Neato! I like where these are going. So, how extensive d'you want our responses to be - should we write in the reactions of some of the characters you're written to whatever our characters do, or should we leave it at strictly controlling our characters?
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It's like a siege tower, but with more gunfire and absurdity!
It's like a siege tower, but with more gunfire and absurdity!
Oscar immediately rolled behind a couch as a hail of bullets burst from the newly opened doors, swearing as a shot just barely missed his face. "Son of a BITCH!" After his enhancement, he could take a shot or two without dropping, but something told him he wasn't THAT bulletproof - certainly not enough to stand up against the storm of gunfire long enough to sprint into the VIP lounge and start punching people. Why the fuck was I the only one who brought a gun...
An idea crossed the criminal's mind as his gaze fell on a heavy metal gambling table right across from him. He might not be bulletproof enough, but that thing looked as though it might be...
Immediately, he rolled behind the table and began straining to lift it, managing on his own to get it a few feet off the ground. "Oi, luchador!" he called out the the girl in the belt who'd loudly supplexed someone through a table a moment ago. "Help me with this! Everyone else get behind us, we're gonna ram this thing into the bastards!" If they could just get close enough, the villains could punch and stab and smash the hired muscle to their hearts content - so Oscar strained, and hoped the rest of the freaks would back him up with this.
An idea crossed the criminal's mind as his gaze fell on a heavy metal gambling table right across from him. He might not be bulletproof enough, but that thing looked as though it might be...
Immediately, he rolled behind the table and began straining to lift it, managing on his own to get it a few feet off the ground. "Oi, luchador!" he called out the the girl in the belt who'd loudly supplexed someone through a table a moment ago. "Help me with this! Everyone else get behind us, we're gonna ram this thing into the bastards!" If they could just get close enough, the villains could punch and stab and smash the hired muscle to their hearts content - so Oscar strained, and hoped the rest of the freaks would back him up with this.
@neogreggory Would the cardshark like to cooperate with the thug for this little group? I have a notion of how they might work together. If so, I'll get a post up of the first half of Oscar's plan, and then you can carry out the second part, along with anyone else who might like to join. (Spoiler: the plan involves deadlifting a heavy thing as cover and charging behind it while flinging cards everywhere).
So, as a product of my own antsiness/excitement for this RP, I took the liberty of typing up a few brief words about how much my character knows/ what she thinks about y'alls characters. If she doesn't know that much about them, that's not to diminish their importance or anything, I'm just trying to be realistic and Emily doesn't get a lot of news.
@Dead Cruiser: Arkos who?
@HisforHugs: Somebody made a lot of nifty things that made Emily's life easier - hell if she knows who it was, though.
@DeltaV: The Atlanteans are squabbling while the real enemy festers in the north. Apparently there's a new player down there, a king who rumor says is fixing to unite the city-states under one banner. Well, he's welcome to them.
@Flagg: Everyone knows about the Iron Legion, and the king who's said to have strange powers. Whatever the truth is, Emily knows they must be tough to make it up there, beset by barbarians and monsters alike. She respects the Witch King by reputation, and might have sought the Iron Legions out in another life.
@Kingfisher: There's always been barbarians in the north, but Emily doesn't know or care about their hierarchy - they don't pose as much of a threat as the mutants do, as far as she's concerned. She... may be proven wrong about that, in time.
@DeadBeatWalking: Archranger Flint is an odd duck by anyone's standards, but Emily's in no position to judge someone for spending time alone in the woods. By reputation he's an extraordinarily capable woodsman, and though the two have met once or twice in the forest, they've never spoken, as Flint always sprints off and Emily's never saw any point in following.
@VoiD: The Crimson Company are well-known in Borea, and Emily's heard plenty of stories of their castle in the south, their military victories, and their young and capable leader. She also knows a rough outline of Damion's history, though any account she's heard was probably fairly embellished in the way tavern stories usually are. Even though they do it for pay, Emily's glad of any army that's prepared to stand against the darkness, and might have considered the Crimson Company as allies if she thought she needed them.
That's everyone! Let me know if you think I got something wrong - I tried to be realistic and faithful to y'alls characters and reputations, but if you think I slipped up, do tell me!
@Dead Cruiser: Arkos who?
@HisforHugs: Somebody made a lot of nifty things that made Emily's life easier - hell if she knows who it was, though.
@DeltaV: The Atlanteans are squabbling while the real enemy festers in the north. Apparently there's a new player down there, a king who rumor says is fixing to unite the city-states under one banner. Well, he's welcome to them.
@Flagg: Everyone knows about the Iron Legion, and the king who's said to have strange powers. Whatever the truth is, Emily knows they must be tough to make it up there, beset by barbarians and monsters alike. She respects the Witch King by reputation, and might have sought the Iron Legions out in another life.
@Kingfisher: There's always been barbarians in the north, but Emily doesn't know or care about their hierarchy - they don't pose as much of a threat as the mutants do, as far as she's concerned. She... may be proven wrong about that, in time.
@DeadBeatWalking: Archranger Flint is an odd duck by anyone's standards, but Emily's in no position to judge someone for spending time alone in the woods. By reputation he's an extraordinarily capable woodsman, and though the two have met once or twice in the forest, they've never spoken, as Flint always sprints off and Emily's never saw any point in following.
@VoiD: The Crimson Company are well-known in Borea, and Emily's heard plenty of stories of their castle in the south, their military victories, and their young and capable leader. She also knows a rough outline of Damion's history, though any account she's heard was probably fairly embellished in the way tavern stories usually are. Even though they do it for pay, Emily's glad of any army that's prepared to stand against the darkness, and might have considered the Crimson Company as allies if she thought she needed them.
That's everyone! Let me know if you think I got something wrong - I tried to be realistic and faithful to y'alls characters and reputations, but if you think I slipped up, do tell me!
I mean, if we're offering up playthings for our resident psychic, my character isn't the most strong-willed, and I imagine his impotent rage in response to being messed with would be amusing.
My contribution. The good doctor strikes me as very... gothic.
@TheWizardLizard just a quick note, be mindful about your gun and how it works. I'm going to come out and say that any firearms in the world are going to be single-shot and smooth-bore, so be wary when using the word "rifle." Don't have to change anything, just be mindful.
<Snipped quote by Flagg>
I always find that when I do this I like the second draft better.
I know how it works, I just brain-farted and forgot that 'rifle' actual referred to a firearm with a rifled barrel - I was just using it because it sounded better than 'gun'. :p I'll fix it.
It was a cold morning in Borea as Emily stalked through the woods, her cloak pulled up to cover her face, eyes scanning the ground as she stepped carefully through the brush, using her rifle as a walking stick. She had left Abel, her horse, at her campsite a ways back. Others might question the wisdom of leaving one's horse, along with almost all one's possessions, unattended in a wilderness such as this, but Emily wasn't concerned - she'd set more than enough traps to discourage thieves, and all the signs she'd found told her that the beasts were in front of her, not behind.
She spied a patch of black fur on the ground in front of her, and picked it up with a gloved hand. Immediately, she caught a whiff of the stink - that same corrupt odor that hung about every single one of the monsters, the tang of evil and desecration. She placed the tuft in a small pouch she wore at her belt for such samples of the Scourge - she'd burn it later.
She was getting close, now - she was starting to smell the taint on the wind. Emily had been hunting this beast for months now - Blackmaw, the Walking Scourge, as people called it. When she'd first heard the stories, of a great monster nine-feet tall and built like a house, twisted into a bear-like monstrosity with claws like knives and horns like spears, she had thought it a mere legend, an exaggeration. But as she heard the story again and again, in more places, she had come to believe. The monster had terrorized and ravaged a path across Borea, destroying homes, eating villagers, and spreading the taint wherever it went. It was the disease made manifest, the greatest beast Emily had ever heard of, and she was going to slay it.
She'd glimpsed the monster only once, a month ago, on the night of a terrible storm. Just as lightning split the sky and illuminated the dark woods, she'd seen it, the hulking monstrosity, eyes like charcoal burning in the dark as though it was staring at her alone. She had tried to make chase through the wind and rain, but tracking the monster proved impossible in such conditions, and she had lost the trail. It would not escape her this time.
Ahead, Emily spied a small clearing in the woods, where there stood a ruined stone brick building. Time had not been kind to the structure - the roof was gone, and what walls were left were crumbling and mossy. That was it, she knew. The lair. Emily limbered up, affixed a bayonet to her gun, and proceeded inside.
Her entrance was greeted almost immediately by a howl as a beast came charging at her, a stunted thing with sharp teeth and hooves. She fired at it point-blank, blowing a great chunk out of its side and causing it to stagger back. She jammed the bayonet into its eye-socket and that was that.
Two more were coming just as quickly. There was no time to reload, and no chance of getting the crossbow out. The hunter's hand flew to her belt as she pulled a small bundle free and through it at the first of the monsters. Shattering on impact, the liquid in the vial burst into flames, making the monster howl and stagger backwards, writhing in agony as it burned. Emily shifted her grip on the gun, spinning it around to strike the second beast across the face. She pressed the delicate trigger mechanism on her wrist and her blade sprung free. She sidestepped a slash from claws that would have taken her head off and kicked the monster in the side off the knee, bending the mutated joint.
She brought her left arm up in a haymaker, punching the monster in the side of the head and then locking her elbow to block its frenzied counter attack. She gripped its mane and yanked it back with muscles like steel cords, baring the beast's throat. Shouting, she stabbed once, twice, three times, and the beast was still.
The burning mutant continued to writhe on the floor. Slowly, Emily reloaded her gun and pressed it to the back of the creature's neck. One final shot rang out in the woods, and all was still.
The huntress cast her eyes about the dilapidated structure. "... Dammit." Blackmaw was not here. She had lost the trail once again.
It took much of the rest of the day to pile up the bodies and build a makeshift pyre around them - she worked slowly and deliberately, taking care to avoid exposure to the taint. When it was done, she regarded the burning corpses for just a moment before casting the tuft of black hair onto it and turning to make the trek back to her campsite. She would have to keep searching.
She spied a patch of black fur on the ground in front of her, and picked it up with a gloved hand. Immediately, she caught a whiff of the stink - that same corrupt odor that hung about every single one of the monsters, the tang of evil and desecration. She placed the tuft in a small pouch she wore at her belt for such samples of the Scourge - she'd burn it later.
She was getting close, now - she was starting to smell the taint on the wind. Emily had been hunting this beast for months now - Blackmaw, the Walking Scourge, as people called it. When she'd first heard the stories, of a great monster nine-feet tall and built like a house, twisted into a bear-like monstrosity with claws like knives and horns like spears, she had thought it a mere legend, an exaggeration. But as she heard the story again and again, in more places, she had come to believe. The monster had terrorized and ravaged a path across Borea, destroying homes, eating villagers, and spreading the taint wherever it went. It was the disease made manifest, the greatest beast Emily had ever heard of, and she was going to slay it.
She'd glimpsed the monster only once, a month ago, on the night of a terrible storm. Just as lightning split the sky and illuminated the dark woods, she'd seen it, the hulking monstrosity, eyes like charcoal burning in the dark as though it was staring at her alone. She had tried to make chase through the wind and rain, but tracking the monster proved impossible in such conditions, and she had lost the trail. It would not escape her this time.
Ahead, Emily spied a small clearing in the woods, where there stood a ruined stone brick building. Time had not been kind to the structure - the roof was gone, and what walls were left were crumbling and mossy. That was it, she knew. The lair. Emily limbered up, affixed a bayonet to her gun, and proceeded inside.
Her entrance was greeted almost immediately by a howl as a beast came charging at her, a stunted thing with sharp teeth and hooves. She fired at it point-blank, blowing a great chunk out of its side and causing it to stagger back. She jammed the bayonet into its eye-socket and that was that.
Two more were coming just as quickly. There was no time to reload, and no chance of getting the crossbow out. The hunter's hand flew to her belt as she pulled a small bundle free and through it at the first of the monsters. Shattering on impact, the liquid in the vial burst into flames, making the monster howl and stagger backwards, writhing in agony as it burned. Emily shifted her grip on the gun, spinning it around to strike the second beast across the face. She pressed the delicate trigger mechanism on her wrist and her blade sprung free. She sidestepped a slash from claws that would have taken her head off and kicked the monster in the side off the knee, bending the mutated joint.
She brought her left arm up in a haymaker, punching the monster in the side of the head and then locking her elbow to block its frenzied counter attack. She gripped its mane and yanked it back with muscles like steel cords, baring the beast's throat. Shouting, she stabbed once, twice, three times, and the beast was still.
The burning mutant continued to writhe on the floor. Slowly, Emily reloaded her gun and pressed it to the back of the creature's neck. One final shot rang out in the woods, and all was still.
The huntress cast her eyes about the dilapidated structure. "... Dammit." Blackmaw was not here. She had lost the trail once again.
It took much of the rest of the day to pile up the bodies and build a makeshift pyre around them - she worked slowly and deliberately, taking care to avoid exposure to the taint. When it was done, she regarded the burning corpses for just a moment before casting the tuft of black hair onto it and turning to make the trek back to her campsite. She would have to keep searching.
I don't normally like this type of music, but Thug. British street criminal as fuck.
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