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is sexualizing Pokemon a variation of bestiality?
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JOHN TABLE!
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Bio
Most Recent Posts
Osborn attended more funerals than he cared to count after the invasion. The first few for the likes of Thor and Captain America were tremendous occasions watched the world over as one would expect, but the hundreds- thousands, even- that came afterwards? They were sparse affairs, only covered by a local news station or two, and didn't have the attendance to fill a countryside church. The world didn't care what happened to the likes of Ant-Man, Daredevil, or Beast. They were just more names on the list of casualties. Soldiers in the war for humanity's survival to be honored on great, obsidian memorials, but nothing more. Norman went to as many as he could, knowing it was expected of him, but at a certain point the invitations were allowed to pile up, ignored.
There was one he'd actually wanted to attend. He was expecting it to be a small, local affair, given their minor renown. And it was true that most of the attendants were local. Nearly all fifteen thousand of them were citizens of New York City, come to mourn the loss of their most ardent and beloved protector. There was no burial service- the family wanted to keep his identity a secret, even in death- but Norman knew. He'd seen the boy on the morgue table with his own two eyes.
SHIELD, newly reorganized by resistance leadership, had coordinated the recovery of those replaced by Skrull infiltrators or captured during the invasion. Near all of them could be found either in internment camps in alien-occupied cities, or imprisoned aboard gargantuan penal barges in orbit over the planet. Osborn ordered rescue operations to begin the moment Veranke and the rest of the enemy's high command was dead, but it was already too late. The Skrulls did not take kindly to having their holy monarch executed, and chose to respond in kind.
When SHIELD agents boarded the barges they found nothing but piles of dead prisoners, their bodies still shackled in their cells, earth's mightiest heroes among them.
Osborn couldn't help but feel responsible for what happened to Peter Parker. To all of them. To say it haunted him was an understatement, but...
Never quite so literally.
Not oft a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, even Osborn couldn't help but look astonished to see Peter Parker standing alive, though not quite well, just feet away from him. He was older and world weary, a tired look about his countenance and a full beard sprouting from his jaw. The two locked eyes for the briefest moment, a lifetime of conversation passing between them without a word, before they and the rest of the gladiators were ushered forward by Major Domo.
This was an entirely different affair than what Osborn had grown used to. Prior to this moment he hadn't even been sure there were other prisoners here, forced to compete in these bloodsports for the entertainment of teeming, alien masses. And the first time he could confirm he wasn't alone came when he'd be forced to slaughter the rest of them. He felt his heart twist and burn with disgust, even as his mind began to work through the best way to go about it.
'I will not abandon my world. This place will not conquer me, no matter what twisted death games it throws at me.'
It was easy to tell himself that. He knew he couldn't hesitate. But the rational mind was rarely in sole control of the body.
After an exhausting and tedious repeat of his usual speech and receiving the instructions for the event, Domo showed them to the preparation room where their armaments were all stored. Osborn approached his Iron Patriot armor stored his the corner and began to strip down, as he usually did, though this time he kept one eye on the rest of the competition: studying them with quiet intent.
The child could be left till near the end, he wasn't a threat to worry over. Whatever power allowed him to survive the gauntlet so far must not have been invulnerability, or he wouldn't look so nervous.
That crystal armor the young woman draped herself in was either alien or supernatural in origin, making her far more dangerous than appearances would have one believe. Osborn would keep his distance and pick her apart from afar.
The alien was a wildcard, and likely the biggest threat present. She'd need to be dealt with quickly if he wanted a chance at surviving this.
And...Parker...They'd done this dance a thousand times. He would be the last to fall.
His heart racing and his blood growing cold, Osborn stepped into his armor. Its cold shell fell in place around his arms and his legs first. The suit was supremely heavy when in its low power state, but Domo and his lackies had placed some damnable restraint disc on his chestplate to keep him from fighting his way out. It functioned much like the restraint collars they all wore, he imagined.
The breastplate came next, brought up to cover the twin pair of scars decorating Norman's chest- reminders of the day he'd nearly been crucified on a stake of humble tin. It locked into place with a swish of air and the whining of its arc reactor as it slowly came to life. The sound was off from what Osborn was used it, marking it as just one of many reminders that this was but a poor facsimile of his creation.
Wrapped in bright, Star-Spangled colors and bearing a XM214 Microgun on its shoulder, Iron Patriot was as gaudy and eye catching as any suit of iron could be. Just underneath its intimidating weapon was its tail code, SI 08 014, written vertically and in bold, easily identified print. Just beneath that was the Oscorp logo, equally visible for all to see. The scars of battle peppered its damaged yet unconquered frame.
He took his helmet and held it in his hands. Its thick armor made it weighty and difficult to handle, but it kept him safe. Osborn had learned to appreciate that the first time he'd been shot in it. With a heave he lifted it up and allowed it to fall over his head. A satisfying series of clicks followed, locking it in place and allowing his HUD to spring to life.
It was still jarring not hearing EMILY's voice when its systems booted up. He was reminded of the first few nights after work when there was no 'welcome home' waiting for him. Still, he shook it off, and began to go through a mental checklist of everything the Patriot had left. The power bar still wasn't showing up, as he'd come to expect. And none of the other systems that had magically vanished had decided to make a return yet. His ammunition was terminally low, as always, and one of his best tools was still damaged beyond use after a nasty encounter in that labyrinth. Norman preferred losing that to his head, but it still wasn't ideal.
Time was nearly up, now. They'd all lose consciousness and appear in some strange arena of a kind and be forced to brutalize one another to entertain the crowds. Some cynical, twisted part of him could see why they enjoyed it. Domo and his ilk had picked a group capable of putting on a hell of a show. The competitors were all dressed up in their own flashy costumes, each mentally preparing for the same thing he was.
He raised a brow at that observation- these weren't just any random assortment of unwilling gladiators. They had costumes. Powers. They were the so-called 'superhumans' that had been so popular before the Age of Heroes came to its violent end. Yet, the heroes and villains of his world were nearly all extinct, and the only one here he recognized was...a dead man...
The realization that hit him was sudden and powerful, like an explosion.
His ears rang with the painfully familiar dirge of a battlefield. A shockwave washed over his armor, and it would've knocked him over if he hadn't caught himself on the wall behind him. Osborn quickly recovered, shoving off from the wall and turning toward the source of the rupture. His optics took a moment to adjust after the blinding flash of light, though once they had they offered him a clear view of the world around him.
All of the prisoners' collars were on the ground, shattered into pieces. There was a hole blown in wall large enough for them to move through, and beyond it lay a scene of devastation. Multiple guards were on the ground, either dead or unconscious. The alien was the first of them to react to the sudden opportunity, shouting a word he was surprised to understand:
Run.
The animal part of Osborn's brain reacted to it before the rest could catch up, trying and failing to lift a foot that weighed a hundred pounds.
'God damn it, no! Not now!' He cursed to himself, only just remembering the hyper-advanced wheel clamp stuck to his chest. It hadn't been destroyed in the blast as the collars had, locking Osborn in place even as the other prisoners began their mad rush toward freedom. A painful lump formed in his throat, his heart began to pound in his breast and for the first time in what felt like decades, Norman Osborn felt afraid.
"Peter!" The name left Osborn's lips in a roar before he had time to second guess himself.
Some part of him was surprised Parker even bothered to look back. Norman could've sworn he saw that same surprise on Peter's face when he did it, too.
"I can't move." The words came out quick, bitter and ashamed. "The disc, its interfering with my systems, locking me out of basic functionality-"
Spider-Man hadn't taken another step forward, but he didn't move back, either. He was just staring. Those giant, white eyes of his mask narrowed, the material around his nose and mouth crinkled tight. Osborn hadn't needed to read Spider-Man's soul through his mask for years now, but it was so ingrained in his memory that he knew just what that look meant:
It was rage in its purest, rawest form.
Parker crossed the gap between them quickly. He was a good six inches shorter than Norman in the armor yet at that moment Norman could've sworn Peter was ten feet tall. He loomed over Osborn, that look on his mask shifting and churning. Parker was thinking, and Osborn could tell what about: from Peter's clenched, shaky fist and the fact he hadn't torn the restraint off, Spider-Man was deciding Osborn's fate.
His hand moved quicker than Osborn's eyes could follow. The discus-like device was torn from the armor like the top off a tin can and tossed to the side, crumpled and shattered. A surge of power flowed through the Iron Patriot and Osborn took a single, powerful step forward, placing himself just inches from Spider-Man's face.
Osborn nodded, and the two broke for the exit.
They stepped out into the wider room, revealing more information than before. The alien had just finished swiping a transformed hand through Major Domo's shimmering, ethereal form. He didn't seem in the least bit concerned about the breakout, his demeanor completely unchanged from every other encounter Osborn had had with him before. His confidence was respectable, and rather disquieting, but Norman couldn't allow it to shake his resolve. This was his chance to finally be free of this place. To finally return home. There was a brief thought of finding the one they called Mojo and getting revenge on him for putting them through this, but Osborn discarded it. He had to keep his priorities straight in a time as critical as this.
"Keep going!" He yelled, redundant as it was. Everyone was already sprinting for the door like their lives depended on it, that pale-skinned creature leading the charge. Osborn was just behind them, his boots thundering with their every footfall. His attention shifted toward a sound not unlike gunfire from the other end of the room, where a squadron of guards armed with some form of energy weapon were engaging a threat unseen.
There was no telling how long it'd take for them to notice the fleeing prisoners, or if any of the others could take even a single shot from weaponry like those. Osborn grunted, pushing passed the threshold of their escape. He spun on his heel, placing his armored body between the gaggle of guards and them. He just needed to keep watch long enough for everyone to enter the hallway, and then he could follow.
Norman Osborn kept his hands up, the repulsors embedded in his palms flaring to life in anticipation of use.
There was one he'd actually wanted to attend. He was expecting it to be a small, local affair, given their minor renown. And it was true that most of the attendants were local. Nearly all fifteen thousand of them were citizens of New York City, come to mourn the loss of their most ardent and beloved protector. There was no burial service- the family wanted to keep his identity a secret, even in death- but Norman knew. He'd seen the boy on the morgue table with his own two eyes.
SHIELD, newly reorganized by resistance leadership, had coordinated the recovery of those replaced by Skrull infiltrators or captured during the invasion. Near all of them could be found either in internment camps in alien-occupied cities, or imprisoned aboard gargantuan penal barges in orbit over the planet. Osborn ordered rescue operations to begin the moment Veranke and the rest of the enemy's high command was dead, but it was already too late. The Skrulls did not take kindly to having their holy monarch executed, and chose to respond in kind.
When SHIELD agents boarded the barges they found nothing but piles of dead prisoners, their bodies still shackled in their cells, earth's mightiest heroes among them.
Osborn couldn't help but feel responsible for what happened to Peter Parker. To all of them. To say it haunted him was an understatement, but...
Never quite so literally.
Not oft a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, even Osborn couldn't help but look astonished to see Peter Parker standing alive, though not quite well, just feet away from him. He was older and world weary, a tired look about his countenance and a full beard sprouting from his jaw. The two locked eyes for the briefest moment, a lifetime of conversation passing between them without a word, before they and the rest of the gladiators were ushered forward by Major Domo.
This was an entirely different affair than what Osborn had grown used to. Prior to this moment he hadn't even been sure there were other prisoners here, forced to compete in these bloodsports for the entertainment of teeming, alien masses. And the first time he could confirm he wasn't alone came when he'd be forced to slaughter the rest of them. He felt his heart twist and burn with disgust, even as his mind began to work through the best way to go about it.
'I will not abandon my world. This place will not conquer me, no matter what twisted death games it throws at me.'
It was easy to tell himself that. He knew he couldn't hesitate. But the rational mind was rarely in sole control of the body.
After an exhausting and tedious repeat of his usual speech and receiving the instructions for the event, Domo showed them to the preparation room where their armaments were all stored. Osborn approached his Iron Patriot armor stored his the corner and began to strip down, as he usually did, though this time he kept one eye on the rest of the competition: studying them with quiet intent.
The child could be left till near the end, he wasn't a threat to worry over. Whatever power allowed him to survive the gauntlet so far must not have been invulnerability, or he wouldn't look so nervous.
That crystal armor the young woman draped herself in was either alien or supernatural in origin, making her far more dangerous than appearances would have one believe. Osborn would keep his distance and pick her apart from afar.
The alien was a wildcard, and likely the biggest threat present. She'd need to be dealt with quickly if he wanted a chance at surviving this.
And...Parker...They'd done this dance a thousand times. He would be the last to fall.
His heart racing and his blood growing cold, Osborn stepped into his armor. Its cold shell fell in place around his arms and his legs first. The suit was supremely heavy when in its low power state, but Domo and his lackies had placed some damnable restraint disc on his chestplate to keep him from fighting his way out. It functioned much like the restraint collars they all wore, he imagined.
The breastplate came next, brought up to cover the twin pair of scars decorating Norman's chest- reminders of the day he'd nearly been crucified on a stake of humble tin. It locked into place with a swish of air and the whining of its arc reactor as it slowly came to life. The sound was off from what Osborn was used it, marking it as just one of many reminders that this was but a poor facsimile of his creation.
Wrapped in bright, Star-Spangled colors and bearing a XM214 Microgun on its shoulder, Iron Patriot was as gaudy and eye catching as any suit of iron could be. Just underneath its intimidating weapon was its tail code, SI 08 014, written vertically and in bold, easily identified print. Just beneath that was the Oscorp logo, equally visible for all to see. The scars of battle peppered its damaged yet unconquered frame.
He took his helmet and held it in his hands. Its thick armor made it weighty and difficult to handle, but it kept him safe. Osborn had learned to appreciate that the first time he'd been shot in it. With a heave he lifted it up and allowed it to fall over his head. A satisfying series of clicks followed, locking it in place and allowing his HUD to spring to life.
It was still jarring not hearing EMILY's voice when its systems booted up. He was reminded of the first few nights after work when there was no 'welcome home' waiting for him. Still, he shook it off, and began to go through a mental checklist of everything the Patriot had left. The power bar still wasn't showing up, as he'd come to expect. And none of the other systems that had magically vanished had decided to make a return yet. His ammunition was terminally low, as always, and one of his best tools was still damaged beyond use after a nasty encounter in that labyrinth. Norman preferred losing that to his head, but it still wasn't ideal.
Time was nearly up, now. They'd all lose consciousness and appear in some strange arena of a kind and be forced to brutalize one another to entertain the crowds. Some cynical, twisted part of him could see why they enjoyed it. Domo and his ilk had picked a group capable of putting on a hell of a show. The competitors were all dressed up in their own flashy costumes, each mentally preparing for the same thing he was.
He raised a brow at that observation- these weren't just any random assortment of unwilling gladiators. They had costumes. Powers. They were the so-called 'superhumans' that had been so popular before the Age of Heroes came to its violent end. Yet, the heroes and villains of his world were nearly all extinct, and the only one here he recognized was...a dead man...
The realization that hit him was sudden and powerful, like an explosion.
His ears rang with the painfully familiar dirge of a battlefield. A shockwave washed over his armor, and it would've knocked him over if he hadn't caught himself on the wall behind him. Osborn quickly recovered, shoving off from the wall and turning toward the source of the rupture. His optics took a moment to adjust after the blinding flash of light, though once they had they offered him a clear view of the world around him.
All of the prisoners' collars were on the ground, shattered into pieces. There was a hole blown in wall large enough for them to move through, and beyond it lay a scene of devastation. Multiple guards were on the ground, either dead or unconscious. The alien was the first of them to react to the sudden opportunity, shouting a word he was surprised to understand:
Run.
The animal part of Osborn's brain reacted to it before the rest could catch up, trying and failing to lift a foot that weighed a hundred pounds.
'God damn it, no! Not now!' He cursed to himself, only just remembering the hyper-advanced wheel clamp stuck to his chest. It hadn't been destroyed in the blast as the collars had, locking Osborn in place even as the other prisoners began their mad rush toward freedom. A painful lump formed in his throat, his heart began to pound in his breast and for the first time in what felt like decades, Norman Osborn felt afraid.
"Peter!" The name left Osborn's lips in a roar before he had time to second guess himself.
Some part of him was surprised Parker even bothered to look back. Norman could've sworn he saw that same surprise on Peter's face when he did it, too.
"I can't move." The words came out quick, bitter and ashamed. "The disc, its interfering with my systems, locking me out of basic functionality-"
Spider-Man hadn't taken another step forward, but he didn't move back, either. He was just staring. Those giant, white eyes of his mask narrowed, the material around his nose and mouth crinkled tight. Osborn hadn't needed to read Spider-Man's soul through his mask for years now, but it was so ingrained in his memory that he knew just what that look meant:
It was rage in its purest, rawest form.
Parker crossed the gap between them quickly. He was a good six inches shorter than Norman in the armor yet at that moment Norman could've sworn Peter was ten feet tall. He loomed over Osborn, that look on his mask shifting and churning. Parker was thinking, and Osborn could tell what about: from Peter's clenched, shaky fist and the fact he hadn't torn the restraint off, Spider-Man was deciding Osborn's fate.
His hand moved quicker than Osborn's eyes could follow. The discus-like device was torn from the armor like the top off a tin can and tossed to the side, crumpled and shattered. A surge of power flowed through the Iron Patriot and Osborn took a single, powerful step forward, placing himself just inches from Spider-Man's face.
Osborn nodded, and the two broke for the exit.
They stepped out into the wider room, revealing more information than before. The alien had just finished swiping a transformed hand through Major Domo's shimmering, ethereal form. He didn't seem in the least bit concerned about the breakout, his demeanor completely unchanged from every other encounter Osborn had had with him before. His confidence was respectable, and rather disquieting, but Norman couldn't allow it to shake his resolve. This was his chance to finally be free of this place. To finally return home. There was a brief thought of finding the one they called Mojo and getting revenge on him for putting them through this, but Osborn discarded it. He had to keep his priorities straight in a time as critical as this.
"Keep going!" He yelled, redundant as it was. Everyone was already sprinting for the door like their lives depended on it, that pale-skinned creature leading the charge. Osborn was just behind them, his boots thundering with their every footfall. His attention shifted toward a sound not unlike gunfire from the other end of the room, where a squadron of guards armed with some form of energy weapon were engaging a threat unseen.
There was no telling how long it'd take for them to notice the fleeing prisoners, or if any of the others could take even a single shot from weaponry like those. Osborn grunted, pushing passed the threshold of their escape. He spun on his heel, placing his armored body between the gaggle of guards and them. He just needed to keep watch long enough for everyone to enter the hallway, and then he could follow.
Norman Osborn kept his hands up, the repulsors embedded in his palms flaring to life in anticipation of use.
Smith's Rest | Transit Station
January 16th, 2677
Megafauna and marauders, that was what they'd been hired to protect New Anchorage against. Those were the typical threats a settlement could expect, ones Mara was intimately familiar with- she'd done a hundred jobs just like this one back at Black Steel. Only difference now was the extended stay in a new environment and the lack of oversight. She could see her brother shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye, though she hadn't a clue why.
Another question was thrown the commander's way, this time from a young woman with curious accent that Mara couldn't place. She had to wonder why so many people from so many parts of the world had come to a place as small and insignificant as this. The pilot wanted to know everyone's favorite question:
Where was the line?
Now it was Mara's turn to shift uncomfortably, bouncing on one foot and then other in the interim period between the question being asked and Graham answering. Mara didn't come all the way to the edge of the world to be reminded of what she'd left behind. The journey had been too long and the cost too great to discover Graham was no better than the Company.
The cold wind kissed her cheeks the moment the door opened and they all stepped outside. Alaska was something of a frozen hellscape, Mara had come to learn. Just taking a walk without the proper winter gear was liable to get you killed. Add on top of that the monstrous wildlife, terrible weather and crazed raiders? It somehow managed to be worse than Europa. She had to steel herself for the simple act of walking to the other side of the base.
It didn't do much when it came to Graham's little speech, however.
There was a noxious coldness to his words. They brought memories of her father impaling through her chest, so sharp and vivid that she could've sworn she was standing before him again. Good and evil was a child's fantasy. Empathy was weakness, all that mattered was discipline. More than one mercenary she'd encountered had held a similar sort of philosophy. Pretty much all of 'em were just assholes looking to twist their assholishness into some kind of leadership skill.
They thought it made them stronger or something. Never did 'em much good when Mara put a beam through their cockpit, though.
'And here I thought this place might be different. Stupid.'
He was trying to scare them, intimidate them. It was easy to tell by the way he was looking at each and every one of them like a buzzard checking if its prey was dead or not yet. Mara could hide her gritting teeth behind pursed lips from him but not the redness in her cheeks. Maybe he'd mistake it for the cold, but even if he didn't?
'I'm not leaving,' Mara told herself. 'I've dealt with way worse than anything this guy can throw my way.'
Another question was thrown the commander's way, this time from a young woman with curious accent that Mara couldn't place. She had to wonder why so many people from so many parts of the world had come to a place as small and insignificant as this. The pilot wanted to know everyone's favorite question:
Where was the line?
Now it was Mara's turn to shift uncomfortably, bouncing on one foot and then other in the interim period between the question being asked and Graham answering. Mara didn't come all the way to the edge of the world to be reminded of what she'd left behind. The journey had been too long and the cost too great to discover Graham was no better than the Company.
The cold wind kissed her cheeks the moment the door opened and they all stepped outside. Alaska was something of a frozen hellscape, Mara had come to learn. Just taking a walk without the proper winter gear was liable to get you killed. Add on top of that the monstrous wildlife, terrible weather and crazed raiders? It somehow managed to be worse than Europa. She had to steel herself for the simple act of walking to the other side of the base.
It didn't do much when it came to Graham's little speech, however.
There was a noxious coldness to his words. They brought memories of her father impaling through her chest, so sharp and vivid that she could've sworn she was standing before him again. Good and evil was a child's fantasy. Empathy was weakness, all that mattered was discipline. More than one mercenary she'd encountered had held a similar sort of philosophy. Pretty much all of 'em were just assholes looking to twist their assholishness into some kind of leadership skill.
They thought it made them stronger or something. Never did 'em much good when Mara put a beam through their cockpit, though.
'And here I thought this place might be different. Stupid.'
He was trying to scare them, intimidate them. It was easy to tell by the way he was looking at each and every one of them like a buzzard checking if its prey was dead or not yet. Mara could hide her gritting teeth behind pursed lips from him but not the redness in her cheeks. Maybe he'd mistake it for the cold, but even if he didn't?
'I'm not leaving,' Mara told herself. 'I've dealt with way worse than anything this guy can throw my way.'
:: Streets of Thorinn // Thorinn ::
Graves let out a heavy sigh at Rael's being herself.
It wasn't a useless question. Bringing a bunch of bitch-willed chaff into the party would only end in their body count going up; least they could do to quality control recruitment was ask them if they'd be any help to have around. Sorta like a job interview, in a way, if the job had the hazard of ending their miserable little lives in a single misstep. But Andrew had done enough interviews IRLs to tell that Rael was a real shitty interviewer.
'Pff. If they were interested before they sure as hell aren't now.'
The answers the three of them gave didn't exactly inspire confidence in Graves. Zero was...eccentric, but claimed to be experienced. Whether or not that was true didn't matter much, as his magic would do well to round out the party after the loss of their last sorceress.
Alex was somehow less impressive, claiming his brother, not he, was good at the game. It was hard to pass up on a ranger given the damage they could do from afar, something the party was sorely lacking in right now. And there was some merit to the idea that he'd be able to just run away if things got too sticky.
Lastly came Eo-
Eau-
Eaudenil? Pelerine. Pelerine just seemed nervous. Crowd control was something Tessa already did well, and ordinarily he'd want a dedicated healer in her place, but these weren't exactly ordinary times. The dungeon's fights had been chaotic, with enemies coming at them in waves from every side more often than not. CC was a hell of a lot more useful now than ever before, so she wasn't an entirely unwelcome addition.
'None of 'em were scared off by Rael...not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.' Graves thought to himself, a contemplative hand resting on his chin.
"Yeah...Test run ain't a bad idea." He mumbled in agreement. Wasn't the best team he'd ever built. Whether or not it was the worst was debatable. There were at least a couple of them he knew he could rely on to watch his back if push came to shove. Maybe the rest of 'em would prove themselves trustworthy, too, when all was said and done. "We'll be startin' off small anyhow. If it turns out any of ya aren't up to this, least ya won't end up dead."
Probably, anyway.
Graves let his hands fall down to rest on his belt, shooting Rael a scornful glare as he transitioned into explaining his- Tessa's, really, but he was taking credit- proposition. He briefly looked in her direction before beginning his spiel, copying some of the things she'd told him earlier. "Well as all of you've probably noticed, Thorinn's packed to shit with people and more of 'em keep streaming in every day. People are scared'a even low-level monsters now and won't risk so much as leaving. Demand for defensive items n' enchantments are at an all time high, n' since nobody's leaving to hunt monsters and crawl through dungeons, supply is dwindling, too."
"We're gonna take advantage of that. Head out into the wilds, find ourselves some low level mobs and encounters, n' get Tessa the supplies she needs to make her own enchantments. She'll sell 'em high, we'll split the cash among all'a us, and we'll make a killing. We'll make more than enough to live comfortably while we wait this bug out. Its safe enough, n' its better than sitting around here until we're all too poor to afford a piece of bread n' start to starve."
Location: Rushford, Ohio -- Jenkins' Diner
Date: May 15th, 2019
Cass's expression contorted into an anxious grimace at the ranger's answer. They had next to no time left before they had to get outta dodge and they still weren't ready to go- there was still talk of what all they should be grabbing and what could be safely ignored. Thinking about the clock ticking down while she watched them go back and forth made Montoya's palms itch. Maybe she'd noticed it, or maybe Cass had just gotten lucky, but Karen decided to not-so-subtly ask Cassidy to check for ways out of the diner that didn't involve plunging through the front door's barricade and into the swarm of shambling dead just outside.
"Yeah, I'll go check it out." She agreed with a curt nod, bouncing on passed the others as she moved deeper into the restaurant.
The place wasn't exactly in tip-top condition, probably hadn't been even before the apocalypse. The wallpaper was torn in places in the back and nobody had bothered to replace it, the wood flooring was scratched and stained with grease, and shelves of cardboard boxes filled with stale food lined the hallways. The kitchen wasn't big, only barely leaving enough room for two people to pass by one another in the pathways between the stoves and counters.
Just in the back corner, next to the broom closet, was the appropriately marked emergency exit. She felt her heart sank when she got close enough to read the small, red sign beside it:
"Shit." She snarled under her breath. "So much for sneaking away."
After swallowing down a moment's panic and collecting herself, she began to look around the room for anything else of note. There didn't appear to be any other doors aside from this one and the one in the front, but there were a few windows. All of 'em were small, ancient looking things- at least the ones that opened- and there was no way they'd be fitting the big guy through any of them. But there was one that gave her a partial view of the back of the diner. Not enough to scope the whole area out, but maybe it'd be enough.
She climbed atop a metal countertop to get at it. The thing was so old that no amount of tugging with her hands was going to get it to open normally, so she slid her crowbar out from her backpack and held it tight in her fists. It took a bit of fiddling, but she managed to get the tip of it underneath the window and knocked it loose, doing her utmost not to make a racket as she did.
'Here's hopin' one of those things isn't just waitin' right outside. Ha. Wouldn't that be a stupid way to go out?'
Once Cassidy had it open, she popped her head out to get a good look at their only escape route.
"Yeah, I'll go check it out." She agreed with a curt nod, bouncing on passed the others as she moved deeper into the restaurant.
The place wasn't exactly in tip-top condition, probably hadn't been even before the apocalypse. The wallpaper was torn in places in the back and nobody had bothered to replace it, the wood flooring was scratched and stained with grease, and shelves of cardboard boxes filled with stale food lined the hallways. The kitchen wasn't big, only barely leaving enough room for two people to pass by one another in the pathways between the stoves and counters.
Just in the back corner, next to the broom closet, was the appropriately marked emergency exit. She felt her heart sank when she got close enough to read the small, red sign beside it:
EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY
ALARM WILL SOUND
"Shit." She snarled under her breath. "So much for sneaking away."
After swallowing down a moment's panic and collecting herself, she began to look around the room for anything else of note. There didn't appear to be any other doors aside from this one and the one in the front, but there were a few windows. All of 'em were small, ancient looking things- at least the ones that opened- and there was no way they'd be fitting the big guy through any of them. But there was one that gave her a partial view of the back of the diner. Not enough to scope the whole area out, but maybe it'd be enough.
She climbed atop a metal countertop to get at it. The thing was so old that no amount of tugging with her hands was going to get it to open normally, so she slid her crowbar out from her backpack and held it tight in her fists. It took a bit of fiddling, but she managed to get the tip of it underneath the window and knocked it loose, doing her utmost not to make a racket as she did.
'Here's hopin' one of those things isn't just waitin' right outside. Ha. Wouldn't that be a stupid way to go out?'
Once Cassidy had it open, she popped her head out to get a good look at their only escape route.
Location: Rushford, Ohio -- Jenkins' Diner
Date: May 15th, 2019
Cass's expression contorted into an anxious grimace at the ranger's answer. They had next to no time left before they had to get outta dodge and they still weren't ready to go- there was still talk of what all they should be grabbing and what could be safely ignored. Thinking about the clock ticking down while she watched them go back and forth made Montoya's palms itch. Maybe she'd noticed it, or maybe Cass had just gotten lucky, but Karen decided to not-so-subtly ask Cassidy to check for ways out of the diner that didn't involve plunging through the front door's barricade and into the swarm of shambling dead just outside.
"Yeah, I'll go check it out." She agreed with a curt nod, bouncing on passed the others as she moved deeper into the restaurant.
The place wasn't exactly in tip-top condition, probably hadn't been even before the apocalypse. The wallpaper was torn in places in the back and nobody had bothered to replace it, the wood flooring was scratched and stained with grease, and shelves of cardboard boxes filled with stale food lined the hallways. The kitchen wasn't big, only barely leaving enough room for two people to pass by one another in the pathways between the stoves and counters.
Just in the back corner, next to the broom closet, was the appropriately marked emergency exit. She felt her heart sank when she got close enough to read the small, red sign beside it:
EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY
ALARM WILL SOUND
"Shit." She snarled under her breath. "So much for sneaking away."
After swallowing down a moment's panic and collecting herself, she began to look around the room for anything else of note. There didn't appear to be any other doors aside from this one and the one in the front, but there were a few windows. All of 'em were small, ancient looking things- at least the ones that opened- and there was no way they'd be fitting the big guy through any of them. But there was one that gave her a partial view of the back of the diner. Not enough to scope the whole area out, but maybe it'd be enough.
She climbed atop a metal countertop to get at it. The thing was so old that no amount of tugging with her hands was going to get it to open normally, so she slid her crowbar out from her backpack and held it tight in her fists. It took a bit of fiddling, but she managed to get the tip of it underneath the window and knocked it loose, doing her utmost not to make a racket as she did.
'Here's hopin' one of those things isn't just waitin' right outside. Ha. Wouldn't that be a stupid way to go out?'
Once Cassidy had it open, she popped her head out to get a good look at their only escape route.
Location: New York City, New York -- City Streets
Superboy had never been in a fight before.
He'd seen them before, of course, when Kara and Kal-El would spare in the Fortress of Solitude, or when Kelex would let Kon watch old news footage of Superman throwing down with his many enemies. He knew what a punch looked like, and he'd figured out how to make his hand into a fist. But he'd never thrown one before. Never been hit by one before, either. The concept of pain was itself alien to him until this lizard-breathed giant decided to introduce it to him.
'Gotta say, I don't much like it.' Kon grumbled to himself as he peeled his body out of the concrete wall he'd just been thrown into, the Kryptonian-shaped hole crumbling behind him as his boots hit the ground. Slicks of dried blood ran down his lip, and a thin layer of rock dust had infested his mess of black hair.
Conner Kent, as he'd been come to be known on the Kent farm, cut an impressive figure for his age. He stood just a hair short of six feet tall and was built like an ox, arms thick as tree trunks and shoulders that could carry a full-sized tractor on a bad day. Big as the boy was, he looked like an ant standing face-to-face with the invader. It was absolutely enormous, and the hail of punches it'd just thrown at Kon evidenced the fact that all that muscle wasn't just for show.
"That all ya got, pal?!" Kon shouted, a cocky grin dominating his face even as he launched himself at the creature for the second time. The ground shook with the force of his leap, and he flew with such speed that he was right on top of the monster before it had a chance to use that laser again. Kon narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist, picturing in his head every newsreel fight he'd ever watched just as he fired off a punch into the alien's jaw. Armored scales gave a sickening crunch, bending and snapping under the force of the blow. Sickly-colored blood stuck to Kon's knuckles like glue. There was a moment's elation as he thought he saw the alien fall.
It caught itself on its back foot, however, and turned toward the little humanoid with hate-engorged eyes. Clutching its warspear in hands the size of basketballs, it gave a mighty swing toward Kon's skull. The weapon sang as it cut through the air, moving with inhuman speed. Quick, anxious flew in front of his face to adsorb the blow, the blade just narrowly failing to pierce Kon's flesh.
Pulling back, the alien launched another two strikes at Kon, one aimed to pour his guts all over the concrete and the second to knock him to the floor. Kon managed to jump back and avoid the former, but the former caught the back of his leg and he found himself on his back before he realized what had happened.
The creature roared triumphantly in its mother tongue, lifting the spear high into the air, preparing to finish off its opponent so it could return to capturing the girl.
Superboy didn't give it the chance. With clumsy, violent speed he flung himself from his back at the alien, his head colliding with its armored chest with the force of a rolling freight train. The two of them entered the air, briefly, flying across the street until they'd landed in the parking lot on the opposite side. Kon skidded for a couple of yards on the asphalt while his much heavier enemy just sort of sunk into it, like a boulder falling into a pond. People in the nearby shopping center screamed bloody murder at the sight of them, apparently having hoped that the conflict wouldn't come toward them and that they'd be able to hide it out there. They scattered in every direction as the two super-powered beings dragged themselves to their feet.
"Damn...Now I know why nobody else does that." Conner groaned, a hand clutching his thumping skull. Hurt as he was, though, Superboy could tell he'd hurt the other guy more than himself. It was struggling to get back to its feet, even going so far as to use the end of its spear to help push its great mass off of the broken ground.
Seeing an opportunity to end this, Conner charged. "How 'bout you just stay down this time?!" He roared, punching the alien's cheek hard enough to send its head crashing through the roof of a car parked just beside it. Conner grabbed it by the arm and tore it from the vehicle's interior, tossing the lizard brain into the body of another, larger vehicle. Metal bent, tires popped and glass shattered under the impact. It didn't have the strength left to get back up.
There wasn't any time to waste celebrating his first won fight, much as he'd like to do so. That girl was still in trouble, n' all those innocent people could be caught in the crossfire- he shouldn't have let himself be carried away from the main fight by just one of these things. Conner dug his heels in and bent at the knees, jumping into the air with the force of a small explosion. Dust, debris and rock were scattered in all directions as he took to the sky. He wasn't up there for long, maybe a couple'a seconds in total, but it was long enough for him to spot out the rest of the lizardmen. The biggest one was in the process of getting itself blasted across the road by the alien girl, who looked much worse for wear than when Conner last saw her- he felt a pang of guilt for leavin' her alone out there, outnumbered n' surrounded.
Yet he could see she wasn't all that alone after all.
He landed, caught his breath for a second and then sent himself up again. This time he focused on the newest fighter, trying to get a read on him. He was more slender and agile than Kon, by the looks of him, but obviously still built, and he was a shade less pale than Conner and covered in strange, glowing tattoos. Whoever he was, he was clearly on the right side of things, seein' as how he much lizard ass he was managing to kick on his own. He wa skilled, obviously, n' he had some kinda power to control water. But he was also horribly outnumbered by a bunch'a the giants, and even just one of them had given Kon trouble. They had him pinned behind some concrete for a second, but he used his powers to knock a light pole down on top of 'em to send the pack scattering long enough to get into their midst.
Kon lost sight of them again, but he was just a single street over now. This last leap would take him soaring over a line of apartment buildings and into the midst of the fight. Taking to the air, Superboy could see now that their mysterious ally had managed to take down two of squad on his own, but the other half had caught him out with a laser blast. He'd been brought to his knees and they were just about to put an end to him.
'Not on my watch.'
He flew in like a missile, crashing directly into the back of one alien and sending his buddy reeling in surprise. Kon clumsily stumbled off the first, plucking a chunk of rebar and broken concrete off the street as he got to his feet. He reeled it back behind his head and chucked it like it a baseball, sending the object rocketing toward the second alien with the speed of a bullet. It exploded across the creature's face, knocking it onto its rear out of sheer dizziness.
Conner turned around and offered a hand to the other, intervening hero, conscious of the fact that some'a the guys they just knocked down were starting to get back up. "Thought you could use a hand." There were a lot of aliens, and they packed a hellofa punch, but maybe together the good guys stood a chance at winning this thing.
Location: New York City, New York -- City Streets
Superboy had never been in a fight before.
He'd seen them before, of course, when Kara and Kal-El would spare in the Fortress of Solitude, or when Kelex would let Kon watch old news footage of Superman throwing down with his many enemies. He knew what a punch looked like, and he'd figured out how to make his hand into a fist. But he'd never thrown one before. Never been hit by one before, either. The concept of pain was itself alien to him until this lizard-breathed giant decided to introduce it to him.
'Gotta say, I don't much like it.' Kon grumbled to himself as he peeled his body out of the concrete wall he'd just been thrown into, the Kryptonian-shaped hole crumbling behind him as his boots hit the ground. Slicks of dried blood ran down his lip, and a thin layer of rock dust had infested his mess of black hair.
Conner Kent, as he'd been come to be known on the Kent farm, cut an impressive figure for his age. He stood just a hair short of six feet tall and was built like an ox, arms thick as tree trunks and shoulders that could carry a full-sized tractor on a bad day. Big as the boy was, he looked like an ant standing face-to-face with the invader. It was absolutely enormous, and the hail of punches it'd just thrown at Kon evidenced the fact that all that muscle wasn't just for show.
"That all ya got, pal?!" Kon shouted, a cocky grin dominating his face even as he launched himself at the creature for the second time. The ground shook with the force of his leap, and he flew with such speed that he was right on top of the monster before it had a chance to use that laser again. Kon narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist, picturing in his head every newsreel fight he'd ever watched just as he fired off a punch into the alien's jaw. Armored scales gave a sickening crunch, bending and snapping under the force of the blow. Sickly-colored blood stuck to Kon's knuckles like glue. There was a moment's elation as he thought he saw the alien fall.
It caught itself on its back foot, however, and turned toward the little humanoid with hate-engorged eyes. Clutching its warspear in hands the size of basketballs, it gave a mighty swing toward Kon's skull. The weapon sang as it cut through the air, moving with inhuman speed. Quick, anxious flew in front of his face to adsorb the blow, the blade just narrowly failing to pierce Kon's flesh.
Pulling back, the alien launched another two strikes at Kon, one aimed to pour his guts all over the concrete and the second to knock him to the floor. Kon managed to jump back and avoid the former, but the former caught the back of his leg and he found himself on his back before he realized what had happened.
The creature roared triumphantly in its mother tongue, lifting the spear high into the air, preparing to finish off its opponent so it could return to capturing the girl.
Superboy didn't give it the chance. With clumsy, violent speed he flung himself from his back at the alien, his head colliding with its armored chest with the force of a rolling freight train. The two of them entered the air, briefly, flying across the street until they'd landed in the parking lot on the opposite side. Kon skidded for a couple of yards on the asphalt while his much heavier enemy just sort of sunk into it, like a boulder falling into a pond. People in the nearby shopping center screamed bloody murder at the sight of them, apparently having hoped that the conflict wouldn't come toward them and that they'd be able to hide it out there. They scattered in every direction as the two super-powered beings dragged themselves to their feet.
"Damn...Now I know why nobody else does that." Conner groaned, a hand clutching his thumping skull. Hurt as he was, though, Superboy could tell he'd hurt the other guy more than himself. It was struggling to get back to its feet, even going so far as to use the end of its spear to help push its great mass off of the broken ground.
Seeing an opportunity to end this, Conner charged. "How 'bout you just stay down this time?!" He roared, punching the alien's cheek hard enough to send its head crashing through the roof of a car parked just beside it. Conner grabbed it by the arm and tore it from the vehicle's interior, tossing the lizard brain into the body of another, larger vehicle. Metal bent, tires popped and glass shattered under the impact. It didn't have the strength left to get back up.
There wasn't any time to waste celebrating his first won fight, much as he'd like to do so. That girl was still in trouble, n' all those innocent people could be caught in the crossfire- he shouldn't have let himself be carried away from the main fight by just one of these things. Conner dug his heels in and bent at the knees, jumping into the air with the force of a small explosion. Dust, debris and rock were scattered in all directions as he took to the sky. He wasn't up there for long, maybe a couple'a seconds in total, but it was long enough for him to spot out the rest of the lizardmen. The biggest one was in the process of getting itself blasted across the road by the alien girl, who looked much worse for wear than when Conner last saw her- he felt a pang of guilt for leavin' her alone out there, outnumbered n' surrounded.
Yet he could see she wasn't all that alone after all.
He landed, caught his breath for a second and then sent himself up again. This time he focused on the newest fighter, trying to get a read on him. He was more slender and agile than Kon, by the looks of him, but obviously still built, and he was a shade less pale than Conner and covered in strange, glowing tattoos. Whoever he was, he was clearly on the right side of things, seein' as how he much lizard ass he was managing to kick on his own. He wa skilled, obviously, n' he had some kinda power to control water. But he was also horribly outnumbered by a bunch'a the giants, and even just one of them had given Kon trouble. They had him pinned behind some concrete for a second, but he used his powers to knock a light pole down on top of 'em to send the pack scattering long enough to get into their midst.
Kon lost sight of them again, but he was just a single street over now. This last leap would take him soaring over a line of apartment buildings and into the midst of the fight. Taking to the air, Superboy could see now that their mysterious ally had managed to take down two of squad on his own, but the other half had caught him out with a laser blast. He'd been brought to his knees and they were just about to put an end to him.
'Not on my watch.'
He flew in like a missile, crashing directly into the back of one alien and sending his buddy reeling in surprise. Kon clumsily stumbled off the first, plucking a chunk of rebar and broken concrete off the street as he got to his feet. He reeled it back behind his head and chucked it like it a baseball, sending the object rocketing toward the second alien with the speed of a bullet. It exploded across the creature's face, knocking it onto its rear out of sheer dizziness.
Conner turned around and offered a hand to the other, intervening hero, conscious of the fact that some'a the guys they just knocked down were starting to get back up. "Thought you could use a hand. The name's Superboy, n' I'm here'ta help." There were a lot of these things, and they packed a hellofa punch, but maybe together they'd stand a chance.
:: Streets of Thorinn // Thorinn ::
"Look who finally decided to show back up." Graves spun around on his heel, his annoyance plain to see. The last thing he'd been looking to do when he dragged his hungover ass out of bed was to stumble around the city streets, asking random strangers where one of his party members had run off to- it taking so long was just the shit icing on top of an already shitty cake.
He looked back at the motley crew they'd acquired by sheer coincidence, shrugging his shoulders at her 'some extras' comment. "Might be we can get some use outta them." He lowered his voice somewhat, glancing at the passersby as if they could be planning to steal his brilliant plan. "Tess n' I might'a come up with a way to feed ourselves 'till the game's fixed. Was mostly my idea, but she helped too. And before you so rudely decided to run off, we were 'bout to tell ya."
He'd been mulling it over since leaving the tavern, but the more he thought on it the more he realized Tessa was right. They'd been stuck in Pariah Online for over a week now without any word from the dev team. Whatever was going on in the real world, he couldn't guess, but he knew they couldn't keep to a holding pattern forever. Eventually their reward money from the first dungeon would run out, and they wouldn't have any means to sustain themselves. The whole...'risking going brain-dead thing' wasn't great, but starving to death in a video game sounded equally shit to him.
Graves spun around and began to speak louder, addressing the whole band of brigands. "How'd you all feel 'bout joinin' in on a business venture?"
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