to his body; he had to be their guy. Wasn't any other option.
"I need to take a leak. Take this opportunity to decide how you'll be decoratin' the concrete cell you'll be spending the rest of your life in." The frustrated officer waddled out of the room like a child that got the wrong happy meal, slamming the door shut behind him.
Or he tried to, at least, until a hand shot between the door and it's frame at the last second.
Two men who didn't look at all like police officers slipped their way into the room, completely ignored by the detective they walked past. Mitchell made eye contact with each of them, more than a little confused by their presence. "You lawyers?"
"Strictly speakin', no." Jim Corrigan took the lead, sauntering forward and plopping down in the detective's former seat like a man without a trouble in the world. He whipped a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, struggling to pick one out with his shaking fingers. "But we did get your call."
Mitchell shifted in his chair, his eyes dashing between the two strange strangers. "Uhh...I didn't get a phone call."
The man in green started patting down his other pockets in search of his lighter, talking over the stick jammed between his teeth. "Not that kinda call. Y'know-" Jim placed his palms together and bowed his head slightly, glancing up at Shelly to see the recognition dawn on his face.
"You guys are angels?" He asked, somewhere between awe and disbelief.
"Just call me Michael. My friend here is Gabriel." Corrigan motioned to the old man still standing near the door. "You, uh, you got a lighter? Must'a left mine back at the pearly gates-"
"-Leave the poor man be, Corrigan." The other man finally spoke up, seeming to break out of whatever trance had kept him hovering passively near the entrance.
His appearance surprised Mitch. His shoulders were hunched and his body thin, almost frail; the brown suit he wore was cheaply made and ill-fitted his tiny frame. His hairline had retreated a little too far up his head for comfort and the grayed locks that remained were slick with sweat. It wasn't what Shelly expected the famed biblical messenger to look like in the slightest- he so was...underwhelming.
Kent didn't acknowledge Mitchell's gaze as he leaned over the table to light Jim Corrigan's cigarette with just a snap of his fingers. Once that was finished and the vessel for the Wrath of God had given his nod of thanks, Nelson began to settle down into a chair that hadn't been there a second before. It's appearance was so sudden that Shelly thought he'd just missed seeing it before, despite the fact that he'd been sitting in that God forsaken room for two hours and he was sure there'd only been two chairs in there.
"So, uh, if ya'll aren't angels then...what are ya?" Shelly asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Nelson furrowed his brow and looked to Corrigan, confused. "I thought you said you two had met previously?"
"Naw," Jim shook his head. "Not me. He's been brained, splattered and chewed up by other Spectres, jus' not me. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mitchy ol' boy!"
Mitch let out a panicked scream. He attempted to retreat away from the table only to find himself jerked back to it by the binds on his hands and feet. "Why the hell is a Spectre here?!"
"Well he's in a mood, in't he?" Corrigan puffed air out of his nostrils.
"We had a deal, man! I haven't done jack shit!"
"You called us, asshat."
"Enough, both of you." Kent snapped. Mitch's screaming had given him one hell of a headache, and Corrigan's incessant need to antagonize and provoke for his own jollies was rapidly getting on Nelson's nerves. "Sit back down. He won't hurt you." He promised, tapping his fingers against the table. "Right, Corrigan?"
The Spectre just shrugged. "Couldn't if I wanted to. Contract's bindin', pal. Big Guy doesn't break covenants, it's sorta his shtick."
Hesitant at first, Mitch eventually rejoined them, though he was considerably jumpier than when they'd first arrived. The three sat in relative silence for a few moments. Corrigan was staring at Shelly with ravenous eyes and Mitch looked ready to make another break for it if Jim so much as coughed wrong. And Kent had the pleasure of sitting between them.
"Shelly." Nelson spoke quietly, drawing Mitch's eyes away from Corrigan and toward him. "Why did you need help? Why did you call for us?"
"I..." His voice caught in his throat. "I don't know what it was, but something...attacked a crowd, here, in the city. I tried to stop it, but it- it was like nothin' I've ever fought before. And I've fought some gnarly shit in my day. Don't know how many times I went at it, my..uh...my memory isn't so good after a couple of deaths. But I remember it hitting like a truck. And everything was- well, everything was on fire."
"Is that what the detective was interviewing you about?" Nelson quietly asked.
Mitch nodded. "I didn't know who else to call. If I could handle it myself, I would, but I just- can't."
Kent gave a side ways glance toward his partner. The Spectre alone was powerful enough to tango with whatever monstrosity from beyond the veil that Mitch had ran into. Nelson likely wouldn't even have to don the Helmet if everything went according to plan. "You did your best, Shelly, that's all those people could've asked for. We'll help you, but we need to know where we're going."
The immortal vigilante's eyes lit up like Christmas trees. "A, uh, Walmart not too far from here. Just a few blocks."
Jim let out a snort. "Guess we're goin' 'ta go fight a demon in Walmart now. Sounds like my average Tuesday night."
It wasn't as if he hadn't bothered to ask, either. Quite the opposite, in fact, as the detectives that had been interviewing him could attest to: Mitchell Shelly had been asking for a cup for water since they had his ass dragged into the station. Wasn't the only thing he was telling them, either. He kept going on and on about how he was a 'superhero' and this entire thing was just a big misunderstanding. Cape Imposter Syndrome was a tale as old as time the world over, but Viceroy had seen a significant uptick in crazies since the town started to swirl down the shitter.
"I could really use that drink." He muttered again, his lips hidden behind the thick curtain of blond locks that Mitch called 'hair.' His head was angled down, giving him a view of his torn-up work boots and equally worn blue jeans.
It'd been a long day for Shelly, better known in Viceroy City- and beyond- as the Resurrection Man. He'd lost count of how many times he'd died this time 'round. Too many to remember, 'specially when his brain was splattered on the concrete half of those times. Difficult to recall things when the thing holding one's memories is busy looking like somebody dropped ground beef all over the street.
"Shut your fucking gob about it already. Tt ain't happening." The detective across from him snarled.
Mitch had to admit, for how obnoxious this guy was, he at least kept to character. He hadn't once dropped the 'grizzled old cop' act in all the time they'd known each other- it wasn't much more than a hundred and twenty minutes, but still! It was a thing to be lauded, if nothing else.
"You've been playin' coy with us for two god damn hours. Two. But we need answers, n' we need 'em now. And you're gonna give 'em if you ever wanna see the light of day again. Why'd you kill those people?"
"You're sneaking in the conclusion, detective," Mitch waggled a finger in his direction, "'cause I didn't kill anyone."
"Bullshit!" He snapped, slamming his palm against the table. "We found you with over thirty bodies!"
"And I was among the victims!"
"There wasn't a scratch on you, but you should be fuckin dead."
"Because I'm-"
"-Resurrection Man," he screamed over Mitch's tired point. "You told us the first two hundred and eleven fucking times!"
"I told you, I can prove it!" Shelly protested.
"We aren't going to shoot you, you crazy bastard!"
Both parties let out an exhausted sigh, the cop practically leaping out of his chair. They weren't getting anywhere with this, yet it was the only lead they had. There wasn't an ounce of evidence that anyone else had been at the scene, and this 'Resurrection Man' literally had the murder sitting a few feet from him when they arrived. The VCPD officer wasn't sure what the perp had been trying to pull by putting himself in a bloody shirt and laying among the dead, but they hadn't found even an iota of damage to his body; he had to be their guy. Wasn't any other option.
"I need to take a leak. Take this opportunity to decide how you'll be decoratin' the concrete cell you'll be spending the rest of your life in." The frustrated officer waddled out of the room like a child that got the wrong happy meal, slamming the door shut behind him.
Or he tried to, at least, until a hand shot between the door and it's frame at the last second.
Two men who didn't look at all like police officers slipped their way into the room, completely ignored by the detective they walked past. Mitchell made eye contact with each of them, more than a little confused by their presence. "You lawyers?"
"Strictly speakin', no." Jim Corrigan took the lead, sauntering forward and plopping down in the detective's former seat like a man without a trouble in the world. He whipped a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, struggling to pick one out with his shaking fingers. "But we did get your call."
Mitchell shifted in his chair, his eyes dashing between the two strange strangers. "Uhh...I didn't get a phone call."
The man in green started patting down his other pockets in search of his lighter, talking over the stick jammed between his teeth. "Not that kinda call. Y'know-" Jim placed his palms together and bowed his head slightly, glancing up at Shelly to see the recognition dawn on his face.
"You guys are angels?" He asked, somewhere between awe and disbelief.
"Just call me Michael. My friend here is Gabriel." Corrigan motioned to the old man still standing near the door. "You, uh, you got a lighter? Must'a left mine back at the pearly gates-"
"-Leave the poor man be, Corrigan." The other man finally spoke up, seeming to break out of whatever trance had kept him hovering passively near the entrance.
His appearance surprised Mitch. His shoulders were hunched and his body thin, almost frail; the brown suit he wore was cheaply made and ill-fitted his tiny frame. His hairline had retreated a little too far up his head for comfort and the grayed locks that remained were slick with sweat. It wasn't what Shelly expected the famed biblical messenger to look like in the slightest- he so was...underwhelming.
Kent didn't acknowledge Mitchell's gaze as he leaned over the table to light Jim Corrigan's cigarette with just a snap of his fingers. Once that was finished and the vessel for the Wrath of God had given his nod of thanks, Nelson began to settle down into a chair that hadn't been there a second before. It's appearance was so sudden that Shelly thought he'd just missed seeing it before, despite the fact that he'd been sitting in that God forsaken room for two hours and he was sure there'd only been two chairs in there.
"So, uh, if ya'll aren't angels then...what are ya?" Shelly asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Nelson furrowed his brow and looked to Corrigan, confused. "I thought you said you two had met previously?"
"Naw," Jim shook his head. "Not me. He's been brained, splattered and chewed up by other Spectres, jus' not me. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mitchy ol' boy!"
Mitch let out a panicked scream. He attempted to retreat away from the table only to find himself jerked back to it by the binds on his hands and feet. "Why the hell is a Spectre here?!"
"Well he's in a mood, in't he?" Corrigan puffed air out of his nostrils.
"We had a deal, man! I haven't done jack shit!"
"You called us, asshat."
"Enough, both of you." Kent snapped. Mitch's screaming had given him one hell of a headache, and Corrigan's incessant need to antagonize and provoke for his own jollies was rapidly getting on Nelson's nerves. "Sit back down. He won't hurt you." He promised, tapping his fingers against the table. "Right, Corrigan?"
The Spectre just shrugged. "Couldn't if I wanted to. Contract's bindin', pal. Big Guy doesn't break covenants, it's sorta his shtick."
Hesitant at first, Mitch eventually rejoined them, though he was considerably jumpier than when they'd first arrived. The three sat in relative silence for a few moments. Corrigan was staring at Shelly with ravenous eyes and Mitch looked ready to make another break for it if Jim so much as coughed wrong. And Kent had the pleasure of sitting between them.
"Shelly." Nelson spoke quietly, drawing Mitch's eyes away from Corrigan and toward him. "Why did you need help? Why did you call for us?"
"I..." His voice caught in his throat. "I don't know what it was, but something...attacked a crowd, here, in the city. I tried to stop it, but it- it was like nothin' I've ever fought before. And I've fought some gnarly shit in my day. Don't know how many times I went at it, my..uh...my memory isn't so good after a couple of deaths. But I remember it hitting like a truck. And everything was- well, everything was on fire."
"Is that what the detective was interviewing you about?" Nelson quietly asked.
Mitch nodded. "I didn't know who else to call. If I could handle it myself, I would, but I just- can't."
Kent gave a side ways glance toward his partner. The Spectre alone was powerful enough to tango with whatever monstrosity from beyond the veil that Mitch had ran into. Nelson likely wouldn't even have to don the Helmet if everything went according to plan. "You did your best, Shelly, that's all those people could've asked for. We'll help you, but we need to know where we're going."
The immortal vigilante's eyes lit up like Christmas trees. "A, uh, Walmart not too far from here. Just a few blocks."
Jim let out a snort. "Guess we're goin' 'ta go fight a demon in Walmart now. Sounds like my average Tuesday night."
:: the laughing worg tavern // thorinn ::
Graves slunk forward in his seat, his shoulders sunken with the weight of some unseen burden. Good posture wasn't something that had come naturally to him. He spent much of his time in real life sitting in front of a cash register at a shitty gas station for hours at a time- it was easy to develop bad habits during that time. His mother used to get onto him about it all the time. Somewhere along the way, though, she just stopped bothering.
It wasn't a problem Graves, the prickly mercenary, had. Graves was a confident warrior that walked with his chest out and head held high, like he didn't have anything in the world to fear.
Pulling his chair forward so he could rest the weight of his arms on the table, the slouching man turned his attention toward Tessa. She was always tinkering every time he saw her. Always chiseling away at some knickknack, doodad or trinket that she'd pawn off at the market for a couple of coins. Graves figured it was because she needed the money, but...the fervency and constancy of it made him question that.
So her stopping to speak demanded that he sit up (if only a little) and pay attention.
'You wanna exploit these people for money?' He thought, disgusted, his nose crinkling up in instant revulsion at the idea. She was so casual about it, as if making money off the back of genuine terror was the only logical thing to do. It was difficult for him to imagine that just a few days ago this same woman was having a panic attack at the idea of dying in one of those dungeons. And now she was talking about going back in- and for a reason like that?
"Sounds like a good way to die to me." He grunted, brushing off his immediate revulsion as self-preservation. "That last dungeon killed Vulcan n' it wasn't exactly s'posed to be top tier shit. Running anything right now is suicidal at best."
There had to be something they could do to keep occupied that wasn't throwing themselves into the lions den and hoping for the best. What, he wasn't sure- but Graves couldn't keep himself stuck up in some tavern drinking away his digital liver forever.
He was glad to see that Tessa was getting up, though; it gave him a decent excuse to head out after Rael. They'd lost too many party members already, and she was a little too useful to let wander off into the aether alone like that. Graves hoped they'd run into Tiff while they were out, too. He hadn't a clue where she'd gone off to. Taking up what meager belongings he had with him, he dropped a few coins on the table and made his way toward the door, hopefully with Tessa right on his tail.
They hadn't gotten too far at all before Graves spotted a scene in the middle of the road. Some chick knocked on her ass, probably by some asshole in a hurry, and some guy stopping to help her out. It wasn't as uncommon a thing to see in Post-Panic Thorinn- everybody here had lost any semblance of good manners. He was honestly surprised the entire place hadn't descended into total anarchy yet. "You see Red anywhere, Two Chains? She couldn'ta gotten far..."
Can't wait for more Raven, personally. Glad to know you're still around!
Don't be a dick.
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