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In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


Clancy threw up both arms a second too second late; the blade of Victor's axe bedded half an inch into the boy's collar before his palms caught the handle with a strength that didn't match his frame and grappled with the larger man to keep it from being driven any further.

”Stay down.” His voice was a growl, a child's pitch with an unnatural resonance, and followed with a foot being swung out at Victor's knee, breaking his footing and knocking him over.

Victor hit the ground with a thud, then glanced upwards.

“... You are no kid,”

No fluid seeped from the wound the axe had formed, only a hollow black void where the head had parted skin. Similar punctures in his shirt, barely concealed by the unbuttoned hoodie, told a similar tale.

The Pagan pressed a palm into the ground to force himself to his feet, then swung the axe down - aiming to split Clancy in two.

This time, the boy dove into the side of an adjacent car, just in time to see the axe head tear a foot of asphalt and gravel from the ground. ”Know nothing,” he snorted, back pressed against the passenger door of the car ”Do you Nazi morons know when to stop?”

Victor didn’t even flinch, he raised the axe in the air again - not to bring it down on Clancy - but a bright flash of light appeared - blinding onlookers and causing the kid to crumple inwards with a silent grimace. Then in the makeshift flashbang he made he rushed Clancy with another swing of his axe.

There was no running, no token resistance; the axe sank deep into the boy's chest, crunching through metal and glass at the other side and pinning him to the passenger door of the car. No gasp, no final breath, the kid simply slumped forward, arms limply dangling to the floorm. Victor planted a boot against Clancy’s midsection to pry the axe free; once both blade and body were released from the car, he turned around, slung the axe over his shoulder, and prepared to rush in to help Valjean-

“... The hell?!”

Something grabbed the man's boot, clamped around the ankle, and yanked hard enough to pull him off his feet and drag him along the asphalt, back towards the parking space.

Victor screamed, but no more coherent words followed. The space fell silent in seconds, and a viscous pool of blood slowly began to trickle out from beneath the car's wheels shortly thereafter.
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




The pickup moved at pace, two of the boys in their leathers holding onto the bed of the truck for life. One of them, cigarette dangling from his mouth, was grumbling to his companion.

"-me why my coffee's going cold on the counter?"

The other man, squat with a goatee, spat off to the side and shrugged. "Iunno, Dutch said he got a call some fuckers trashed the Vee-Vee, and messed Joe Skinner up real bad."

"That dumbass sack o' shit," the smoker snorted, "Why should we care?"

Goatee shrugged, "He's Dutchman's brother."

"In-law, or somethin' like," the smoker corrected, "Which counts for shit."

"Don't matter Jay, still one of ours, s' the principle, and "Papa" is gonna be piss-.. ah shit, I think that's them." There was already half a riot breaking out on the parking lot, sand, detritus and cordite in the air. The two men held on for life as the driver of the pickup applied the brakes.


Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


"Oh shit," Goatee chuckled, "Val's already gone Scorpion King on them."

They'd arrived in the middle of it all, probably beating any local authority by a good mile.

"Sand in my ass for days," Jay coughed as some of the Vasil sister's handiwork blew against the bodywork of their improvised cover, tugging at the .38 under his waistband. They were hunched low, moving between cars, a few rows away from the heart of the chaos. Goatee was keeping an eye on things, trying to dind a window to move in - the kids had the kind of power that some of the club had barely tasted, an expensive gift that only the lucky ones got to wield at their fingertips.

There was a dull thud, barely audible over everything else. "What you reckon?" Goatee asked, but no answer came. The man looked over one shoulder to see his companion crumpled against a car door one row over. "Jay?"

Closing the distance, it became clear why Jay wasn't answering. Fluids trailed from one side of what was left of his face, where something had smashed him into the windscreen of the car - a spiderweb of bloody cracks forking out from the corner. The force of the impact had shattered his eyesocket and cheekbone into bloody pulp. Bone and tissue speared through the sleeve of his jacket where the arm had been bent inwards, far beyond what human joints could handle.

"What the fugGHAAR-"

A tiny foot slammed into the back of Goatee's knee with a strength that didn't belong, hard enough that something popped. The man dropped to the ground with a yelp before someone muffled his squawking, tiny fingers clasped around the underside of his jaw, tight as a vice against his throat.

Nobody noticed the muffled shriek, blended into the cacophony of noise wreaking havoc across the parking lot.



Sully crept through what must've felt like a mile of sand, shell casings and stale piss to get to where the kid had been dropped. With visibility reduced amidst the thin cloud of sand and shadow, the only thing that stood out were a pair of child-sized sneakers peeking out from behind the tires of a parked car.

Sully found it was for nought. There were clear indents in the surrounding gravel and bodywork where Maggie's cartridges had punched past or through their target, but no blood spatter, and save for an empty pair of sneakers, the kid wasn't there.

It wasn't a discovery he had time to question, between the wave of sand and one of the Wolfpack's other hard-hitters coming up on him fast. A few muffled noises erupted a few cars away, although between the biker putting a gun to his head and the junkie throwing sand everywhere, it was easy to miss.

What wasn't easy to miss was a large, humanoid shape, flung through the air. It bounced off the hood of the car, next to where Dean and Sully were having their conversation, before flopping to the ground with a meaty crunch, between the two men,

Not humanoid. Human. A body, tossed from behind the row of parked cards. It- he was just barely twitching, limbs contorted at unnatural angles, but it was a foregone conclusion; the poor bastard's lower jaw had been pried open past human limits, until tissues which connected upper to lower had torn under the strain, leaving a gruesome, lopsided expression.

The only recognisable feature was a goatee, sticky with blood.

A vaguely familiar voice growled with a child's pitch, carrying over the row of parked cars.

"... you assholes..."


A few moments later, another shrill noise intermingled with the rest; one of the cars parked close to where Victor had been firing on the others began to sound off when something triggered its alarm. There was a faint, metallic groan, followed by the weight of the car briefly tilting downwards, before it jolted forward at a skid by a few metres - directly into the path of the armed Neo-Pagan with the full tonnage weight bearing down on him.

In the empty space it left behind was a familiar child-sized silhouette, barefoot, face shadowed by the poor lighting of the space, with dark sockets that almost appeared hollow.

@Punished GN@silvermist1116@Estylwen@Atrophy


In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Zombiedude101>

You must be punished for your crimes.

To the torture chamber.


Is that another euphemism for the discord?
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Zombiedude101>

Added him to the Wolfpack faction.

But from here on in, and this is a notice for everyone, when you're making an NPC; do not remove any of the coding. It's the way that it is so I can easily just slide a new NPC in the existing NPC table.


Sorry, I wrote it up on my phone and the formatting was fucked for me somehow.
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Seeing as my time is a little freed up now, here's an NPC that may bear relevance to add to GN's cast of clowns.

In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Punished GN@Fernstone@Estylwen@AtomicEmperor
Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


His effort with the beer can had been a waste, and his argument had mostly fell on deaf ears. Clancy could see the girl wasn't in a position to reason, and he could see.... emerald light, flickering and swelling at the periphery of his vision. It was blinding, and he felt the strength of it close him like a fire licking at his clothes.

His feet moved on their own, almost autonomous - Clancy circling to what he'd felt was a safer distance somewhere a little more shaded as Stormy, Sully and Alizee briefly tussled on the street. It was only when he looked back he saw the girl was spent, all-but-broken, and for a moment he felt something that was halfway between contempt and pity. She lacked self-control, he realised, and that was something which brought on a sense of disconnected self-loathing.



Noise shook him out of that notion.

The collective buzz of motorcycle engines, catalysing with a single warning shot. It had been a while since Clancy had heard that unpleasantly familiar crack associated with gunfire.

A barely discernible mutter left his mouth."... warned you."

If it wasn't for the light, Clancy might've snorted at how moronic the Wolfpack looked. Between the braids, the spiked hair that had been poorly brill-creamed and what he wagered were sores from using, they almost looked like a collection of comic book villains, like the ones he used to read. The only things he'd lacked were named, until he overheard one of the others call out some names. "Valjean, Elodie, Shayton, Cyril, Maggy, Dean, and Victor.... no Judas or Curs."

Clancy wasn't sure who was who, save that Valjean was probably the spiky asshole barking orders at them.

For bikers, they seemed characteristically pissed, though he wondered if the commotion at the bar was their only reason for being here, and being ready to hurt people.

"Now, can someone tell me, who the fuck here killed Joe Skinner?! Don't give me any of that 'Aw, we didn't do it, believe us' bullshit! Shit ain't happen until you motherfuckers showed up, thrashing the place! So, you guys have one fucking minute to decide who the fuck killed a member of our pack before we send all of you to your God!"

Oh. That.

Clancy had almost considered the matter all-but settled. But things happened, it wasn't like Skinner was aanything but a bad guy. Did it really matter?

Wasn't like he was number one public enemy here, that went to the girl with a lack of self-control.

And Daddy Wolf was on the way. Maybe this was his shot at finding Judas? He wasn't sure at this stage; too many unknowns, too many people, in a world where he was very small.

Clancy flinched, threw up his hands, inching further off to one side. His attention was really on the motorcycle off to the far side of the lot. Joe Skinner's motorcycle, to which the keys were still in his pocket. It was one option, he'd guessed-

“Hey, kid!”

Clancy heard one of the female members of the Wolfpack call him. A sulty woman leaning up against her bike with her arms crossed and a cigarette in her mouth. She gestured for him to come closer with one finger.

“C’mere.”

Shayton turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

Clancy glanced back towards the others, "H-hey, I dunno anything lady, I was just waiting for my dad." It was probably the most genuine he'd sounded tonight.

Palms still raised, he apprehensively stepped forward, then-

“Bullshit.” Clancy froze as the woman hissed at him. “Any other kid in your position would be ready to shit themselves, but you?” She quickly drew her pistol and levelled it at him. “You’re agitated. All agitated. That makes zero fuckin’ sense for a kid your age… and I’m new to this magic bullshit, but that means one of two things…”

She raised two fingers.

“... You must be some kinda sociopath, or you’re not who you say you are.”

”Or,” Clancy snorted, squinting at the woman, ”Maybe I was taught not to fall over and shit my pants over some losers replaying the sixties over and over.” She wasn't wrong. He was agitated, and not necessarily because of the Wolfpack - though that particular fact was about to change.

“Bullshit, but you know what…?”

Maggy squinted down the gunsight and tugged back on the trigger. A single muzzle flare erupted, Clancy barely able to let out a whimper before he collapsed like a deck of cards with the center torn out.

There was no blood, no spatter of brain matter or viscera on the floor, simply the sight of a child crumpling to the ground beside a row of parked cars.

In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Punished GN@Fernstone@Estylwen@AtomicEmperor@Blizz
Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


In a matter of moments, the fighting seemed to have died down. Clancy had the self-awareness to recognise he had barely played a small-part in that, and it was more to do with people recognising other people they knew, and those people in turn backing down. He was an outsider in all of this; the only real connection he had to St. Portwell was Ashley Stone, and now she was gone.

That, and the walking embodiment of entropy needling at him, "Does it want a treat?" Asshole.

"Does it like toys?" A sense of agitation was building, more than it usually did when strangers derided him in this way. Too close to home.

"Does it want to feel the sweet, cold embrace of death?" Enough. He wasn't rising for that.

"It wants some quiet time while the grown-ups are talking..." Clancy snapped his fingers dismissively, offering no further answer to the entity or its host - at least, that's what he assumed their relationship might've been, it was difficult to tell what ties this walking embodiment of entropy had to living people except that it was closely involved with her. Good luck with that, anyway.

The woman herself had waved it off and was now speaking with one of the others in the lot, in French no less, but he couldn't follow along. His father - a military man - had spent some years deployed in Europe, but the only phrase he'd ever heard as far as he knew (from overhearing a poker night with some old friends) was "Voudriez-vous aller vous promener, mademoiselle?" followed by raucous laughter.

Meanwhile, the other would-be samaritan had chosen not to push things, but he couldn't help but find some strange amusement at being offered a business card by a stranger twice in as many days. Again, he took the card, briefly glanced over its contents, then pocketed it. If nothing else, it kept one more potential annoyance off his back.

Others were gathering, dropped off or parking close bg - and he was conscious that St. Portwell was a smaller town than he'd anticipated. Clancy wasn't entirely following along; a few names were finally being called out. Alizee, Leon. Sully. Britney. They weren't particularly ear-catching, but something- a sixth sense, maybe - gave him the impression they were supposed to mean something. Maybe something he'd seen on the internet, or when asking around.

At the least, he'd established they probably had nothing to do with the Wolfpack.

"..Sycamore Tree Coven.."

That mention caught his attention - and he linked it to what he'd known about Ashley, the group of friends (loosely using the term, he judged) she had led, that had accomplished a feat so great that it had become part of local myth and had helped lead him here. The same group who's own members were supposedly being picked off in murders by this asshole calling himself Father Wolf.

He suppressed his initial urge to immediately question them; it was obvious most of the people talking here had shared history, less than half of it good. Time wasn't necessarily on their side either; how long until some of Skinner's friends turned up and started asking pointed questions about why their favourite titty bar was trashed? Or why their friend had been left in the state he was, after a heart-to-heart conversation with an impressionable young boy? The latter part was less so concerned for his own sake, and he doubted Skinner would be talking about it to point a finger.

"...jumped me, Brit. G-got in the way of my... investig-gation."

The group he'd seen at the start of all this - that had been fighting Alizee - were still spoiling for a fight, naturally. Trying to catch and predate on some didn't make you friends, and the girl's flimsy defence against the accusations of "hunting" was a matter Clancy understood more than he had ever wanted to, and it did not evoke any warm feelings.

"If by investigation you mean trashing up the club." He wasn't particularly confident they were really listening to him, and was taking a certain relief in being blunt about the matter. "Thanks for that, by the way, you made it easier to walk out the front door."

Even her own 'friends' seemed skeptical about the matter.

”…do you have any idea why there’s a child here, by any chance?” It took a few more moments to realise the big guy with the beard had been referring to him, without directly addressing him. Well that made a change from the usual would-be samaritans, but he felt some irritation nonetheless, thumbing backwards. "The child is here because he wants-" Alizee interrupted that train of conversation by putting hands on the man - Stormy, she called him. Clancy wagered this wouldn't end well, the girl had a temper, but she seemed to back down... only to turn her anger back towards the group she'd originally been spoiling to fight.

His eyes crinkled. There is no time for this.

In the corner of his vision was a discarded beer can, only slightly crushed. Clancy knelt, grabbed it, and impulsively tossed the thing at the french speaker's back. Judging by the sloshing, it still had some liquid inside. Oops. "Listen, morons! You can kill each other whenever you want, but if these losers show up on their bikes, they're going to be your problem, so put a lid on it!" He stood there, gaze fixed on Alizee, posture tight. ".. Already have what you're looking for, it isn't you they need.."

If that didn't break her concentration, then the alternative was messy.
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


@Punished GN@Fernstone@Estylwen@AtomicEmperor

Veni Vedi Veni - Backstage

Getting into the club was just another leg of the journey. Going in through the front door was out of the question, between the regulars and the bouncers, an open window slit that was conveniently just wide enough to fit a child was a much better alternative. Clancy had slipped in while some of the night's main attractions were busy entertaining their audience. Music pulsed through the walls, lyrics and rhythms muffled by the physical barriers between the backstage areas and the main hall from whence it they were broadcast.

It looked like he'd wandered into the corridor preceding some of the private booths, but there wasn't anyone around - just the faint scuffing of high heels on expensive carpet, so for a while he sat around, listened in. Nothing all, except perhaps one guy that he caught a glimpse being led towards one of the private rooms, who didn't strike him as a leader, but had some of the hallmarks you'd associate with the trash found with some of the ex-cons that had fallen into the biker crowd.

He wore a red-and-black lumberjack shirt and denim pants, with an almost shiny clean-shaven dome that seemed to reflect the multi-coloured ambient lighting pretty well. The only thing that gave it away was what looked vaguely like a dog's head for the belt buckle, and the fact he was a skinhead at a club associated with a local group of assholes.

Leading him was one of the dancers, a petite girl somewhere between her late twenties and mid thirties, with platinum hair that he was almost certain had been brought on via artificial means. She was clad in black leather, and reminded him of one of those women he saw on the internet who got paid to stamp on men and tell them how useless they were.

He waited a while, caught some glimpses of their conversation. Based on the chuckling and the trash-talk, he was a regular. Her regular - Skinner, she called him. It sounded like they were very familiar, indeed. And then, some noise muffled by a couple of walls.

"SECURITY! GET HER OUT OF HERE!"


The girl heard it, it seemed. Her client wasn't so interested. "-just wait here a sec, I'll deal with you in a moment." Footsteps, rapidly pacing away. Clancy caught the outline of the girl disappearing around a corner, probably to see what the commotion was.

Some privacy at last.

This was probably the only lead he'd have. Checking over one shoulder, then forward again, he leaned in through the doorway.

"Everything okay?"

Skinner, the girl's client, was seated on a leather couch with some mood lighting overhead. To make things interesting, he was already partially undressed; his shirt was hanging off a hook to one side, and his denim unfastened in a tangle around his ankles. To make it even more interesting, he was handcuffed by his wrists to a railing behind the couch. Another set of manacles chained his ankles to the legs of the couch.

Now that Clancy had a chance to get a better look at him, the illusion of masculinity had been broken. Skinner was paunchy, and judging by the vague outline across the rim of the guy's head, he was compensating for a spell of baldness that had come in some years too early.

Adding to it all, it was much easier to make out sharp, angular tattoo on the guy's upper torso running from shoulder to pectoral, drawn to resembles thick bolts of lightning and repurposed norse runes. Definitely trash.

"Uhm... I'm lost, mister."

"Go on, get outta here kid. This ain' elementary school." Clancy shut the door behind them, then ignorantly dusted off his palms.

"You deaf? C'mon, I'm being fair. I gotta shout, they will toss your ass out. You wanna look at titties, go look 'em up on your phone." Skinhead wasn't amused. "You hear me?"

"Uh-uh," Clancy shook his head,"I got questions. You're not exactly in a position to drag me, and I think security are a little.... busy. I want to know about your boss, or maybe your boss' boss.. you look too much like dirt to associate with management."

"Fuck you, kid. You seriously oughta get outta here before I slap you upside the head."

"With what?" Clancy waved his palms, "I'm guessing your date has the keys. And I bet neither the cops, or your friends would really love dealing with a chomo."

"Fuck you talkin' about you stupid little cocksucker-" Clancy pressed a finger to his own lips and made a 'shush', "I wouldn't say that too loud, or you're just making it worse for yourself." He whipped out the new phone he'd acquired the other night, shifting into the camera app. It took him a moment to figure out the selfie button.

Skinhead flailed, cursing away - fruitlessly, as the commotion had pulled any would-be intrusions to the main viewing gallery. Clancy leaned in close, posing for a few snaps, placing himself in a few compromising poses. A few snaps and it was done. "Unless you want this getting outside the club, you'll tell me what I want to know."

"You better fuckin' delete that shit, or-"

"Or what?" Clancy cut in, rummaging through the pocket of Skinner's shirt, "You'll dislocate your thumbs to come at me? Make it easy, you spend time with this crowd of losers." He tugged out a switchblade. "I want to know what you know. You play with some real losers, so I'm guessing you know something. What about about the guy they call Judas? What's his uh.. deal?"

"Nunya fuckin' business you mongoloid fuckEAARGH!" A shriek drowned out anything coherent. Clancy had stuck the blade in Skinner's knee. "I asked nicely the first time. And now I'm asking one more time before I decide to..." he twisted the blade in place, causing the man to yelp and flail. "YEARHGFUCKER-!"

"Judas. Wolf guy. What does he want? Where. Is. He?" Another twist. "This kneecap is going to pop out aaany minute..."

"I DON'T KNOW! S-STOP!"

"I don't believe you."

"F-fuckin' psycho kid... I d-don't fuckin' know, whaddya even want with 'em?!"

"Child support, he owes my mom a lot of child support." Another twist, for emphasis. "I'm not really good at this, my fingers might slip and hit an artery."

"F-FUCK, STOP! P-please, I really don't fuckin' know! I'll... j-just lemme tell ya'.."

Clancy kept a couple of fingertips on the hilt of the blade, "I'm listening."

"I-... I really don't know much shit 'bout Judas, I swear. He don't... we don't mess around with him much, you think I'm into that crazy shit?"

"Keep on talking... I wanna know why he's killing people like Ashley Stone."

"Ashley wh-.. what the fuck are you talking about? I don't know about any shit like that! W-why are we even talkin' about this, jesus... bet you don' have a clue what you-" Clancy leaned back into the blade. "FURGHh-f-fine! I d-don't know anything about girls b-but.. hear me out, we all seen he's been meetin' with some weird fucks, they come by t-the clubhouse to meet in private. But we d-don't get into that shit."

"What weirdos are we talking about?"

"I d-dunno, they're into some weird demon shit. Sometimes they want people, I got told to stay the fuck away from them, so that's what I do." Clancy eyed the blade, a dull expression in his eyes, "Uh.. s-ssomethin' about dolls... D-Dollhouse, that's their crew!"

Dollhouse. The penny dropped. That it was a name he'd heard before. It didn't evoke a fond memory.

More questions came.



"It goes without saying that if you talk about this with anyone, these-" Clancy waved the phone at Skinner, compromising photos on show, "-will find their way out there. That won't be good for you at all. If anyone asks, you uh... figure it out. Nod if you understand."

Skinner frantically nodded, sweat beading down his forehead and other fluids of varying darkness having pooled around the couch cushion and his feet. One of the sleeves of his shirt had been torn off and wedged in his mouth. The blade had been left wedged in his knee, and had left an ugly picture for how small it was.

The stench of meat, blood and other human odours was almost overwhelming. Clancy turned back to the door, fleding his fingers. He had a starting point, at least, and there wasn't anything left for him here - between the information, some extra cash and a few little things borrowed from Skinner's pocket, he had most of what he came for

On second thoughts.

Clancy turned back for a moment; there was one more thing he needed. He'd almost forgot.


Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


Slipping back out hadn't been too much trouble, though one of the girls in the back had made a point of reminding him on her way out, "Jasper c'mon, your mom doesn't work here anymore." It was almost funny. Almost.

Except the commotion that had drawn Skinner's date away had spilled outside. Peaking around the corner, Clancy saw a trail of destruction leading out of the main dance hall, overturned tables and broken glass everywhere. And the air reeked of something beyond the overpriced liquor, aftershave and perfume that left their pungent trademarks.

Something surged at his insides, briefly - a sensation he hadn't felt for a long while. He wasn't sure if that was a good of a bad thing. Instead, he felt through his knapsack for security. A couple of phones rating from bad to okay, including the new one Skinner had generously gifted him. And the key. A motorcycle key to be specific.

Could he still ride a bike? The learned motions were there, somewhere deep within him.

Depending on what it was... well, a long time ago, his older brother had taken him out to a road near a quarry to ride on his '31 Indian Scout, a hand-me-down from Uncle... Gerry? Sometimes the memories were a blur - Frank had made Clancy do the run by himself, and he'd almost gone over the handlebars when he hit a rock in the road... except he hadn't, and beat the odds. Lucky for them, really. If their mom had found out, they'd have both got the belt.

He shook the memory off as he stepped outside. Back to the now.

And there it was. Clancy could see a motorcycle parked across the lot, and judging by the profile, it matched Skinner's key. Except there was another problem.

Some kind of tussle had broke out in the lot, and he couldn't make hide or hair of who these people were, save that they vaguely matched the profile of weird demon shit that Skinner had alluded to. But he didn't get the impression these people were Dollhouse, even though they reeked of power.

And an ivory-skinned girl with matching hair, projecting phantom limbs which had no business being attached to a human body. There was no warmth felt in his recognition of that ephemeral shadow, clutching a redhead in its grasp, and there was little doubt it might recognise him... in a fashion.

A kindred spirit of sorts, from the Void. Hunger

One of the others in the opposing group spoke up.

"We do not wish to fight! Please release our friend and we will leave! There are more of us on the way, and the Wolfpack is likely on the way as well; there is no way for you to win! We will do anything for our friends. If you do not stop... we will be forced to kill you! And trust me, everyone here has taken a life before, and we will show you no quarter!"

It occurred to him he was a 12 (and-a-half) year-old boy stood outside the local biker crew's favourite titty bar, in the middle of a fight between powers beyond human mortality.

"Uh... I'm lost." he remarked, to nobody in particular.

Something was uncanny about the boy, and it wasn't the dried blood on his fingertips.

In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Zombiedude101>

Cucked


well at least I still know more about linux
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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