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47,402 | 1,285 | 30 | 1,386 | 349 | link23454
As Link turned the corner to see who was yelling, he turned too quickly and ran right into the source of it, falling back and hitting the ground. If this were really anime, he would look like the stereotypical 'high school girl with toast in her mouth,' minus the toast of course. Quickly regaining his senses, he quickly responded, "Crap! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to...... Oh! It was you after all. Hey, Eld: wait! No I'm still sorry I ran into you like that! I was in a hurry to......." Link dramatically paused and looked back at the two guys, who were giving him a funny look, almost as if to laugh at him. "Either way," Link began, turning back to Mikael, "I never took the time to give you my player address. Why don't we go ahead and do that now?" Link asked as he pulled up his player menu.
A short flash back to the previous situation, the following took place after Anger Boy and Level-Head Boy walked away and out of site.
After regaining his senses, Keisuke shook his head with confusion. He hadn't realized he gained fame for his grinding, nor could he understand how everyone kept it 'hush-hush.' Karen had taken too much in from situation and couldn't take anymore, so she immediately logged out. As for Link and Mikael they took this time to gather themselves as well. A few moments passed, and Link came up to Keisuke. "Well, looks like you've got a name for yourself, 'Monster Fang'."
Keisuke replied, "Yeah, it would seem so. And I didn't even notice either." Keisuke didn't seem too happy about his situation. "Anyways, I'm going to head out. You two going to be okay by yourselves?"
With a smirk, Link responded, "You might want to worry about yourself. After all, they were after you." As Link pointed this out, Keisuke nodded, waved, and then left. Link turned back to find Mikael..... logging out. 'Crap, he should have waited and exchanged player ID's with me. Dammit!' Link thought to himself. 'Oh well. Guess I should go test out the combat system at least.' Link began heading to the town gate, and he began hearing murmurs from people passing by, "Hey, did you hear? Some girl took on an LC member and survived. It happened right outside....", "Did you hear about that girl? Taking on LC and living to tell about it must have been......." Rumors kept coming up left and right as Link approached the gate. Finally, standing in front of the gate one player came up and snapped a picture with a capture cube. "Hey there miss! We hear you're the one that took on LC and survived! Can you tell us what it was like? Were you frightened? What did the guys look like? How....." The guy went on and on about the LC and 'her' surviving. It finally pushed Link to his limit. Without hesitation, he pulled up his player menu, scrolled all the way to the bottom, and then logged out. "Miss wai......." the guy attempting to say something was cut off as Link reappeared in his own room.
From Mikael's view, he could tell Link was trying like hell to get away from the two boys staring at him.
A defensive sword man, about to head out of the first floor town, gets stopped by a beautiful girl. "Sir? Excuse me. I just started a while ago, and I was wondering if you knew where I'd find some healing stuff. The way I fight doesn't really allow for me to take many hits, so something to keep my health up would be awesome," she asked him.
With a short look of confusion, the swordsman replies, "Um, yeah. You might want to look or a new class set if you're taking too many hits. There's no more natural regen. After the announcement from the LC guild, it seems to be turned off. And healing item; well if you ever find one, you better damn well keep it safe. They're almost non-existent. I've never even seen anyone with such items, so you're at a loss there, as the shops don't sell them either." Really quick, gesturing across the square, "Why don't you ask that girl? She's the one who was said to take on an LC member and survive it. She might have some sort of secret or something." | Real Name: Darrin GuillotPlayer Name: link23454 (aka: Link or D)Color: DeepPink or FF1493Nationality: AmericaDescription: Neutral GoodReal Life Story(job and living status is fine): Currently a computer programmer, and lives alone in a high security complex.Role in-game:Goes in unhanded, as this SAO allows unhanded combat.Tries to draw the attention of all attackers slower than him.Has unparalleled speed with his hands and legs. Everything else though? …………………Why are they playing?: Honestly for the money. Even if the money is a lie, at least he feels that something good could come out of attempting the game.Play Style Focus: If the story/lore is interesting, he will focus less on what he is getting and his stats. Otherwise, he likes stats and items more.Stats:Level: 1STR: 17VIT: 17AGI: 16DEX: 16HIT: 17DGE: 17HP: 250/250
Weapon: Unhanded
DMG: 0
SPD: 30
GVN: STR
Armor
Head: Starter Gear: +1
Arm: Starter Gear: +1
Chest: Starter Gear: +1
Legs: Starter Gear: +1
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 29 |
47,403 | 1,285 | 31 | 902 | 430 | While strolling towards the town gate someone suddenly bumbed into him, the guy, Link. Quick as it happened Link was fast up on to his feet talking nervously about things before by merely looking towards the guys he ran away from explained to Mikael what was going on adding an firey looking towards them, enough so that if they had half a brain they should stop their harrasments. Nodding in a reply to that Link also asked him to befriend him through SAO.
"Hey, absolutely..." Mikael accepted the trade of personal info and continued, "Link, that's it, Link is your name." Mikael slapped his own forehead, "Finally I can let that mystery rest." he claimed with a smile.
"So what do you want to do? Get into combat? I would personal love to climb the ladder some and start hunting some you know what out of their stupid hideout and get the owning going." Mikael starting waving his fists around in a controlled manner... Maybe even realizing how stupid he was looking at the moment, even further rude to assume that their friendship was up at the level of talking in such a manner. | Real Name: Mikael Kovenas.
Player Name: Eld Brinna.
Nationality: Sweden.
Color: Plum.
Description: Mikael has semi long brown hair often in a messy backslick, green eyes, rather muscular yet not out of proportions and not as bulky as one would imagine their typical muscles man how that is? Because he never uses a car or if possible deny public transportation options so biking or running to colleage for 15 kilometers a day do give its share of workout. It basically carries over to the character though in game his just covered in armor and tries to cover up his face for the most.
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Real Life Story(job and living status is fine): Single, lives alone in a suburban apartment studying psychology and medicin.
Role in-game: Free spirited and self proclaimed protector.
> Plays his way by utilizing shield and sword to "tank".
> Excelling shield skills before sword he is naturally talanted as a tank.
Why are they playing?: Hero complex? While studying hard he is also a very entusiastic gamer and forum surfer. He is there to kick ass while searching for a reason to carry on? In order to put those feelings into action, he decided to get his hands on a NervGear instead of the amusphere.
Play Style Focus: Power gaming in order to reach a top tier spot among the players of the server.
Stats:
Level:4
STR:26
VIT:36
AGI:21
DEX:21
HIT:26
DGE:6
HP: 448/448
Weapon: Sword and Shield
DMG: 14
SPD: 80
GVN: STR
Shield: -15% to all incoming physical dmg. drops DGE to 0 while equipped.
Armor
Head: Starter Gear
Arm: Starter Gear
Chest: Starter Gear
Legs: Starter Gear
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 46
DEF: 51 |
47,404 | 1,285 | 32 | 1,998 | 764 | Once Kei was down to a floor that he knew he would have no problem grinding with his dual swords he immediately opened up his player equipment and tapped around until he got into his weapon section. He scrolled past the various weapons he kept until he found the dual swords he wanted to use, right away he tapped on the item and a little window popped up in front of him asking if he was sure he wanted to equip this weapon. Obviously he tapped ok. His previous katana dematerialized into small blue polygons, going back into his inventory. Then came out the dual swords, both swords crossing on his back.「Alright time to level up this skill.」He reached behind his back and took a hold of the two hilts of the swords and drew them, bringing them in front of him. Right away he engaged the monsters before him, using his usual method of fighting with dual swords with these said mobs. Whenever he would finish off a sword skill, killing off the monster he was engaged with he would give a few seconds to catch his breath while also waiting for the cooldown on his skills to pass. Once his skills were all refreshed he went in and took on the next mob. | Name- Asada Keisuke
Username- Kei
Nationality- Japanese-Korean
Alignment- True Neutral
Appearance-
Real Life Story-
Keisuke, or Kei, was a gamer type he played games of all sorts. He enjoyed his times in the online world. Most of his time was spent playing Safehold Assault Online. He lived comfortably without having to worry about much really as he took his time and made sure he would be able to maximize the time in the online world. Kei is the type to like a good challenge so upon hearing about the whole ordeal with the game he immediately went and made a new character and aimed to beat the game. He didn't care for the money he just wanted to be the one to beat the game. He does own a NerveGear but he was not a survivor of the old SAO as he never actually logged in on that faithful day, as such instead of using an AmuSphere he just went ahead and decided to use the NerveGear as he did not want to have to bother with spending money to get the AmuSphere.
Role In-Game-
Wants to beat the game
Is good with medium to short range engagements
Enjoys fights but only fights when it is required
Overall tends to try and be stronger than the competition
Why Are They Playing?
Main reason is to be the person to beat the game. His secondary reason is to be in the top tier players.
Play-Style Focus-
Power Player always being ahead by a few levels of the mobs in the area. Doing his best to become the player to clear the game, but whilst being careful as he is using a NerveGear instead of a AmuSphere so death was a real thing to him.
Stats
Level- 19
STR- 58
VIT- 43
AGI- 50
DEX- 64
HIT- 61
DGE- 40
Weapon- Dual Blades- Level appropriate dual blades bought from a NPC shop.
DMG- 34
Attack Speed- 140
STR- +3
GVN- STR
Weapon Class- Dual Blade
Armor
Head- Black Hooded Cloak +2
Arm- Apprentice Level Metal Enforced Leather Gauntlets +4
Chest- Apprentice Level Single Metal Shoulder Protector +6
Legs- Apprentice Level Adventurer Pants +3
Neck-
Charm-
Ring 1-
Ring 2-
HP- 1260
ATK- 104
DEF- 83
Other- Kei spreads out his weapon mastery between four weapon classes: Dagger, One Hand Sword, Duel Wield, and Katana |
47,405 | 1,285 | 33 | 2,008 | 533 | After thanking the guy mentioning the girl to take on an LC member, Cecelia remembers some of the bulletins she'd read about the incident. She doubted all of them were extremely accurate, but figured that the other girl would have at least stood up to the guy. She interrupts the conversation between the girl and a guy, who matches some descriptions the bulletins describe as being involved in the LC incident, with her own desire to take down horrible people. And it'd feel like a real, true adventure. Much better than her real life.
Pointing at the previously mentioned girl, Cecelia starts in on their conversation. "Hunting bad dudes? Those guys, like the ones that tried to kill someone but got taken on by you? If so, I'd like to help. I'm kinda new, and am trying to dual-knives for super fast attacks. All I got so far for skills is one set of attack speed boosts. Lasts about fifteen seconds, but is worth it." Stopping from her flustered thoughts of why they'd really care for her playstyle, Cecelia continues back on her original point. "Anywho, if you guys need a party member, maybe a scout, I could do. Also, is there really, like, no healing at all...?" Running out of thought train, Cecelia's sentence dropped there, leaving a phantom question mark on her statement. Feeling embarrassed, she chuckled nervously and shifted her weight around as she looked from one player to the other. | Real Name: Cecelia Garron
Player Name: Silver_Shadow114 (Goes by Silver or Shadow)
Color: a187be (no idea what words work. It was in the color selection)
Nationality: English
Description:
Alignment: True Neutral
Real Life Story: Part time grocery store clerk with a studio apartment in the not-so-good part of town
Role in-game: Chip away - Cecelia strikes fast from many angles with two daggers, confusing and disorienting one enemy at a time until she can use a powerful ability to do the final blow (or an ally does it instead). Also steals things when she can, since she's most likely to get away with her speed
Why are they playing?: Immersion. Cecelia wants to use this as an escape from the real world.
Play Style Focus: Stats. She optimizes as much as she can.
Stats
Level:4
STR:7
VIT:4
AGI:35
DEX:29
HIT:26
DGE:35
HP: 262/262
Weapon: Dual Daggers
DMG: 9
SPD: 50
GVN: DEX
Armor
Head: Starter Gear
Arm: Starter Gear
Chest: Starter Gear
Legs: Starter Gear
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 26 |
47,406 | 1,285 | 34 | 1,386 | 349 | link23454, Eld, and Cecelia
Link, raising his hand to open his player menu to log out, forces himself to stop. Instead, he brushes the side of his face with his hand and lets out a very obviously irritated sigh. Then, he begins, "Eld, you might want to cover your ears for a sec. Now," Eld heading Link's warning, Link continues, "First off: I AM NOT A FUCKING GIRL!!! Second," Link continues as though he hadn't just yelled at the top of his lungs, "the guy ran away. No one fought anyone, so I didn't do what everyone says I did, besides save a life. Third, as for hunting 'bad dudes,' we're both still level one, so there's not going to be much of that. Fourth, and this time I'm actually happy, thanks for sharing the info about your stat stuff. Fifth, by the looks of it, there's only one skill that can increase a natural regen for you. However, it's only one every ten seconds and apparently has some sort af requirement before you can access it. Finally, I personlly don't care, but I'll leave the party up to Eld. Hey, you cool with that?" Link says, while grabbing Eld's attention.
Eld smiled, "I, umh, sure the party, we will need to recruit balloons, beer and people. Farming music will add a flavor to us and bam, we are wrapped up to go." he laughed briefly, but changed his expression from light hearted to serious stone.
"Bad guys indeed, if you wanna help please do, but you are responsible for your own safety... Anyway the name is Eld, nice to meet you."
Eld kept his expression while letting the more gentle tone of his voice speak for his genuine intention.
Turning his eyes onto Link, "You know, now that you said it, you do look a bit female-ish." Eld broke out a wide smile.
Link broke out in a girlish voice, face turning red, "Oh, that's not funny, Eld! Not funny!" Embarrased, Link gave a glare to Eld, basically asking his to take back what he just said. "Hmph," Link continued, still embarrased. "Well, you heard him, girly. Here's the party invite." Link scrolled open his character menu, pressed a few options, and a screen popped up in front of Cecelia, asking if she would join or not.
After having not said anyhing due to being frightened by Link's yelling, Cecelia immedieately went to trying not to laugh out loud at Eld's comment about the stuff we needed "for a party". Seeing the invite, Cecelia touches the accept button, thanking the two for letting her help out. "And, uh, ser. I've only read reports and bulletins. I couldn't have known you were male. I knew they were a bit dodgy, but not that they'd confuse you for a girl. Though I do agree that you do have a bit of an effeminate charm." Unable to control it anymore, Cecelia broke out into a fit of giggles. Remembering that she hadn't even told them her name or anything, she calmed her giggling to fix that. "By the way, I'm Silver_Shadow114. In-game I go by either word: Silver or Shadow or whatever you'd care to call me. 'slong as it's not mean."
Link glares at Cecelia breifly before turning toward the gate, "Well, let's get going. I want to collect as much data as I can before I have to log out." From his facial expressions, he made it blatantly obvious he was trying to forget the things Cecelia and Eld said about him looking like a girl.
Cecelia follows after, still trying to keep from occasionally giggling. "Cool. What data do ya need?"
"Anything." As Link began explaining, he physically seemed to completely forget his aggrivation about being called a girl, "Literally anything will do. My goal is to get a full guide done on this game. So any information on stats, attack patterns, and the likes will do."
Interested by his quest for knowledge, Cecelia looked back into her stats. "Awesome. I like optimizing stats no matter what game I'm in, so I know anyone else who does would like a guide for stats-to-class optimization. I would gladly help with that" Smiling just at the thought of finding out how to optimize everything for each weapon class, Cecelia's mind starts swirling with ideas.
"Well then," Link began by pointing at Eld, "I already know he's using a sword and shield. What about you?"
"Dual knives. I have maxed out speed and dodging, so I plan to use consecutive hits to maximize damage output rather than heavy hits." Looking for a sign of a weapon, Cecelia asks "what about you?"
Link looks confused by the question, "What do you mean? My weapons are right here," He says, holding up his hands.
Speechless for a moment, Cecelia finally manages "Unarmed...?"
"Yeah," Link continues. "I need to know if the system has implimented unhanded combat so that others don't make the mistake if it doesn't. Can't be making mistakes when your life is on the line, you know?" Links face turns bright for a second, then back to serious, "Alright, let's do this!"
After a moment of confusion by Link's fluster, Cecelia smiles. "Sweet! Time to... er... level up?"
"Right. Now about your weapons..." Link began to ask as all three walked through the gates and out into the first floor field.
The first floor field; a vibrant color display of reds, blues, greens, and yellows, all as far as the eye can see. Grassy field strewn with apple trees stretch across the landscape. Some players could be seen outside the city gates, just going about their own business. Some mosters, mostly bees and wolves, could be seen roaming the fields as well.
As the three continued, Link kept asking question after question about Cecelia's experience with the game thus far, and she kept answering every single one without hesitation. Eventually, Link sighs, "Well, I don't think I'll be able to really understand anything else until we start fighting. What say you two?"
"It's the only way we're going to get anywhere close to those bastards. Let's do it," Eld exclaims.
The grin Cecelia had sustained while talking about stats and the technical side of battle widened when Link mentioned going out and fighting. "Now we're talkin. Time to put these ol' kitchen knives to use."
"That's right. You don't have the basic daggers. I wanted to ask; where did you get those if you're just starting? I thought you could only get the basic stuff in town." The way Link sounded made sure Eld could hear the suspense in his voice.
"Well, quickness helps with aspects outside of battle, too." Flipping and twirling the knives in her hands, Cecelia's mouth tilts up a little more, and gets a glimmer in her eyes. | Real Name: Darrin GuillotPlayer Name: link23454 (aka: Link or D)Color: DeepPink or FF1493Nationality: AmericaDescription: Neutral GoodReal Life Story(job and living status is fine): Currently a computer programmer, and lives alone in a high security complex.Role in-game:Goes in unhanded, as this SAO allows unhanded combat.Tries to draw the attention of all attackers slower than him.Has unparalleled speed with his hands and legs. Everything else though? …………………Why are they playing?: Honestly for the money. Even if the money is a lie, at least he feels that something good could come out of attempting the game.Play Style Focus: If the story/lore is interesting, he will focus less on what he is getting and his stats. Otherwise, he likes stats and items more.Stats:Level: 1STR: 17VIT: 17AGI: 16DEX: 16HIT: 17DGE: 17HP: 250/250
Weapon: Unhanded
DMG: 0
SPD: 30
GVN: STR
Armor
Head: Starter Gear: +1
Arm: Starter Gear: +1
Chest: Starter Gear: +1
Legs: Starter Gear: +1
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 29 |
47,407 | 1,285 | 35 | 1,998 | 764 | Kei's mob grind ended just the way he expected with a decent amount of character experience gain as well as a decent amount to weapon level experience gain. It was just as he had expected seeing as these monsters were a good few levels below the usual. He also didn't gain any items that were any worth to him, rather everything was to under-leveled for him to use. Once he made his way into a small town on the floor he was on he immediately opened up his menu and went through the various equips he looted from his hunt. He sold off anything that was a Miscellaneous item, keeping the rest. Usually he would have sold them off regardless of their rarity but this time he had a reason to keep them and it was because he felt he needed to repay the guy that had saved him from becoming a LC victim the other day. Obviously Kei did not know the players' name, rather he was having a hard time remembering as he didn't get a good look at the players face. His only saving grace was coincidentally bumping into him somewhere on the first or lower floors.
He sighed to himself as he motioned his hand up to the upper corner of the inventory window, closing it out. Once he was all set he made sure his health was in a safe spot and made his way back down to the first floor as he always did after a grind.
It was a quick expedition back down to the first floor, Kei had no problems taking out enemies as he descended the floors, obviously since they got weaker and weaker as he got closer to the first floor. It was not long before he was on the first floor's main field. He released the tension in his hands that held his dual swords and slowly strolled along the field taking out any mobs with a single slash of his sword. As he continued to make his way across the field he looked up to see a party of three. They looked familiar but at first glance Kei was not able to realize that two out of the three of them he had met before. He shrugged off the sight of the three and went back to casually making his way back to the town. | Name- Asada Keisuke
Username- Kei
Nationality- Japanese-Korean
Alignment- True Neutral
Appearance-
Real Life Story-
Keisuke, or Kei, was a gamer type he played games of all sorts. He enjoyed his times in the online world. Most of his time was spent playing Safehold Assault Online. He lived comfortably without having to worry about much really as he took his time and made sure he would be able to maximize the time in the online world. Kei is the type to like a good challenge so upon hearing about the whole ordeal with the game he immediately went and made a new character and aimed to beat the game. He didn't care for the money he just wanted to be the one to beat the game. He does own a NerveGear but he was not a survivor of the old SAO as he never actually logged in on that faithful day, as such instead of using an AmuSphere he just went ahead and decided to use the NerveGear as he did not want to have to bother with spending money to get the AmuSphere.
Role In-Game-
Wants to beat the game
Is good with medium to short range engagements
Enjoys fights but only fights when it is required
Overall tends to try and be stronger than the competition
Why Are They Playing?
Main reason is to be the person to beat the game. His secondary reason is to be in the top tier players.
Play-Style Focus-
Power Player always being ahead by a few levels of the mobs in the area. Doing his best to become the player to clear the game, but whilst being careful as he is using a NerveGear instead of a AmuSphere so death was a real thing to him.
Stats
Level- 19
STR- 58
VIT- 43
AGI- 50
DEX- 64
HIT- 61
DGE- 40
Weapon- Dual Blades- Level appropriate dual blades bought from a NPC shop.
DMG- 34
Attack Speed- 140
STR- +3
GVN- STR
Weapon Class- Dual Blade
Armor
Head- Black Hooded Cloak +2
Arm- Apprentice Level Metal Enforced Leather Gauntlets +4
Chest- Apprentice Level Single Metal Shoulder Protector +6
Legs- Apprentice Level Adventurer Pants +3
Neck-
Charm-
Ring 1-
Ring 2-
HP- 1260
ATK- 104
DEF- 83
Other- Kei spreads out his weapon mastery between four weapon classes: Dagger, One Hand Sword, Duel Wield, and Katana |
47,408 | 1,285 | 36 | 1,386 | 349 | link23454
Link, still unable to shake the feeling he got from Cecelia and her weapons, all of a sudden got a different, familiar feeling. He looked around for a second, and what do you know, The Monster Fang was walking towards the town gate. Shrugging off the current situation, Link turns and flags down Keisuke, "HEY, MONSTER FANG! OVER HERE!" Remembering his own irritation over his own "fame," Link suddenly turns back a little with a face of guilt, as though he did something wrong. Slowly, he turns back, "SORRY! IT'S KEISUKE, RIGHT!?"
Even though he felt a little guilty calling Keisuke by his 'fame name,' Link couldn't help but wonder what would have really happened that day if he hadn't interfered. Not to mention, he also couldn't understand something. The other girl player there that day hadn't been talked about in town, nor was she seen either at the store they visited or sitting in the spawn area tree she was hiding in. Out of gamer habit, Link asks, "HEY, IS THAT ONE GIRL WITH YOU TODAY?!" | Real Name: Darrin GuillotPlayer Name: link23454 (aka: Link or D)Color: DeepPink or FF1493Nationality: AmericaDescription: Neutral GoodReal Life Story(job and living status is fine): Currently a computer programmer, and lives alone in a high security complex.Role in-game:Goes in unhanded, as this SAO allows unhanded combat.Tries to draw the attention of all attackers slower than him.Has unparalleled speed with his hands and legs. Everything else though? …………………Why are they playing?: Honestly for the money. Even if the money is a lie, at least he feels that something good could come out of attempting the game.Play Style Focus: If the story/lore is interesting, he will focus less on what he is getting and his stats. Otherwise, he likes stats and items more.Stats:Level: 1STR: 17VIT: 17AGI: 16DEX: 16HIT: 17DGE: 17HP: 250/250
Weapon: Unhanded
DMG: 0
SPD: 30
GVN: STR
Armor
Head: Starter Gear: +1
Arm: Starter Gear: +1
Chest: Starter Gear: +1
Legs: Starter Gear: +1
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 29 |
47,409 | 1,285 | 37 | 902 | 430 | Eld had followed along mostly remaining quite for a while now, scouting for potential targets in the field to go up against.
Suddenly spotting a few wolves roaming about he was just about to give the call when he heard Link calling upon that stronger guy from a few days ago.
While a little annoyed Eld felt some of his weighty thoughts sliding off his self inflicted burden, Atleast I know that he is alright now, less of a concern for me. and he was truly reliefed to see him well, yet it also raised a flag, Mikael was going to have to work harder in order to gain in on Keisuke a frontliner of this SAO VRMMORPG, even if Keisuke had been targeted by LC meaning he was an attractive target for them, it would have to take more skill and levels in order to lure more of the LC out... Tsk...
"Ey, Link..." Eld had a concerned face upon himself, it was probably going to lead to a question but at that moment Eld couldn't muster his own suspicions.
No matter how he twisted and turned the possabilities behind Keisuke, it was hard to eliminate him from suspicion, atleast according to Eld's mind.
But in cases like this Mikael rarely hesitated, so why did he do so now... Why? The question could be mauled over and over, why?
Well, in all honesty, if Mikael was completely honest with himself, Keisuke is way stronger than Eld by alot too, Eld didn't like being in the frontlines by mind and by mind only.
Thus, the likely hood of his own jellousy clouding his rational judgement was way off the charts. It sucked to be weak, he had been or rather felt weak most of the times growing up. Complexed by weakness yet good and modest, now adays being a top student and popular to a fair degree Mikael finds it hard to acknowledge that he himself is not the strongest among all, that his own ordeal was not unique or a singular road for a chosen hero. Friends, intelligence and strenght was not enough, especially here in the world of VR. So much more mattered, more entusiasm, dedication and personal will. Rocking top tier was more than armor and levels, but it is the start of it all...
Biting it together, forcing his concerns and questionable suspicions away from his head he broke into a smile. "You see Silver, that guy is the dude that Link saved from the LC in all those rumors you have heard about." Eld said and turned towards Silver with a grin, forced but some what believable. | Real Name: Mikael Kovenas.
Player Name: Eld Brinna.
Nationality: Sweden.
Color: Plum.
Description: Mikael has semi long brown hair often in a messy backslick, green eyes, rather muscular yet not out of proportions and not as bulky as one would imagine their typical muscles man how that is? Because he never uses a car or if possible deny public transportation options so biking or running to colleage for 15 kilometers a day do give its share of workout. It basically carries over to the character though in game his just covered in armor and tries to cover up his face for the most.
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Real Life Story(job and living status is fine): Single, lives alone in a suburban apartment studying psychology and medicin.
Role in-game: Free spirited and self proclaimed protector.
> Plays his way by utilizing shield and sword to "tank".
> Excelling shield skills before sword he is naturally talanted as a tank.
Why are they playing?: Hero complex? While studying hard he is also a very entusiastic gamer and forum surfer. He is there to kick ass while searching for a reason to carry on? In order to put those feelings into action, he decided to get his hands on a NervGear instead of the amusphere.
Play Style Focus: Power gaming in order to reach a top tier spot among the players of the server.
Stats:
Level:4
STR:26
VIT:36
AGI:21
DEX:21
HIT:26
DGE:6
HP: 448/448
Weapon: Sword and Shield
DMG: 14
SPD: 80
GVN: STR
Shield: -15% to all incoming physical dmg. drops DGE to 0 while equipped.
Armor
Head: Starter Gear
Arm: Starter Gear
Chest: Starter Gear
Legs: Starter Gear
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 46
DEF: 51 |
47,410 | 1,285 | 38 | 1,998 | 764 | As Kei inched closer and closer towards the first floor town gates, he heard a voice not too far away.The voice was familiar and what the voice called out was all to familiar as well. From the male's mouth came the famed name 'Monster Fang' Kei stopped dead in his tracks before he shot around towards the direction of said voice. Halfway through his turn the same voice called out again but this time there was a small correction, instead of addressing Kei by 'Monster Fang' he used 'Keisuke.' Once Kei's full attention was on the source of the voice he immediately recognized two out of the three of them. It was the two males players he met not too long ago. It was an easy recognize since he had a basic idea of what their avatars had looked like that day.「Hey just who I was looking for!」He didn't mind the fact he was called 'Monster Fang' he brushed it off and immediately walked towards the group. Once he was within a few meters of the group of players he noticed the unfamiliar face of the group.「First it was that one blue haired girl, and now now a blonde one? Did you guys do something to anger her too?」Obviously he was kidding as he let out a light laugh before being hit with a question. It was about the blue haired one from the other day. Upon hearing the question Kei immediately shook his responding with a no and then followed up with another response.「The last time I saw her was the last time you two saw her as well.」He shrugged before turning his head slightly to the other male that went by Eld. He looked as if he was deep in thought especially as he stared Kei down, at first Kei felt a bit awkward but immediately brushed it off as he did not want to cause an ordeal over something that was probably very insignificant. it was not long before Eld turned his attention away from Kei and to the girl he called Silver. He then opened his mouth and had said something about Kei's fame and how it had caused him to be targeted by a LC member. Kei immediately jumped up and said something.「Hey now let's not scare her into thinking being anywhere near me means being targeted.」 | Name- Asada Keisuke
Username- Kei
Nationality- Japanese-Korean
Alignment- True Neutral
Appearance-
Real Life Story-
Keisuke, or Kei, was a gamer type he played games of all sorts. He enjoyed his times in the online world. Most of his time was spent playing Safehold Assault Online. He lived comfortably without having to worry about much really as he took his time and made sure he would be able to maximize the time in the online world. Kei is the type to like a good challenge so upon hearing about the whole ordeal with the game he immediately went and made a new character and aimed to beat the game. He didn't care for the money he just wanted to be the one to beat the game. He does own a NerveGear but he was not a survivor of the old SAO as he never actually logged in on that faithful day, as such instead of using an AmuSphere he just went ahead and decided to use the NerveGear as he did not want to have to bother with spending money to get the AmuSphere.
Role In-Game-
Wants to beat the game
Is good with medium to short range engagements
Enjoys fights but only fights when it is required
Overall tends to try and be stronger than the competition
Why Are They Playing?
Main reason is to be the person to beat the game. His secondary reason is to be in the top tier players.
Play-Style Focus-
Power Player always being ahead by a few levels of the mobs in the area. Doing his best to become the player to clear the game, but whilst being careful as he is using a NerveGear instead of a AmuSphere so death was a real thing to him.
Stats
Level- 19
STR- 58
VIT- 43
AGI- 50
DEX- 64
HIT- 61
DGE- 40
Weapon- Dual Blades- Level appropriate dual blades bought from a NPC shop.
DMG- 34
Attack Speed- 140
STR- +3
GVN- STR
Weapon Class- Dual Blade
Armor
Head- Black Hooded Cloak +2
Arm- Apprentice Level Metal Enforced Leather Gauntlets +4
Chest- Apprentice Level Single Metal Shoulder Protector +6
Legs- Apprentice Level Adventurer Pants +3
Neck-
Charm-
Ring 1-
Ring 2-
HP- 1260
ATK- 104
DEF- 83
Other- Kei spreads out his weapon mastery between four weapon classes: Dagger, One Hand Sword, Duel Wield, and Katana |
47,411 | 1,285 | 39 | 2,008 | 533 | Cecelia looks at the arriving player, who looks far too overlevelled for this area. Hearing Eld mention that Link saved the guy, she mused aloud "He doesn't look like he'd need saving by anyone, especially here. But, I guess it's horses for courses." Cringing at Link's volume, Cecelia nudges him and chuckles a bit. "Maybe a little louder, I don't think Her Majesty could heard you, mate. Geez." Moving her attention to the arriving, overlevelled player, Cecelia smirks. "A bit of fun comes from having targeted company, that. I don't care really, but it's well good to have company that isn't fulla' twits." Her smile-ish smirk faltering, Cecelia thinks to her life outside SAO. Just working to make rent. This game being her only escape. It's always the saddest aspect of her life. Shaking herself mentally, she introduces herself. "Well, I'm Cecelia, SilverShadow. Pleasure. We're off to level ourselves up a bit, and I assume my playstyle is gonna get dissected as well. And what other girl?" | Real Name: Cecelia Garron
Player Name: Silver_Shadow114 (Goes by Silver or Shadow)
Color: a187be (no idea what words work. It was in the color selection)
Nationality: English
Description:
Alignment: True Neutral
Real Life Story: Part time grocery store clerk with a studio apartment in the not-so-good part of town
Role in-game: Chip away - Cecelia strikes fast from many angles with two daggers, confusing and disorienting one enemy at a time until she can use a powerful ability to do the final blow (or an ally does it instead). Also steals things when she can, since she's most likely to get away with her speed
Why are they playing?: Immersion. Cecelia wants to use this as an escape from the real world.
Play Style Focus: Stats. She optimizes as much as she can.
Stats
Level:4
STR:7
VIT:4
AGI:35
DEX:29
HIT:26
DGE:35
HP: 262/262
Weapon: Dual Daggers
DMG: 9
SPD: 50
GVN: DEX
Armor
Head: Starter Gear
Arm: Starter Gear
Chest: Starter Gear
Legs: Starter Gear
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 26 |
47,412 | 1,285 | 40 | 1,386 | 349 | nul | Real Name: Darrin GuillotPlayer Name: link23454 (aka: Link or D)Color: DeepPink or FF1493Nationality: AmericaDescription: Neutral GoodReal Life Story(job and living status is fine): Currently a computer programmer, and lives alone in a high security complex.Role in-game:Goes in unhanded, as this SAO allows unhanded combat.Tries to draw the attention of all attackers slower than him.Has unparalleled speed with his hands and legs. Everything else though? …………………Why are they playing?: Honestly for the money. Even if the money is a lie, at least he feels that something good could come out of attempting the game.Play Style Focus: If the story/lore is interesting, he will focus less on what he is getting and his stats. Otherwise, he likes stats and items more.Stats:Level: 1STR: 17VIT: 17AGI: 16DEX: 16HIT: 17DGE: 17HP: 250/250
Weapon: Unhanded
DMG: 0
SPD: 30
GVN: STR
Armor
Head: Starter Gear: +1
Arm: Starter Gear: +1
Chest: Starter Gear: +1
Legs: Starter Gear: +1
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 29 |
47,413 | 1,285 | 41 | 1,386 | 349 | The world today is in a state of more or less panic. After the announcement made by Laughing Coffin, things began to change... drastically. World Leaders began putting old rivalries behind them and stated pooling their resources together in order to find LC, people kept claming to be apart of LC all around the world, and the economy blew up due to everyone's fear that they would be a target for LC, making them believe they neede to stock up on 'apocalypse' supplies.
While that was happening in the real world, the virtual world began to see some changes. Online games began shutting down out of fear that LC was inside it, others began changing to worship the LC guild, while very few were unaffected by LC.
And all this happened within days of the video being posted. It really goes to show how much one group of people can change the world.
On another note, things began to change within this new SAO was changing. Some players stopped signing in after a while, other who died just disappeared all-together, and many players who were still alive began to change and show more of who the really were inside. It turned pretty bloody.... technically. No blood since it was just a game, but many people began dying left and right. While many turned into honest murderers, almost double that amount turned into protectors, body guards, bounty hunters, etc. You name it, and they became it. | Real Name: Darrin GuillotPlayer Name: link23454 (aka: Link or D)Color: DeepPink or FF1493Nationality: AmericaDescription: Neutral GoodReal Life Story(job and living status is fine): Currently a computer programmer, and lives alone in a high security complex.Role in-game:Goes in unhanded, as this SAO allows unhanded combat.Tries to draw the attention of all attackers slower than him.Has unparalleled speed with his hands and legs. Everything else though? …………………Why are they playing?: Honestly for the money. Even if the money is a lie, at least he feels that something good could come out of attempting the game.Play Style Focus: If the story/lore is interesting, he will focus less on what he is getting and his stats. Otherwise, he likes stats and items more.Stats:Level: 1STR: 17VIT: 17AGI: 16DEX: 16HIT: 17DGE: 17HP: 250/250
Weapon: Unhanded
DMG: 0
SPD: 30
GVN: STR
Armor
Head: Starter Gear: +1
Arm: Starter Gear: +1
Chest: Starter Gear: +1
Legs: Starter Gear: +1
Neck:
Charm:
Ring 1:
Ring 2:
ATK: 26
DEF: 29 |
47,414 | 1,286 | 0 | 531 | 3,680 | The king of Vista had sent out his summons and was now only waiting for those who had taken on this job to arrive. The state of Vista was starting to become dire. With the many attacks on his country by monsters not to mention the curses afflicting many of the villages and towns within his kingdom. If something was not done soon Vista would go into an economic collapse causing many of his citizens to starve.
"Thank you for meeting me brave adventurers." The King of Vista stated as the adventurers entered the throne room where he was holding court. "I am glad you have chosen to take up this venture to help save our kingdom. As you know if we do not regain contact with these towns and villages we may be facing starvation. As such I shall not waste any more time. I ask that you go to the town of Gilmore. All we know of them is that there have been reports of a large number of slimes in the area. I ask that you investigate and solve this problem as soon as you can." With that the King was finished speaking for now. Though he would answer any questions asked of him.
Riley had been staring at the ceiling for half of the conversation. It was like she had never seen a ceiling before, but she was still in amazement at the wonders of the castle. And yet there was a stark contrast when compared to where she had come from which was not so grand, the floors were often even made of dirt. Riley hadn't even stopped to look at those who were around her. | Name: Riley Abscheulich
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Vocation: Minstrel
Weapon: Two Fans with bladed ends
Background: Riley was born into a family of sculptors. The statues her family makes can be seen all throughout the many churches of Vista. Riley acted as a muse for her family however due to her rather slender body and her constant dancing. She eventually took on being an entertainer for the town, many have been dazzled by her dancing. However recently there have been less and less people to watch her dance as many of them had been unable to leave their villages to get to the capital to come and see her.
Thus Riley has chosen to take up being an adventurer in order to help bring back those who would watch her.
Riley also has a tendency that she on occasion hears voices when in a fight. As such she becomes a bit blood thirsty when fighting. |
47,415 | 1,286 | 1 | 2,033 | 9,320 | ~Phoebe~
Slimes? Village of Gilmore? One of the adventurers standing near the front of the group, a Priest dressed in blue robes frowned slightly as monsters were mentioned. That certainly was a problem - a bit outside of her usual occupational duties but something she could handle well enough...probably. Still, it was awful light on information in regards to what they'd be doing. She wasn't fond of going into something without knowing what she was getting into, but if it was all they had...
"Hm, that is not much to go on..." She commented to herself, placing a hand on her chin in thought. "But I suppose if that is all we know, then it can not be helped. We'll have to gather information once we arrive." She continued, turning her head slightly to her supposed companions. Honestly, the lot of them didn't look too particularly...adept at their craft. They were really scraping the bottom of the barrel here with their selections weren't they? Supposed it could be helped, with all the more experienced ones out doing their jobs. Still, they were doing this together, she could try to be friendly. | Name:
Phoebe Galanis
Age:
23
Gender:
Female
Vocation:
Preist
Weapon:
A simple, well made spear given to her by the church. She doesn't have much skill with using it, but intends to train until it's not an issue.
Background:
To put simply, Phoebe was raised in the church in the capital of Vista by the Head Priest. She never really knew her actual parents, since she was given to the church at a young age. She was told that they were poor, and couldn't raise a child so instead of struggling to do so, they gave her to the church in hopes she could find a somewhat better life. She didn't really let it bother her that much, at least she never tried to. She did have a relatively good life after all, likely better than most other people.
Most of her youth was spent in study, as well as the art of healing and the basics of using a spear to defend herself, should the need arise. She was never particularly good at socializing, and somewhere along the line this lack of interacting with others of her age colored her personality somewhat. She tends to come off as incredibly arrogant, as well as a bit on the holier-than-thou side. She tries to reign it in, especially when she has to work with others, but it isn't easy at times.
While she has been in combat a minimal number of times during training, she doesn't particularly seem very put off by the thought of it, and perhaps might be a little too...eager, at times to put a foe in their place.
As a priest, it is her duty to help those she can, and she is highly interested in the rumors of curses within the cities. As such, she has decided to become an adventurer to investigate as well as strengthen her abilities. |
47,416 | 1,286 | 2 | 882 | 1,073 | Declan was smirking by the time the king was finished his speech. All he needed to do was visit some village and kill a bunch of slimes? Pfft. He had been doing stuff like that with his father for as long as he could remember, usually when they were off 'treasure hunting' or even just travelling around as nomads. Sure, he only recently sto- er, 'borrowed' his longbow, so he wasn't the best shot with it, but he liked to believe he had a good enough grasp on general combat. That, and there were other fighters in the group that he could probably ask for assistance if he needed it at all.
"Your Majesty," the 'treasure hunter' began, his tone rather casual, "what's the pay for this mission?" Declan then looked around the room at the other adventurers who had gathered together. They seemed competent enough, but no one in particular really stood out. Well, aside from the martial artist, at least. He looked like he had seen some serious action for sure. Redirecting his attention to the king, the young man continued. "And how will it be split?" | Name: Declan Grants
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Vocation: Thief- er, 'Treasure Hunter'
Weapon: A longbow he stole- er, acquired while 'treasure hunting'.
Background: Declan is the (rather effeminate) son of Alastor Grants, a master thie- treasure hunter with no real place to call home. The nomadic lifestyle allowed father and son to experience the world's various sights and sounds together. Because of his father's career as a 'treasure hunter', Declan soon started walking down that path of life as well, the older man making a routine out of teaching his son the tricks of the trade, as it were.
After several years of constant travel, the nomadic 'treasure hunters' eventually arrived at the kingdom of Vista. Having heard about requests being posted all over in regards to curses in towns all throughout the kingdom, Alastor suggested that his son, who was now of age, take on the quests for their no-doubt valuable rewards. With that having been said, father and son parted ways, leaving the latter to pursue his career further and improve his skills. Declan was sad to see his father leave him, but determined to make him proud at the same time. Whatever would happen after that moment, the younger 'treasure hunter' would do whatever he could to make the most out of it, no matter what. |
47,417 | 1,286 | 3 | 1,010 | 272 | Edgar had been leaning against the wall, in silence. His head was hung down, and it looked like he was either listening very, very carefully...Or sleeping. He made an imposing site: He was tall, and he was not wearing a shirt, revealing his powerful frame. His body was covered in lean, toned muscle, engineered specifically for beating things up. He opened his eyes, leveling his gaze at the other adventurers he'd be working with. A nun and an absolutely gorgeous archer were there with him.
"Are they eating people?" He said. He wanted to make sure he understood the situation. He looked at the blue haired girl. As far as he could tell, she hadn't even looked at the King the whole time he was talking. He was a bit suspicious as to whether she was an adventurer, or some random lady who had just wandered in. On the other hand, he was in no position to talk. He didn't even know where Gilmore was. | Name: Edgar Natas
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Vocation: Martial Artist
Weapon: Bancho Martial Arts + Leather Gloves w/ metal plates in them.
Background: Edgar grew up in a port town. He was raised by his father. According to his dad, his mother was a pirate, and just left him at his bar one day before sailing off, never to be seen again. From a young age, Edgar was trained in combat. His father used him as muscle in his bar, throwing out unruly patrons and general people who caused trouble. Edgar thus is very good at fighting. This means he's not the most educated: He's not stupid, and he can read and do math, but he's not exactly up on things like geography or history. So he wasn't particularly suited for any job outside of being a bouncer at his dad's bar. But he wants more out of life. So Edgar became an adventurer. His dream is to learn the Iron Fist Martial Art Style, which allows users to harden their fists enough that they can punch through rocks.
He'd also like to meet his mom one day, but he doesn't even know if she's alive. |
47,418 | 1,286 | 4 | 1,133 | 1,818 | Rez rose and swaggered to center of the group after the king spoke. After doing a curt bow he said, "Your Honor, if I may ask? Are these just your average slimes or the slime family as whole? If it's just your garden variety slime then it shouldn't be too hard, however if other species are involved... things might get stickier." Rez waited for the king to answer while tried to do some sort of risk/reward analysis. Having more types meant a chance of receiving better compensation, but it also hinged on the amount being manageable and or not getting bodied by tougher enemies. | Name:Rez Varshin
Age: twenties
Gender: M
Vocation: Warrior
Weapon: Dual swords
Description: He's not particularly tall nor is he is super muscular rather being of average height and of an athletic build. His skin is a toasty brownish and is maintained that way by being outdoors constantly. He wears a bandana folded into a headband over his reddish colored hair. He ears grey-blue trench coat that has it's sleeves missing over a burgandy shirt and brown pants and boots.
Background: Rez came from a podunk village called Hayweedton. It's a primarily a farming village with it's claim to fame being a pickle eating contest. Rez, not being one for hard and humble work, lusted for a life of excitement and getting the hell out of the place. He turned his attention to becoming a guard against monsters and then tried to become a "monster hunter" of sorts who would venture to locations in need of having less monsters around. Eventually he would find someone with the time of day for him who'd teach him to fight and he'd settle on fighting with two swords. His reason for using such a style? Because if you can't look stylish while fighting what's the point? |
47,419 | 1,286 | 5 | 531 | 3,680 | The king was pleased with the amount of questions he was getting. It meant that these people wouldn't just run away, they were prepared. "I'm afraid that we don't have much information, nothing from inside the village atleast." He said as he put a hand to his chin to scratch it as he thought. Then the question about the payment came. "You will each be payed depending on what the problem is, if it is a significant problem it will be about 4000GP, if it isn't however then 300GP."
The next question to come was from the martial artist, Edgar. "From the reports so far there haven't been any screams of being eaten by the Slimes, no one has been able to get into the town due to the fear of the slimes."
Finally came a question from Rez. "We have heard reports of a regular slimes, she-slimes, and bubble slimes. There are also reports of a few metal slimes though we can't be sure on that." The king said.
At last Riley spoke up. "What is their reason for being?" Riley asked with an absent minded look. "That is your job to find out." The king answered. And with that the group was sent on their way.
Once outside of the castle and heading towards the village of Gilmore thanks to a map and compass provided to them, Riley spoke up again. "I fear that we didn't have much room for introductions. If we are to work as a team it would be best to know who is who." Riley said trying to give a smile but only having it show up as awkward. "I am Riley, a minstrel, and I fight at close range with fans." Riley said taking out her bladed fans to show everyone. | Name: Riley Abscheulich
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Vocation: Minstrel
Weapon: Two Fans with bladed ends
Background: Riley was born into a family of sculptors. The statues her family makes can be seen all throughout the many churches of Vista. Riley acted as a muse for her family however due to her rather slender body and her constant dancing. She eventually took on being an entertainer for the town, many have been dazzled by her dancing. However recently there have been less and less people to watch her dance as many of them had been unable to leave their villages to get to the capital to come and see her.
Thus Riley has chosen to take up being an adventurer in order to help bring back those who would watch her.
Riley also has a tendency that she on occasion hears voices when in a fight. As such she becomes a bit blood thirsty when fighting. |
47,420 | 1,286 | 6 | 1,133 | 1,818 | Rez internally winced slightly at the mention of bubble slimes for very obvious reasons, but it's not like they'd be out of luck. There was a priest in the group and he had bought some restoratives prior to this meeting. He silently walked along with groups as they stepped out of the castle and made their way to the village which was further away. He only stopped when he saw one of the girls in the group stop and introduce herself.
"I'd rather we'd get the job done and then do introductions after we're all tired from leaving slime splattered on the ground." Rez said. After saying that he started moving faster to the direction of the town as he re-fastened his headband. His mind was set on picturing the eventual flow of events leading to victory. First they'd arrive at the village and see all the slimes overrunning the place, a battle ensues with everyone hopefully pulling their weight, then a well deserved breather at the tavern, then a return to town to get that payment. | Name:Rez Varshin
Age: twenties
Gender: M
Vocation: Warrior
Weapon: Dual swords
Description: He's not particularly tall nor is he is super muscular rather being of average height and of an athletic build. His skin is a toasty brownish and is maintained that way by being outdoors constantly. He wears a bandana folded into a headband over his reddish colored hair. He ears grey-blue trench coat that has it's sleeves missing over a burgandy shirt and brown pants and boots.
Background: Rez came from a podunk village called Hayweedton. It's a primarily a farming village with it's claim to fame being a pickle eating contest. Rez, not being one for hard and humble work, lusted for a life of excitement and getting the hell out of the place. He turned his attention to becoming a guard against monsters and then tried to become a "monster hunter" of sorts who would venture to locations in need of having less monsters around. Eventually he would find someone with the time of day for him who'd teach him to fight and he'd settle on fighting with two swords. His reason for using such a style? Because if you can't look stylish while fighting what's the point? |
47,421 | 1,286 | 7 | 2,033 | 9,320 | ~Phoebe~
Money? Phoebe's eyes shifted to the rogue who would dare to ask for money for something that they should do simply out of the need to help others. The priestess frowned, but said nothing. Well, if her companions were to be greedy fools, then that was what she had to deal with. She would attempt to at least, steer them on the right path but for the sake of working together she couldn't come off as overbearing or self-righteous. The Head Priest often had to tell her to reign in her mouth in such matters....
As the assembly finished, she left the room with a polite bow to the King and followed after the others. The walk was silent, and for the most part fairly pleasant. One of the others of the group decided to eventually introduce themselves, though. That was good - it seemed at least one of them were going to be somewhat cooperative.
"I am Phoebe Galanis." She introduced herself with a small frown at Rez. "Priestess, though I am still in training. I can perform minor healing arts as well as handle myself well enough in battle, and unlike some of the others," She gave Declan a sideways glance. "I am not doing this for some petty reason like money." There was definitely a bit of bite to her words as she walked, only realizing the tone of voice she used wasn't the friendliest after she had spoke. | Name:
Phoebe Galanis
Age:
23
Gender:
Female
Vocation:
Preist
Weapon:
A simple, well made spear given to her by the church. She doesn't have much skill with using it, but intends to train until it's not an issue.
Background:
To put simply, Phoebe was raised in the church in the capital of Vista by the Head Priest. She never really knew her actual parents, since she was given to the church at a young age. She was told that they were poor, and couldn't raise a child so instead of struggling to do so, they gave her to the church in hopes she could find a somewhat better life. She didn't really let it bother her that much, at least she never tried to. She did have a relatively good life after all, likely better than most other people.
Most of her youth was spent in study, as well as the art of healing and the basics of using a spear to defend herself, should the need arise. She was never particularly good at socializing, and somewhere along the line this lack of interacting with others of her age colored her personality somewhat. She tends to come off as incredibly arrogant, as well as a bit on the holier-than-thou side. She tries to reign it in, especially when she has to work with others, but it isn't easy at times.
While she has been in combat a minimal number of times during training, she doesn't particularly seem very put off by the thought of it, and perhaps might be a little too...eager, at times to put a foe in their place.
As a priest, it is her duty to help those she can, and she is highly interested in the rumors of curses within the cities. As such, she has decided to become an adventurer to investigate as well as strengthen her abilities. |
47,422 | 1,286 | 8 | 1,010 | 272 | My name is Edgar. It's nice to meet you. He said, smiling slightly at Riley. "I am a martial artist. That means I eliminate my opponents by any means necessary." He said, cracking his knuckles. He looked over at Rez. "I disagree. I'd like to know the names of whoever I am journeying with." He said, before levelling his gaze at Phoebe. If she was a priestess, that was a very tight outfit for one. He stroked his chin. Maybe she was one of those nature religion types?
"Oh? What sort of god do you follow?" He asked her, legitimately curious. | Name: Edgar Natas
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Vocation: Martial Artist
Weapon: Bancho Martial Arts + Leather Gloves w/ metal plates in them.
Background: Edgar grew up in a port town. He was raised by his father. According to his dad, his mother was a pirate, and just left him at his bar one day before sailing off, never to be seen again. From a young age, Edgar was trained in combat. His father used him as muscle in his bar, throwing out unruly patrons and general people who caused trouble. Edgar thus is very good at fighting. This means he's not the most educated: He's not stupid, and he can read and do math, but he's not exactly up on things like geography or history. So he wasn't particularly suited for any job outside of being a bouncer at his dad's bar. But he wants more out of life. So Edgar became an adventurer. His dream is to learn the Iron Fist Martial Art Style, which allows users to harden their fists enough that they can punch through rocks.
He'd also like to meet his mom one day, but he doesn't even know if she's alive. |
47,423 | 1,287 | 0 | 62 | 2,653 | Corillia was a strange world. Technically classified by the administratum as an agri world, due to its rolling fields and large heards of strange cattle. The planet has only a short dry season, and a very long and aggressive wet season. While this all seems very standard, a surprisingly large number of pilgrims from nearby systems flock to the planet. This is due to the city of Acane, a city of towering steeples, grand cathedrals and the Graves of veritable thousands of minor saints. Recently, pilgrims have dropped of, mainly due to the inexorable approach of the Black legion, and those on the planet now have no way of leaving, but one force of the Imperium has no wish to leave the world. The Lamenters are a lone space marine chapter, charged with the defence of Corillia and it's people. The city of Acane, specifically, has been assigned to the fourth company. Due to the stressed nature of the chapters forces the 4th company stands alone, and virtually unsupported as the chapter can spare no resources to defend the shrine city. The 4th company is bolstered only by the cities garrison of 873 pdf, and 3 rhinos allocated for their use. As they prepare for the coming siege, the clouds above begin to gather, the invasion has fallen directly upon the beginning of the wet season. This season however, brings not only the life giving rain, but also carries the weight of innumerable traitors, who's true goals for conquering the world can be only guessed at... by most ar least.
As chapter master Malakim cut off the chapter wide vox, Vergil craned the face of his sarcophagus to the sky, watching as it became choked with growing gray clouds, which had long since obscured the sun. The abandonment by the Mortificators was still bitter in Vergil's mind, proud sons of Guiliman his ass, superstitious cowards more like. But, cursing their names would do nothing to help the 4th companies current situation, that required action. Vergil pulled his eyes away from the rapidly disappearing sky, and watched as small PDF guardsmen moved crates of ammo and weapons through the city, their white, gold trimmed armor somewhat obscured by the rain ponchos they each now wore in preparation for the coming storm. Vergil largely ignored them, they mattered very little to him at the moment, they would either hold when the legion arrived or they would break, it was yet to be seen.
Vergil began to move, making his way to the cathedral of the emperor ascendant that sat in the middle of the city. It was currently the company's base of operations, and soon a meeting would be held to discuss the coming siege, and the captains plan to fight it. Vergil also needed to locate brother Ferrum, a last maintenance was standard and if Vergil tried to avoid the Techmarine he would just be scolded for not caring enough about his sarcophagus.
As he entered the cathedral he looked around, hoping to not be the last of the command squad to arrive at the final planning. | Name:Vergil Maximus
Appearance
(Painted in Lamenters regalia of course)
Age:737
Rank:Captain (Dreadnought)
Personality:Always a busy man, Vergil has never been good at sitting still, a firm believer in the idea that inaction breeds heresy. His mind moves at a million miles a minute, and he never rests. However, if he is not leading actively he has a problem shutting up. Even as a Dreadnought keeping quiet is not his strong point, often speaking when silence may be more prudent. Despite this, his leadership capability is only enhanced by his busy nature
Bio:Blessed with Dreadnought armor on 568.M37 following the scouring of Refis, when he was caught in the direct fire of a chaos land raider redeemer. After it was destroyed the Apothecary prepared to remove the captain's gene seed, only to find that the charred corpse was actually alive. Less than 3 days later, the captain re-emerged interred within a Dreadnought, and led the 4th company to retake the planet. He has led as a Dreadnought ever since
Gear
"Imperitus" pattern plasma cannon
Dreadnought missile launcher |
47,424 | 1,287 | 1 | 1,771 | 547 | Lucius Andromade
I
Acane was enormous in the eyes of the local farmers flocking to its confines for refuge. In the eyes of men who had seen fortress worlds, fleets of battleships, and monasteries which housed entire chapters of astartes, the city was an insignificant dot on an even more insignificant planet, which had been all but abandoned, save for its local garrison and one chapter of the Emperor's finest. When the sky began to darken, the people flocked to the cathedrals in the thousands. They prayed for the Emperor's forgiveness, the Emperor's protection, the Emperor's mercy, and various other virtues they believed deserving of them. Some of the smaller places of worship had been altogether abandoned, with the evacuation having taken those who would normally be found there. Several of these buildings were used as stockpiles for ammunition, others for fuel, and one was being used as a military hospital, and so on. Acane had functional hospitals, but the majority of the staff had been evacuated, meaning that the people had to rely on the local military forces and a few volunteers for medical aid. The evacuation had left the majority of the medical supplies in the hospitals, so the PDF medical teams were amply supplied in their makeshift hospital. Several officers in the planetary defence force had suggested to their commander that they occupy the hospitals, rather than the cathedrals, but this suggestion was negated due to the positions of the hospitals. The cathedrals, and surrounding unoccupied buildings, were equidistant, and therefore allowed for structured lines of supply and communications, whereas the hospitals were far from where the enemy was likely to be and would therefore require substantial portions of the PDF to defend its perimeter, which could otherwise be engaged elsewhere. There was less than a thousand PDF personnel in Acane, many thousands less than would be needed to defend it against what was coming. However, they had no way to escape, and for most of them that was enough to keep working. Some had deserted and attempted to join Chaos cults, but were promptly disposed of by their more loyal colleagues. What few soldiers there were in the city were tasked with piling ammunition and supplies at equidistant locations in a defensive perimeter. Pairs of soldiers carried heavy green boxes bearing the insignia of the local planetary defence force, containing M36 lasrifles, lasgun battery packs, belts of bolter ammunition, explosive grenades, vox casters, and so on. Initially, they had been stored in one pile in a single building, but advice from an astartes sergeant reminded them that a single explosion would ignite their entire magazine, and that it would be wiser to split it equally among several buildings. The PDF was in desperate short supply of vehicles, mainly comprising a few dozen requisitioned civilian cars, with the doors pulled off to allow for quick access. They were not prepared. They were underarmed, underequipped, undertrained, poorly lead and lacked vital experience. It was unlikely that they would last long, but however long they lasted was time for larger forces to arrive.
Lucius grinned a canine grin, his fang-like teeth bared in glee as he bounced from one foot to the next. He glistened with sweat and his monstrous physique was bared, save for a cloth around his waist, as his brother astartes watched him. He was standing in a makeshift training arena, similar to that found on many astarte warships, in a small corner of a grandiose cathedral, surrounded by six dead servitors. Their arms had been split and shattered and their torsos were cut open. Failed astartes has little value, even less than the local garrison, but he was certain he would hear about it from one of his superiors. Lucius' scapula length silver hair flowed around him as he danced from side to side, avoiding the blows of a brother marine's combat blade, as long as an imperial guard officers's sword, as he lunged towards him, bellowing a battle cry. Three astartes watched from the edges of the makeshift arena, clutching various injuries. One had a broken wrist, which would soon be healed by the company apothecary. Another had a scar across his right biceps which looked strikingly similar to an L shape. Others watched from outside the arena, clad in their full power armour as they performed equipment checks. There were dozens in the cathedral, which had been made the fourth company's headquarters for the duration of the invasion. Lucius' bared his canines, and the last thing his brother marine saw before being handily disarmed and knocked to the floor with a thunderous crash was Lucius' flowing silver hair. Lucius remained untouched, after near a dozen bouts. His body glistened and he basked in the glory of defeating his brothers, many of whom watched on in envy, others in contempt. Lucius was the company champion, undefeated by other champions or any brother in his own company, and he recognised his own skill. He was talented in the eyes of some, vain in the eyes of others, but he knew his abilities, his limitations and, above all, his purpose. His sole, and entire purpose was to defend his captain and to meet the enemy champions on the field. Not to lead, or to command, but to protect the captain from harm, and do harm unto those that would threaten him. After he received no more challengers in his improvised sparring arena, Lucius prepared himself for the upcoming meeting in the cathedral with the rest of the fourth company's command squad. He washed in sacred, scented oils and his long, silver hair shone brilliantly, framed by two enormous white wings flanking his backpack, reminiscent of the primarch Sanguinius. As opposed to the Emperor's aquila, the centre of Lucius' power armour bore two similar silver wings, with a single fist-sized red gem between them. His shoulder plates and waist were decorated with half a dozen purity seals, upon which his deeds were scrawled. At his left side he carried a bolt pistol, the size a normal man's head, in a leather holster of a rich brown texture. At the opposite side he carried a long sheath, almost half as tall as him. Inside the sheath he carried a relic blade, a venerable weapon of many centuries, master crafted by the chapter forge workers. The blade itself flickered with blue and white energy when drawn, and its pommel was crafted in the shape of two silver wings, a downscaled version of those carried on Lucius' back, in the centre of which sat a red gem with a black centre. Lucius, donning his full suit of yellow power armour, save for his helmet, gracefully strode into the centre of the grandiose cathedral, his silver wings framing his armoured physique, and met with his brother astartes. | Name: Lucius Andromade
Appearance: Lucius wears the chapter heraldry of the Lamenters across his armour. His yellow armour is decorated with insignias and purity seals, and his shoulder plates are trimmed with the fourth company's green distinction. His helmet bears a thin white stripe from the brow to the back of the head, and is wreathed in emerald green. Despite having faced two centuries of war, beneath his armour Lucius' face is unlined and bears no scars, indicative of the fact that he has yet to be bested in combat, a fact which he is most aware of. Foregoing the use of a boltgun, Lucius carries a relic blade and a stormshield. He carries also a bolt pistol and a number of fragmentation grenades for certain situations. Flanking the sides of his power armour's packpack, he bears a pair of huge ivory wings, reminiscent of Sanguinius and many Blood Angel heroes, allowing him to be easily recognisable, even in the maelstrom of melee combat.
Age: 246
Rank: Company champion
Personality & Bio: Lucius can most easily be described as prideful, or even vain. His skill in combat, partly natural and partly honed over centuries of practice, has lead him to face some of the deadliest enemies to Mankind, including bloodletters, ork nobs and several types of tyranid synapse creatures, such as carnifexes or hive tyrants. Having yet to be defeated, or even scarred, has lead to Lucius becoming what could be described as arrogant. While he doesn't look down on his fellow brothers, he is more confident in his own abilities than of those of any other astartes in the company. Chapter sparring between companies has allowed him to test his skill against other champions and veterans, and the captain of the fourth company himself often requests Lucius personally for sparring. Despite his vanity, Lucius' pride is not unfounded. He is both skilled and dedicated, and is sworn to the protection of the company's senior officers, including the captain, chaplain and librarian.
Gear:
Relic blade
Bolt pistol
Frag grenades |
47,425 | 1,287 | 2 | 379 | 1,852 | Captain Marius Stood admiring the cathedral craftsmanship in grim silence as he thought about the situation he had found himself in. with less then a thousand PDF he had wanted to conscript the Locals as a trained militia, but knew it would buy them very little time. Knowing full well that Chaos would arrive shortly, Marius had spent all of his time split between Operational meetings and in prayer. "May the Emperor watch over us..." he mutters as he examines a small stained glass window of the emperor lost in thought. Marius knew the plan for when the enemy arrived, He would make the enemy fight for each and every inch. The PDF would support his Marines as they used hit and run tactics and urban combat, having the marines fight and have the PDF set traps and make fall back lines. As he stool looking thought the stained glass window out at the rain as he awaited his command squad. | Name: Ferrum Unguis
Appearance:
Age: 307
Rank: Tech Marine
Personality: Ferrum is known to be an isolated individual, many consider its because of his dual role as both a battle-brother and a tech-priest. He would argue it's because he's never been fully accepted back into the chapter by many of his battle-brothers. He's quiet and obedient but will speak up if he feels an avenue of thought hasn't been thought through. Inspite of his position, Ferrum's known to allow minor alterations for anything under his care, primarily because he acknowledges combat requires some adaptability. However, he is particularly caring about the warmachines of the company, to the point of scolding fellow battle-brothers over minor scratches when not in combat. When in conflict, Ferrum will obey his superiors orders to the letter, even if it means the regretful destruction of such precious machines. However, when not bound by orders, he has been found fighting tooth and nail to regain a mechanical weapon of war, as one fighting to recover a wounded brother. Inspite of his scolding, he cares much for his brothers and has earned the trust of some of the brother-captains within the chapter.
Bio: Ferrum is a well known techmarine within the chapter, primarily for his, 'undiscovered', leniency with modifications but unbridled wrath for those who fail to show proper care for equipment. He is known for an occasional moment of bravery here and there, though that is common-place for many a space marine. Within the chapter, he's presumed to have scolded everyone, with exception to his brothers in more superior positions. For the time being, he's been assigned to watch the dreadnought Vergil of the 4th company. He's also to help the company captain in anyway nessesary.
Gear:
Full mech-harness
Power axe
wrist-mounted storm-bolter
3 servitors: 1 armed with a heavy bolter, 2 armed with servo-arms |
47,426 | 1,287 | 3 | 1,789 | 2,689 | The grand cathedral had been abuzz with energy since the Lamenters had landed. Of course that is always the case when the Astartes arrive at worlds like this but when it had become clear that not all would be able to be evacuated in time it sent many into a panic. The Ecclesiarchy did its part in cowing the masses but the damage had been done, many of the citizens were despondent and hopeless. However a great deal became emboldened, refusing to roll over and die on their backs. These volunteer soldiers did whatever they could to aid the PDF, gave up their vehicles, dug trenches, extended their skills be them medical, engineering, or labor, and promised to aid personally in the coming battle. The last vow will be tested soon enough but as it stood they had the fire of Guardsman in their hearts and that is all that the Emperor requires of them.
Deep within the grand cathedral sat Petra Tantillus, Chaplain of The Lamenters. The abandonment of his fellow Astartes had set him into a deep melancholy, how simple superstition could one from their duty was beyond him. The room was as quiet as the grave, having finished sanctification of his arms and armor long ago. All that was left for the Chaplain was his thoughts. The coming battle was going to be hard fought, terrible, and with little glory. Petra could feel it in the very core of his being, it was if the Emperor himself had gifted him with the grim intuition. In the end it mattered not, resolving himself Petra began the process of arming himself. Each piece of armor was treated with the outmost care as it was put into place, with every plate came a litany and a promise. Eventually all that remained was the Skull Helm, a symbol of mortality and the Emperor's great sacrifice during the Hearsay. With a last hymn he placed it upon his helm and left the confines of his dark quarters.
The sky was heavy, much like the mood of many of his brothers. The Lamenters may be free of the Red Thirst but in its place was left a deep melancholy that could easily trap one from their duty. From the alcove normally reserved for the priests of the Ecclesiarchy Petra gazed upon his brothers. To a normal man they worked with speed and efficiency beyond what they could manage, but he knew. They were hurting, the abandonment of the Mortificators had been a large blow to morale and it would destroy them. With the assistance of a Servitor Petra was patched into the Vox speakers, spreading his message throughout the Cathedral.
"Brother Marines, the great enemy is at our doorstep. They would try to take, drag it into the Warp where their foul sorceries would corrupt the very ground we tread. I say no. They will not have this planet. The Mortificators have abandoned not only us but their duty as Space Marines, this dishonor will stain them until the end of time but it will not ruin us. We stayed while others ran, the 9th Crusade will not find a world they can raze for their dark gods. They will find the might of the Imperium, the fires of our hearts, the bight of our blades, and the fury of our blades! My brothers, the Emperor is with us this day, for all days, we will send these Heretics screaming back to the Warp for Holy Terra, for the Primarch, and For the Emperor!"
There was no outcry from the marines, no great hurrah, but the morale was restored and the melancholy banished. With a stoic gaze Petra appraised the marines before him and was filled with pride. Turning away he marched out in search of the Tech-Marine Ferrum Unguis, he would need his overseeing of sanctifying what little they had against chaos. | Appearance: Petra looses little of his imposing presence outside of his armor. His face is hardened by centuries of conflict and his expression grim, Petra isn't one to express himself physically. Petra shaves his hair regularly and half of his face is covered in a great scar from a faulty plasma pistol. His good side has the litany of hate tattooed upon his flesh.
To the enemies of man hear my litany
with holy bolter I shall cleanse you
with the might of the Rosiarius I will smite you
by this days end you shall meet your maker
so shall it be in the name of the all father
Age: 323
Rank: Chaplain
Personality: Petra is a quiet individual, rarely saying anything outside of battle. However should any of his battle brothers come to him for spiritual aid or for advice, he will give it without question. His love for his brothers is absolute and second only to his love and respect for the Emperor of Man. In the field of battle a fiery passion takes hold of him, he speaks hymns in the middle of combat and inspires those near him to fight with equal fervor.
Bio: Petra does not dwell much on his past. As Chaplain he has done innumerable rites, sanctified many relics, and counseled hundreds of his fellow brothers. His deeds are many, killing a great warboss, sending a great chaos sorcerer screaming into the warp, and held strong against millions of other horrors.
Gear:
-Crozius Arcanum
-Rosarius
-Plasma Pistol |
47,427 | 1,287 | 4 | 1,793 | 511 | Ferrum had finished inspecting and performing the maintenance rites of the rhinos, commanding his servators to regroup with him. As they grouped up behind him, Ferrum took a quick look at the time indicator on his HUD. He had a few more moments before the meeting with the rest of the command squad took place. Giving a quick nod to his fellow marines who would use the rhinos in the coming battle, Ferrum made his way into the cathedral that housed their HQ. As he walked, he thought of his charge, brother-captain Vergil. Though the tech-marine was originally assigned to maintain his dreadnought-encased brother, brother-captain Vergil made sure that Ferrum's duties were to the whole of the company. Ferrum gladly accepted this and has only barked at a total of three brothers about their equipment or such. Ferrum was also asked by the brother-captain to make some necessary adjustments to civilian vehicles, as the local tech priests were few and didn't agree with the mutilation of said vehicles. Honestly, Ferrum hoped the machine spirits weren't in too much pain, but it was a necessary as the PDF lacked proper transports for both persons and ammunition.
That also reminded Ferrum that he needed to check on the company's ammunition supplies, to make sure everything is accounted for and ready for use. Though he may be given the charge of handing out said supplies for the company over the coming siege, Ferrum planned on letting his servators do that duty as he watched over brother Vergil.
Upon meeting the rest of the command squad, Ferrum gave a neural-command to his servators to wait a distance away. Ferrum didn't want to risk having them record or witness the meeting. If they were captured and their data-banks or minds read, the enemy could gain an upper-hand. When the servators had left, Ferrum gave a nod to Vergil as the rest of the squad prepared itself and the Govenor and PDF command arrived. Ferrum wondered if the local PDF knew about the reasons for the Mortificators abandonment, he was a bit suspicious that they might have similar views to the Mortificators about the Lamenters. How did they view these suspicions? Ferrum simply hoped the act of the Mortificators would fall back on their own heads as failure to do what they were bred to do; fight the enemies of the Emperor.
The red and yellow tech-marine shoved these thoughts aside, they were the kind that could bring doubt. He did his best not to think of such things in general, he was a tech-marine, not a captain or even a sergeant. Ferrum would not think more than his charge unless asked, or there was something that needed attention. | Name: Brother Caellus Sangriam
Appearance:
(With, er, normal helmet and yellow color ;))
Age:551
Rank: Sanguinary Priest
Biography:
Those who have heard of Brother Caellus, know him to be a scholar. Those who saw him in battle, call him a 'practitioner'. Indeed, if he hadn't had the healer's touch, Caellus would surely be a Techmarine, for his cold calculation in battle treats man not unlike machine. His age does not fit his battle rank - he had spent centuries away from the front lines, researching the bodies of man and space marine, making experiments of varying approval and legality on corpses or living subjects of the xeno. This experience, put together with his skill in combat situations, make him highly effective at assessing the severity of a brother's wound and choosing the best treatment.
He has taken this experience in an additional direction. Extensive study of xenobiology led him to understand various weaknesses of the bodies of the Enemies of Man. Finding ranged weapons unreliable, he often charges into battle, especially against large and tough enemies, rending them to pieces with few well-aimed strikes. Those who fought with him before know that distraction is key in these reckless-looking maneuvers, and that teamwork can win against any amount of heavy weaponry.
He had fought alongside all manners of allied forces. In a key battle against a Tyranid hive, he was forced to saw off a terminator's arm to prevent a tyranid parasite from reaching his body. The operation was successful, but only barely, and put both of them away of the frontlines for too long. This has led Caellus to adapt his weapons to anti-armor combat, knowing that while any kind of enemy can be pushed away by the appropriate force, some tasks are left exclusively for the Apothecary. Since then, he had saved a number of guards from burning vehicles, and extracted the genecode from almost a dozen dreadnoughts, with the help of a custom-made power glaive.
Personality:
Despite the horrors he had seen, Brother Caellus is very friendly. He enjoys meeting new brothers, and tries to get to know them as much as he can between battles. Some mistake this for a distraction or unnecessary indulgence - in truth, Caellus tries to find the best way to work with anyone in dangerous situations, to make the team more than just the sum of its parts.
He is very curious, almost dangerously so. He enjoys learning new things about the xeno, more than once accused of borderline heresy by the closest inquisitor. He tries to be as cooperative as possible when this happens, preferring to lose time over having to be away from the front lines for some loyalty test.
He also enjoys trying out new battle tactics, even if they put him or his team in danger. He believes in pushing oneself to one's limit - he isn't as brave as curios whether the stunt will work. But since tactics are not his forte, he would very rarely suggest a battle plan.
Equipment
Standard Apothecary Backpack
Narthecium
Blood Chalice
Bolt Pistol
Power Glaive
Frag Grenades |
47,428 | 1,287 | 5 | 1,513 | 1,883 | Marian and Yoheva slowly made their way up the long steps to the Cathedral. They wore no markings that would indicate their intent. Yoheva was dressed in a suit of Power Armour with the Adeptus Arbites logo on it, whilst Marian was dressed in an outfit befitting that of a Commissar. "It is a glorious testament to the Emperor's Will, is it not, ma'am?" asked Yoheva.
"Indeed. It is but another reason for us to despise Chaos in all of it's forms. Nothing else would be so heinous as to destroy a work of pure goodness." she replied. As they reached the top of the steps, a Lamentors Space Marine approached them.
"Identify yourselves." he ordered. Yoheva did not move, but Marian approached him.
"Lord Space Marine." she began "I am here on business of the utmost importance from the Officio Perfectus, I must speak with your commander at once." she reached into her coats inner pocket and retrieved a letter, wax-sealed with the Officio Perfectus logo pressed into it, handing it to the Superhuman soldier. He opened it and read it through several times, before looking at her.
"Very well, Lord Commissar." he replied, handing her back the letter and stepping aside. As they entered, they both stepped to one side to a row of candles. They each lit one, before getting down on one knee and uttering a short prayer that the Emperor grant them eternal strength and the will to carry out their mission. Marian held the letter over the naked flame and dropped it onto the floor, allowing it to burn to ash. She then got up off her knee and walked through the building to where the Space Marine commanders were gathering in preparation for the coming of the Black Legion. She approached and stepped up to the Space Marine Captain. "Captain, I am glad to see that you are in fine health. I have a letter to inform you that I am taking command of the Auxilliary Guard." she said to him, handing him a letter. It too had the Officio Perfectus seal on the front, but inside told a different story.
Commander at Hive City Acane
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY! BURN AFTER READING!
The courier of this letter is a Lord Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, performing a mission of the utmost importance to the Imperium. However, this mission is also non-existant. None of your men are to know their true identity. You are to cooperate fully with them and inform your men that the courier is Lord Commissar Marian Prall, sent by the Officio Perfectus to ensure the loyalty of the Conscripted guard that defend the city with you. If Chaos forces were to learn of their true identity, then countless lives could be put at risk.
signed:
High Lord Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov "Pyrophant Judge of Salem Proctor"
"I trust that there are no problems." she said, staring him directly in the eye with her usual penetrating gaze that had reduced many war-hardened veterans to blubbering wrecks. | Name: Pietro Baldassare
Appearance: Pietro wears a suit of ornate Mk.8 power armor, with several purity seals on both his shoulders, his weapons and his chest piece. His helmet has a laurel wreath of silver inlaid into it. Under his helmet, Pietro's face has a few scars and 4 Service studs above his right eye. His hair is cropped close to his skull. His left eye is replaced with a bionic.
Age: 326
Rank:
Veteran Sergeant
Personality:
Pietro is like a rock. He is stubborn and unyielding, no matter the challenge. He values a strong chain of command, is loyal and ready to give his life if asked. Though he has still to come to terms with his reassignment, he wouldn't go against a direct order from his chapter master. He also holds Little respect for the common soldiers of the Imperium, seeing the as weak, spineless Cowards, only a step away from betraying the Emperor.
Bio:
Pietro's past is, for an Astartes, pretty common. He was recruited, passed his initiation and spent his time in the 7th company as a tactical marine until his induction into the 1st company as a Sternguard Veteran. However, a few years before deploying to Corillia, he was transferred to the command squad of the 4th company to replace losses.
Gear:
Power Fist
Storm Bolter with special rounds
Frag and Krak grenades |
47,429 | 1,287 | 6 | 62 | 2,653 | Before the captain even had a chance to speak, the little war meeting was interrupted. Two humans, one apparently and Adeptus arbites, and the other appeared to be a commisar. Vergil's mind burst with alarms, it didn't feel right, why was there suddenly a commisar? Why was she attended by one of the Adeptus Arbites? There was one more thing, how she addressed the captain. Vergil had met many commissars, and without fault they had talked to the space marines like any and all humans should, as their superiors. Always it came with my lord, or lord space marine, or sometimes lord captain, but this commissar spoke to the captain as if... she was his equal. It rubbed Vergil the wrong way. And he intended to voice his concerns.
"A lord commissar? I was unaware the Imperial guard would have any presence here," Vergil stepped forward, approaching the commisar and Arbiter, "When did you arrive on Corillia? And by what right is an Arbiter present? I was not told the Adeptus arbites were providing military support on Corillia either." Vergil's sarcophagus stood quite close to the commisar now, some would say slightly to close. "The forces of the Archenemy approach this world, and they have agents that could be attempting to subvert us from within as I speak," He turned to face his captain, "Captain Marius, does the human speak the truth? Or shall I crush her and the Arbiter with my claw?" His Dreadnought power claw opening and closing as he spoke. | Name:Vergil Maximus
Appearance
(Painted in Lamenters regalia of course)
Age:737
Rank:Captain (Dreadnought)
Personality:Always a busy man, Vergil has never been good at sitting still, a firm believer in the idea that inaction breeds heresy. His mind moves at a million miles a minute, and he never rests. However, if he is not leading actively he has a problem shutting up. Even as a Dreadnought keeping quiet is not his strong point, often speaking when silence may be more prudent. Despite this, his leadership capability is only enhanced by his busy nature
Bio:Blessed with Dreadnought armor on 568.M37 following the scouring of Refis, when he was caught in the direct fire of a chaos land raider redeemer. After it was destroyed the Apothecary prepared to remove the captain's gene seed, only to find that the charred corpse was actually alive. Less than 3 days later, the captain re-emerged interred within a Dreadnought, and led the 4th company to retake the planet. He has led as a Dreadnought ever since
Gear
"Imperitus" pattern plasma cannon
Dreadnought missile launcher |
47,430 | 1,287 | 7 | 1,771 | 547 | Lucius Andromade
II
Striding in from the far end of the cathedral, Lucius saw many of his brothers entering the room from different entrances. The dreadnought had lumbered his way through the doors and seemingly filled the width of the floor space of the cathedral. The fourth company's captain, apothecary and chaplain were also present. Lucius kept a relatively slow pace as he walked towards them. His head was held high, as it always was, and his silver hair flowed behind him, framed by his wings. His thunderous steps echoed through the cathedral, despite the present noise of many astartes moving to and fro in their suits of power armour weighing many tonnes, foreshadowing his arrival. Technically, Lucius, as company champion, was outside the normal chain of command. He was outranked by astarte sergeants, but took no orders save from the captain himself. His input in battle plans was unlikely to be called upon, unless the captain was taking everybody's opinions and thoughts into consideration, but Lucius believed it necessary to be present to hear what his contemporaries were discussing. Aside from his brother astartes in the command squad, other figures were present in the cathedral. Many officers from the local PDF were arranged in small clusters. Lucius' figure cut a neat swath through crowd, parting as he neared them. Young, inexperienced officers, having never fired a shot in anger, stared up at his nine foot stature and were overwhelmed by the beauteous magnitude of his wings and silver hair.
Other astartes were present in the room, but none looked so grand as him. His brother marines were sullen and despondent, and had hard, scarred faces. Lucius was the poster image of Imperial propaganda, as a tall, proud hero. While his brothers looked grim and furious, he looked glorious and radiant, and his yellow and silver armour stood out amongst the dull, neutral-coloured uniforms of the PDF officers congregated near the astartes. The fourth company's apothecary caught Lucius' eye and caused him to smirk knowingly. He was certain he'd hear furious comments from him in time, when he discovers that brother marines had been injured sparring. Their astarte physiology would allow them to heal rapidly, but a broken wrist would impede a marine for days at the least. Lucius, having waded through the PDF, made his way to the rest of his command squad.
“Brother captain,” he began respectfully, presenting the sign of the aquila. Before he could add anything else to his introduction, the cathedral was graced by two additional figures, neither astarte nor PDF. Both of whom women, one a commissar and the other an arbitrator, and neither of whom were supposed to be on Corillia. The commissar marched up to the captain in a manner most unusual for someone outside the Legiones Astartes. Having handed him a note, the woman seemed to stare intently at the captain. The venerable dreadnought, Brother Vergil, appeared perturbed by her demeanour. Lucius was interested, but had no intention of confronting the commissar or her companion. His purpose was to protect the captain from physical harm, and two women, not possessed of astarte superiority, were unlikely to pose any threat to a venerable captain. Nevertheless, Lucius' brother dreadnought saw fit to give voice to his concern, offering to dispose of them. Lucius gave voice to sweet laughter in return in the form of an amused chuckle. His laughter caused his silver wings to sway and his scapula length hair to bounce on his shoulders. He held his left hand on the sheath of his sword, more for practicality, as the sheath was likely to obstruct his movement, than any form of threat, but he imagined the image was clear enough. A more subtle reminder of astarte superiority than outright offering to kill the women.
“I hardly think these two pose a threat, venerated brother. Not worth your time.” | Name: Lucius Andromade
Appearance: Lucius wears the chapter heraldry of the Lamenters across his armour. His yellow armour is decorated with insignias and purity seals, and his shoulder plates are trimmed with the fourth company's green distinction. His helmet bears a thin white stripe from the brow to the back of the head, and is wreathed in emerald green. Despite having faced two centuries of war, beneath his armour Lucius' face is unlined and bears no scars, indicative of the fact that he has yet to be bested in combat, a fact which he is most aware of. Foregoing the use of a boltgun, Lucius carries a relic blade and a stormshield. He carries also a bolt pistol and a number of fragmentation grenades for certain situations. Flanking the sides of his power armour's packpack, he bears a pair of huge ivory wings, reminiscent of Sanguinius and many Blood Angel heroes, allowing him to be easily recognisable, even in the maelstrom of melee combat.
Age: 246
Rank: Company champion
Personality & Bio: Lucius can most easily be described as prideful, or even vain. His skill in combat, partly natural and partly honed over centuries of practice, has lead him to face some of the deadliest enemies to Mankind, including bloodletters, ork nobs and several types of tyranid synapse creatures, such as carnifexes or hive tyrants. Having yet to be defeated, or even scarred, has lead to Lucius becoming what could be described as arrogant. While he doesn't look down on his fellow brothers, he is more confident in his own abilities than of those of any other astartes in the company. Chapter sparring between companies has allowed him to test his skill against other champions and veterans, and the captain of the fourth company himself often requests Lucius personally for sparring. Despite his vanity, Lucius' pride is not unfounded. He is both skilled and dedicated, and is sworn to the protection of the company's senior officers, including the captain, chaplain and librarian.
Gear:
Relic blade
Bolt pistol
Frag grenades |
47,431 | 1,287 | 8 | 2,192 | 1,228 | Apr 2015 3:31 3 yrs ago | Name: Quintus Veranius
Appearance: Like most of his Battle-Brothers Quintus always wears his Power Armour into combat, but unlike the others his colour scheme is the deep blue of a Librarian, along with having the honorary electroplated silver left shoulder plate of the Deathwatch. When not in combat Quintus can usually be found wearing long flowing robes and his customary psychic hood.
Age: 497
Rank: Epistolary
Personality: While good-mannered and positive in intent Quintus suffers as much as all his brother with the melancholia synonymous with their geneseed. For him these dark times can often feel amplified by the emotions of the others in his Chapter, forcing him to seek solitude or respite in the company of the serfs and other members of the Chapter not implanted with the seed.
Bio: Born aboard the Mater Lachrymarum, the child of Chapter serfs in the service of the Librarium, Quintus grew up surrounded by the legends of the Chapter. Early in life it became clear there was something different about the boy, who often spoke of people long since dead as if they still wandered the halls of the fortress. With the assistance of the lexicani Quintus learnt to block these intrusions and when the time came for him to be recruited into the Chapter his place amongst the librarians was already waiting for him.
His friendly and positive attitude served Quintus well during his training, and although his marksmanship and combat skills were not the best he was still one of the first of his age to be promoted to scout, mainly due to his ability to inspire those around him and help maintain high spirits in whichever squad he joined. While his service during this time lacked any clear distinction his powers of influence quickly grew, allowing him to reinforce his Battle-Brothers' spirits in even the most dire of circumstances.
The high point of his service came on Bellis Corona, where Quintus's mental powers were instrumental in breaking the psychic grip of a genestealer cult which had overrun an Imperial colony long enough for his forces to be evacuated. With the settlement lost the planet was declare exterminatus by the Inquisition and destroyed by orbital bombardment.
Having impressed the Inquisitor with his determination and fortitude Quintus was inducted into the Deathwatch, under secondment from his Chapter for the duration of his service. For over two hundred years he served at the Inquisitor's pleasure before returning to the Lamenters, his memory having been mind locked to prevent corruption from the sights he had seen. The only reminder he has of his actions are the equipment granted to him by the Deathwatch; a master-crafted Force Axe and a Defender Bolt Pistol, both of which he carries to this day, and the fragment of a Navigator's Warp Eye, crafted into his helmet.
Gear: Mark VII Aquila Power Armour adorned with purity seals and relics, Master-crafted Force Axe (Deathwatch issue), Guardian Bolt Pistol (Deathwatch issue) armed with Antiphasic Shells, modified helmet fitted with a Psychic Hood and Navigator's Eye, frag and krak grenades, Emperor's Tarot deck.
Navigator's Eye: The left eyepiece of Quintus's helmet has been replaced with a lens made from the Warp Eye of a Navigator. While not as powerful as a true Warp Eye, the lens has the ability to detect local fluctuations in the Immaterium, allowing Quintus to locate areas where these powers gather, either as a side effect to recent rites or rituals or as a build up to a breach.
Psyker: As one of the Warp-touched, Quintus has psychic powers which he uses to support his colleagues in battle, as well as offering counsel through the use of divination and scrying.
Psychic Power - Astrotelepathy: As with all librarians Quintus's main advantage to the Imperium is his ability to send psychic messages and communications across the vastness of the Void. It is, however, a task that is undertaken sparingly, as like much of the rest of the Imperium’s forces the Lamenters make extensive use of Astropaths, reserving gifted Battle-Brothers such as Quintus for more vital tasks.
Psychic Power - Inspire: Quintus can bolster his Battle-Brothers by sending out waves of reassurance and calm, allowing them to resist the Dark Powers in their times of need.
Psychic Power - Compel: By focusing his willpower Quintus may force others to briefly act against their will. While this power cannot be used to make his target perform an action which would direct harm themselves, he can make them act in a way which places them into indirect danger, such as stepping out from behind cover or pulling the pin from a grenade.
Psychic Power - Short-Range Telepathy: Quintus can send his thoughts into the minds of those around him for a short distance, making a generalised broadcast to every mind within a short range indiscriminately, either to aid in communication with his Brothers when other means are insufficient or to affect his enemies with distractions and diversions in critical moments.
Psychic Power - Vortex of Doom: In a moment of pure desperation, Quintus unleashes the full force of his psychic talents. With an utter disregard for reality, he rips open a flickering vortex in the fabric of space-time. The vortex is 2 metres in diameter and may be placed anywhere within range of the psyker. Once created, however, Quintus has no more control over it. Having an open rift to the Warp is dangerous to the souls of anyone present and the first time any creature comes within 10 metres of it the rift's powers will be unleashed, damaging friend and foe alike until it has run its devastating course. |
47,432 | 1,287 | 9 | 1,793 | 511 | Caellus' smile wavered a little. The meeting hadn't yet started, and already interruptions best left to the end were probably interfering with the Captain's line of thought. And by Imperial Guard personnel, no less. He was slightly ashamed to admit he was sharing Vergil's feelings on the subject, though perhaps his were not as intense, and stemming from entirely different reasons.
This would be best treated as entertainment before the briefing, he finally decided. There won't be many opportunities like this, and the men's spirits will be lifted if it was to be properly harnessed.
To prepare the grounds, he began snickering quietly, though not quietly enough. | Name: Brother Caellus Sangriam
Appearance:
(With, er, normal helmet and yellow color ;))
Age:551
Rank: Sanguinary Priest
Biography:
Those who have heard of Brother Caellus, know him to be a scholar. Those who saw him in battle, call him a 'practitioner'. Indeed, if he hadn't had the healer's touch, Caellus would surely be a Techmarine, for his cold calculation in battle treats man not unlike machine. His age does not fit his battle rank - he had spent centuries away from the front lines, researching the bodies of man and space marine, making experiments of varying approval and legality on corpses or living subjects of the xeno. This experience, put together with his skill in combat situations, make him highly effective at assessing the severity of a brother's wound and choosing the best treatment.
He has taken this experience in an additional direction. Extensive study of xenobiology led him to understand various weaknesses of the bodies of the Enemies of Man. Finding ranged weapons unreliable, he often charges into battle, especially against large and tough enemies, rending them to pieces with few well-aimed strikes. Those who fought with him before know that distraction is key in these reckless-looking maneuvers, and that teamwork can win against any amount of heavy weaponry.
He had fought alongside all manners of allied forces. In a key battle against a Tyranid hive, he was forced to saw off a terminator's arm to prevent a tyranid parasite from reaching his body. The operation was successful, but only barely, and put both of them away of the frontlines for too long. This has led Caellus to adapt his weapons to anti-armor combat, knowing that while any kind of enemy can be pushed away by the appropriate force, some tasks are left exclusively for the Apothecary. Since then, he had saved a number of guards from burning vehicles, and extracted the genecode from almost a dozen dreadnoughts, with the help of a custom-made power glaive.
Personality:
Despite the horrors he had seen, Brother Caellus is very friendly. He enjoys meeting new brothers, and tries to get to know them as much as he can between battles. Some mistake this for a distraction or unnecessary indulgence - in truth, Caellus tries to find the best way to work with anyone in dangerous situations, to make the team more than just the sum of its parts.
He is very curious, almost dangerously so. He enjoys learning new things about the xeno, more than once accused of borderline heresy by the closest inquisitor. He tries to be as cooperative as possible when this happens, preferring to lose time over having to be away from the front lines for some loyalty test.
He also enjoys trying out new battle tactics, even if they put him or his team in danger. He believes in pushing oneself to one's limit - he isn't as brave as curios whether the stunt will work. But since tactics are not his forte, he would very rarely suggest a battle plan.
Equipment
Standard Apothecary Backpack
Narthecium
Blood Chalice
Bolt Pistol
Power Glaive
Frag Grenades |
47,433 | 1,287 | 10 | 2,192 | 1,228 | Apr 2015 2:34 3 yrs ago | Name: Quintus Veranius
Appearance: Like most of his Battle-Brothers Quintus always wears his Power Armour into combat, but unlike the others his colour scheme is the deep blue of a Librarian, along with having the honorary electroplated silver left shoulder plate of the Deathwatch. When not in combat Quintus can usually be found wearing long flowing robes and his customary psychic hood.
Age: 497
Rank: Epistolary
Personality: While good-mannered and positive in intent Quintus suffers as much as all his brother with the melancholia synonymous with their geneseed. For him these dark times can often feel amplified by the emotions of the others in his Chapter, forcing him to seek solitude or respite in the company of the serfs and other members of the Chapter not implanted with the seed.
Bio: Born aboard the Mater Lachrymarum, the child of Chapter serfs in the service of the Librarium, Quintus grew up surrounded by the legends of the Chapter. Early in life it became clear there was something different about the boy, who often spoke of people long since dead as if they still wandered the halls of the fortress. With the assistance of the lexicani Quintus learnt to block these intrusions and when the time came for him to be recruited into the Chapter his place amongst the librarians was already waiting for him.
His friendly and positive attitude served Quintus well during his training, and although his marksmanship and combat skills were not the best he was still one of the first of his age to be promoted to scout, mainly due to his ability to inspire those around him and help maintain high spirits in whichever squad he joined. While his service during this time lacked any clear distinction his powers of influence quickly grew, allowing him to reinforce his Battle-Brothers' spirits in even the most dire of circumstances.
The high point of his service came on Bellis Corona, where Quintus's mental powers were instrumental in breaking the psychic grip of a genestealer cult which had overrun an Imperial colony long enough for his forces to be evacuated. With the settlement lost the planet was declare exterminatus by the Inquisition and destroyed by orbital bombardment.
Having impressed the Inquisitor with his determination and fortitude Quintus was inducted into the Deathwatch, under secondment from his Chapter for the duration of his service. For over two hundred years he served at the Inquisitor's pleasure before returning to the Lamenters, his memory having been mind locked to prevent corruption from the sights he had seen. The only reminder he has of his actions are the equipment granted to him by the Deathwatch; a master-crafted Force Axe and a Defender Bolt Pistol, both of which he carries to this day, and the fragment of a Navigator's Warp Eye, crafted into his helmet.
Gear: Mark VII Aquila Power Armour adorned with purity seals and relics, Master-crafted Force Axe (Deathwatch issue), Guardian Bolt Pistol (Deathwatch issue) armed with Antiphasic Shells, modified helmet fitted with a Psychic Hood and Navigator's Eye, frag and krak grenades, Emperor's Tarot deck.
Navigator's Eye: The left eyepiece of Quintus's helmet has been replaced with a lens made from the Warp Eye of a Navigator. While not as powerful as a true Warp Eye, the lens has the ability to detect local fluctuations in the Immaterium, allowing Quintus to locate areas where these powers gather, either as a side effect to recent rites or rituals or as a build up to a breach.
Psyker: As one of the Warp-touched, Quintus has psychic powers which he uses to support his colleagues in battle, as well as offering counsel through the use of divination and scrying.
Psychic Power - Astrotelepathy: As with all librarians Quintus's main advantage to the Imperium is his ability to send psychic messages and communications across the vastness of the Void. It is, however, a task that is undertaken sparingly, as like much of the rest of the Imperium’s forces the Lamenters make extensive use of Astropaths, reserving gifted Battle-Brothers such as Quintus for more vital tasks.
Psychic Power - Inspire: Quintus can bolster his Battle-Brothers by sending out waves of reassurance and calm, allowing them to resist the Dark Powers in their times of need.
Psychic Power - Compel: By focusing his willpower Quintus may force others to briefly act against their will. While this power cannot be used to make his target perform an action which would direct harm themselves, he can make them act in a way which places them into indirect danger, such as stepping out from behind cover or pulling the pin from a grenade.
Psychic Power - Short-Range Telepathy: Quintus can send his thoughts into the minds of those around him for a short distance, making a generalised broadcast to every mind within a short range indiscriminately, either to aid in communication with his Brothers when other means are insufficient or to affect his enemies with distractions and diversions in critical moments.
Psychic Power - Vortex of Doom: In a moment of pure desperation, Quintus unleashes the full force of his psychic talents. With an utter disregard for reality, he rips open a flickering vortex in the fabric of space-time. The vortex is 2 metres in diameter and may be placed anywhere within range of the psyker. Once created, however, Quintus has no more control over it. Having an open rift to the Warp is dangerous to the souls of anyone present and the first time any creature comes within 10 metres of it the rift's powers will be unleashed, damaging friend and foe alike until it has run its devastating course. |
47,434 | 1,287 | 11 | 1,513 | 1,883 | Marian approached the Dreadnought. A being that had served the imperium well for many centuries was one to be respected and revered. The pair of them bowed before him, before she stood up and clicked her heels together, saluting him. "My Lord, we have a message, straight from Officio Perfectus Headquarters." she said, the Servo-Skull that had been floating behind her flew towards the giant, tank of a coffin and plugged into a small port in the front. On the Dreadnoughts H.U.D. the Inquisitions stamp appeared in front of his eyes, before a short video message played, audible and visible only to him.
"Captain, my name is Lord Inquisitor Marian of his holiness' Ordo Hereticus. I am here on urgent business. This is an off-the-books mission, nobody is to know who I am and what my mission is. For this reason, not even you will be made privy to the mission specifications. All that I will inform you is that this mission is of the utmost importance to the Ordo Hereticus, and that, if failed, many Human lives will be put in danger. You are to inform your men that my name is Lord Commissar Marian, sent to take command of the conscript Planet Defense Force." She then unbuttoned her blowse and revealed the glowing tattoo of the Inquisition seal on her stomach, just under her right breast. "If you require further authentication, please ask behind closed doors."
As soon as the message finished, the Inquisitions seal appeared again on the screen, before the message deleted itself from his battle-processor. The Servo-Skull let go and it's glowing red eye flashed yellow, before turning green, before turning back to red, indicating that the Servo-Skull had just done much of the same. Now, the only copy of the message was left, was held within the Dreadnoughts human mind. "I trust there are no problems, my lord?" she asked. | Name: Pietro Baldassare
Appearance: Pietro wears a suit of ornate Mk.8 power armor, with several purity seals on both his shoulders, his weapons and his chest piece. His helmet has a laurel wreath of silver inlaid into it. Under his helmet, Pietro's face has a few scars and 4 Service studs above his right eye. His hair is cropped close to his skull. His left eye is replaced with a bionic.
Age: 326
Rank:
Veteran Sergeant
Personality:
Pietro is like a rock. He is stubborn and unyielding, no matter the challenge. He values a strong chain of command, is loyal and ready to give his life if asked. Though he has still to come to terms with his reassignment, he wouldn't go against a direct order from his chapter master. He also holds Little respect for the common soldiers of the Imperium, seeing the as weak, spineless Cowards, only a step away from betraying the Emperor.
Bio:
Pietro's past is, for an Astartes, pretty common. He was recruited, passed his initiation and spent his time in the 7th company as a tactical marine until his induction into the 1st company as a Sternguard Veteran. However, a few years before deploying to Corillia, he was transferred to the command squad of the 4th company to replace losses.
Gear:
Power Fist
Storm Bolter with special rounds
Frag and Krak grenades |
47,435 | 1,287 | 12 | 62 | 2,653 | Corillia was a strange world. Technically classified by the administratum as an agri world, due to its rolling fields and large heards of strange cattle. The planet has only a short dry season, and a very long and aggressive wet season. While this all seems very standard, a surprisingly large number of pilgrims from nearby systems flock to the planet. This is due to the city of Acane, a city of towering steeples, grand cathedrals and the Graves of veritable thousands of minor saints. Recently, pilgrims have dropped of, mainly due to the inexorable approach of the Black legion, and those on the planet now have no way of leaving, but one force of the Imperium has no wish to leave the world. The Lamenters are a lone space marine chapter, charged with the defence of Corillia and it's people. The city of Acane, specifically, has been assigned to the fourth company. Due to the stressed nature of the chapters forces the 4th company stands alone, and virtually unsupported as the chapter can spare no resources to defend the shrine city. The 4th company is bolstered only by the cities garrison of 873 pdf, and 3 rhinos allocated for their use. As they prepare for the coming siege, the clouds above begin to gather, the invasion has fallen directly upon the beginning of the wet season. This season however, brings not only the life giving rain, but also carries the weight of innumerable traitors, who's true goals for conquering the world can be only guessed at... by most at least.
But captain Vergil had more important things on his mind than the seasons of an agri world, he had a city to defend. Vergil had left the isolated cathedral only twice since their arrival. He had been so bogged down in logistics he had been able to speak precious little with his own men, and with the Mortificators abandonment of the world had only increased his workload.
Suddenly, a commisar and Arbitrator walked into the cathedral, but with a strange gait. Since the Dreadnought could not hold paper myriad cherubs and servo skulls carried documents for him to read and brought pict docs to be interfaced with his hud. The servo skull with the commisar told a very different story. The Inquisition? Why here and now? Vergil hated to keep secrets from his men, but he knew better than to disobey the Inquisition.
He tilted his sarcophagus toward the Inquisitor, "Well met Commisar Marian, I shall relay our previous plans for tge PDF to you for briefing. However I wish to speak in private to you... I have questions regarding your assignment here
With that he looked to his command squad, "We will re-convene shortly for final planning" and moved to a room that had been appropriated foR the massive Dreadnought, making certain the Inquisitor followed suit. | Name:Vergil Maximus
Appearance
(Painted in Lamenters regalia of course)
Age:737
Rank:Captain (Dreadnought)
Personality:Always a busy man, Vergil has never been good at sitting still, a firm believer in the idea that inaction breeds heresy. His mind moves at a million miles a minute, and he never rests. However, if he is not leading actively he has a problem shutting up. Even as a Dreadnought keeping quiet is not his strong point, often speaking when silence may be more prudent. Despite this, his leadership capability is only enhanced by his busy nature
Bio:Blessed with Dreadnought armor on 568.M37 following the scouring of Refis, when he was caught in the direct fire of a chaos land raider redeemer. After it was destroyed the Apothecary prepared to remove the captain's gene seed, only to find that the charred corpse was actually alive. Less than 3 days later, the captain re-emerged interred within a Dreadnought, and led the 4th company to retake the planet. He has led as a Dreadnought ever since
Gear
"Imperitus" pattern plasma cannon
Dreadnought missile launcher |
47,436 | 1,288 | 0 | 423 | 581 | Lonely World, Season One Prologue
May 3rd, 2018 - Three Months before the St. Mary’s accident…
Highway 407, to Toronto Pearson International Airport
Lizzy cruised down the highway in her white Nissan Sentra, a sporty little car that her mother had bought for her when she had gotten her G2 driver’s license. Despite it’s lackluster engine, it was still pretty fast for a four-cylinder and got amazing gas mileage to boot. She glanced down to the climbing speedometer-- now just barely touching 120km/h, and grinned, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal before pushing in the clutch and dropping down into sixth gear. She bobbed her head along to Blink-182 as she drove, knowing that her control over music would soon be over.
It wasn’t long before she had begun to see signs for the airport and started to make her way to the right side of the highway, veering off onto the ramp towards the arrivals side of Pearson International. She’d been on this route a hundred times, and although this way the first time she was the driver, it felt no different than before. Picking up her mother who had been on yet another business trip, in yet another distant country, talking with yet another potential backer. It was like clockwork. Predictable. She had given up on being upset whenever her mother left, and began to see it as just another week.
She pulled into a parking lot and put it into second before yanking on the emergency brake and turning off the car. Lizzy grabbed her phone and purse, popping her earbuds in before locking the car and making her way inside. The sound of Elton John filled her head as she paced through the airport. She glanced to her phone for a brief moment before quickly sending off a text to her mother.
“You here yet?”
Lizzy pocketed the device before making her way over to the Tim Horton’s tucked off to the side of the corridor, grabbing herself a muffin and coffee before taking a seat at one of the benches. She closed her eyes and lost herself in Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting, the driving guitar hook and Elton’s distinct voice dragging her down into the depths of her musically driven mind as she waited for a response from her returning mother. | Name: Elizabeth Catherine Smith
Nickname: Lizzy
Age / Birthday: 17 / July 10th
Gender: Female
Nationality: Canadian
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality:
Just like her mother, Lizzy is a fairly determined individual. However, she is also rather stubborn and this has lead to interesting encounters between her and her mother. She is above par in school having an average of around 80 in school-- the effect of her mother’s constant reminders to do homework.
Lizzy has grown close to the nanny her mother had hired and often calls her “Mom” by accident. She has a touchy relationship with her mother and their time together has been severely limited by her occupation. Lizzy often makes their dinner and it’s rare that a goodnight hug is ever present.
Character background:
Elizabeth was born not knowing who her father was. Her mother rarely ever talked about him, and she didn’t care to ask. She was raised in a household where she was pushed to work hard in school and help with chores. She always tried to help out where she could to help her single, yet hard working mother. Lizzy was always good at reading emotions and the only thing she ever saw her mother as was stressed out.
In public school she excelled, hitting the top of her classes in grades one through six. She ended up skipping grade seven because of her flawless study skills and amazing memory, much to her mother’s pleasure. However, that was where the good parts of school ended for her. Grade eight was a nightmare. A constant stream of bullying and mockery at the middle school she was sent to left her crying herself to sleep on multiple occasions, often without the comfort of her mother’s arms.
There was hope to be found however. Her grade nine year at school was made better by tenfold by her participation in the school band as a percussionist, as well as her involvement in various activist groups run by the school board. Lizzy learned the drums very quickly and eventually pushed her mother to buy a drumset for her. This was quickly regretted by her mother as Lizzy’s bedroom walls were hardly soundproof, and on more than one occasion has her mother had to come in and tell her to stop.
High school was a breeze after that. There was the occasional fallout with a friend, or a stressful assignment that overwhelmed her, but it was otherwise a good time. Currently, she is about to start her Grade 12 year at school.
Equipment:
Backpack: Small sling tactical backpack
Supplies: Metal 20oz water bottle and a few granola bars.
Medical Supplies: A few bandaids, alcohol wipes and a roll of 2” gauze.
Miscellaneous Items: Google Nexus 5x with earbuds, drumsticks, wallet, soft shell jacket clipped to her bag, extra socks and a lighter.
Hiking boots
Weapons:
A small flip knife
A lightweight hatchet
**I’m the GM, I don’t have to agree to this!** |
47,437 | 1,288 | 1 | 2,126 | 2,875 | may write me down in history,
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt,
But still, like dust, I rise."
- The First Stanza of Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
Following the white lines painted on the rugby pitch, Jean sighed quietly as he tried to retrace his steps. The last year had been somewhat successful than the years before, and for that, the Ivoirian was thankful. His life had been a mess of twists and turns, uncertainty about his future was always a factor for him. Now though, he was stable. He had no need to worry about Dom or his mother, both far away from him now but still keeping in contact.
It appeared as though that his younger brother had proposed to an old high school friend and invited his older brother to be the best man. Life as a rugby player in the Canadian regionals gave little time for vacation but Jean always had time for his little bro. He was happy for him and in four months, he would watch his wedding with the rare grin on his face. It was unfortunate though, that his brother was so far away from him, his little bundle of joy...
Jean shook away such thoughts, confident that his brother would be okay without him. He called the other day, looking alive and happy with Yevenia, their mother. They would be okay without his support, he assured himself, they would be okay. Reverting his focus to the task at hand, he gazed at the damp grounds underneath his feet. "Now where did I put that necklace..." Receiving a particularly nasty dive tackle during a hospital pass, his necklace had fallen off during the fall and now he had to find it
The sound of roaring engines and excited whooping exploded from the background, making Jean smile a little. The boys were heading out to the bar after practice, going for a night out before the big game tomorrow. They were going to have a friendly, pre-season match with the Eastern Ontario club, their rivals in the league. It was going to be a simple affair, not as many people attending as there would be in big league games but the atmosphere was going to be excitable despite this. Many friendly insults would be thrown and the hardcore fans that would attend would get to have a close look at their favourite teams. His relatively short career of three years had been a list of successes and memorable moments, a rising star in Canadian rugby, many saying that he would be a definite pick for the team sent to the 2019 Rugby World Cup. Although old compared to other players, his past in both High School and College football gave him both the mentality and professional experience.
A glint in the wet grass caught Jean's eye and he walked towards it, picking up a small copper cross on a rusted chain. It was his birth mother's cross and as he stared at it, he tried to bring memories of her to the forefront of his mind. A kind, caring face. Bright eyes, full of hope and love. Blood streaking down the side of her head, the sound of a body going thump on the floor. He shook his head and put it on. There was no need for such thoughts in his mind, the haze of flashbacks and emotions receding back to the inner depths.
As he walked back to his car, Jean's thoughts brought up another event that would happen in the near future. Samantha, an old friend from high school, was coming to town to meet him in a few months. He smiled brightly at the thought of her, taking the alone time to express some emotions. She was always a person of great importance to him and admittedly, interest. Despite the four year gap, they had both attended the same school together and through his younger brother, developed an unlikely friendship. Never doubt the old phrase that opposites attract. Him, the lonely tough jock and her, the ever-positive normal nerd. He scratched his head, thinking of the many interesting things he wanted to happen when she visited as he approached his car. Opting to send a text before he left drinking, the rugby player sent a message to his old friend on Skype.
-- Ur coming 3 months from now. You excited? I am XD --
Jean revved the Ford Mustang loud and proud, whooping his own cheer of excitement as blasted off to catch up to his friends. Blasting Ridin by Chamillionaire in the inside of his car, he grinned another time. The great events to come would give the man a chance to relax after a truly troubled past. However this would not be the case, for Lady Luck was not on his side. | Name: Altai
Nickname: Hedgehog(Because his hair gets very spiky if he doesn't take care of it. Especially after he puts his head on pillow)
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Nationality: Turkish
Appearance: White skin but not pale, nor mid European. More like Southerns. He has long face with a little hooked nose, his brown eyes are shaped as almond. He is 180cm (I think 5 ft 10 or 5 ft 9, not sure) and 70 kg(154 lbs I guess). His hair is mostly white, 90% of it, thanks to his genetics. His hair is... How can I describe it... Shortened sides, front of his hair longer so he can spike it up.
He has short beard, which are really black and hard. His eyebrows are also opposite of his hair and a little thick...
He is not symphatic, very far away being of it. He actually looks really... He looks like he has dangerous and hard nature, which makes people don't get close to him most of the time. Which lead him to be little social and shy. Nothing he can do about it, if there is nothing funny or worth it, he won't smile.
He has well built Torso-really well built chest and shoulder while having normal sized arms. Yep, he is not gym guy. He was really overweight once, because of that his belly will never be "fit" enough to be flat. He is hairy dude, mostly upon his arms, legs and chest. But they are not white like his normal hair, they are black. He has scar on his right middle and ring fingers, from a fight in pub. One moment of silence for the bear glass that caused it.
In-Depth Personality: Reckless, cold-blooded, literated dude who has capability of understanding most of the thing while not getting into anything because he is very melancholic, self-hating, asocial and almost anti-social, trying to look tough and making everyone staying away from him. He wants to be really social but he is too shy and lack of confidence. But when it comes for non-social stuff, his Confidence will be on the top level of humanity. He can't make the first step to meet with someone, unless it's needed for his job/task. He is sarcastic, making tons of jokes and references that only he can catch.
He is protective against children because he has young brother-or he had, no idea what happened to him. He doesn't want to live but also trying to achive his simple goals, so he is planning to get himself killed after he achive these personal goals, which are truly simple for normal people.
He has sadistic attidues to humans and also he hate most of the people. He belivesed that he can understand people by just looking at them for ten seconds. He has moral and ethic issues which are completly different from normal society. He also has borders for himself.
He won't talk much until he gets comfortable and he will always scare that he is going to mess everything up-because when he gets angry, he goes nuts. No, it's not losing control of himself but more like... Being aware of it, and having fun with that mess...
He is creative and writing novels, trying to be well-known writer. Well, it was possible before the outbreak but... Never need to lose his faith on writing skills.
He has his side on most of the situations but getting involved always depends on the gain, so we can call him pragmatist. He also loves animals, mostly the cats, hedgehogs and turtles. But anything baby will do the job.
He also has smoking addiction and he knows the best tobaccos. He won't drink alcohol too much.
*****(If I need to write more, just tell me)*****
Character background: Born and raised in Turkey, a country which is witnessing many terror attacks and violance, a land where violance is normal and appreciated. He had to learn how to defend himself, how to fight, how to fight dirty. Truly dirty, which will involve every kind of items and cheats to stay on ground.
However, he was really smiling person once, until his 12. He was always interested in books and fiction, but after age of 12, he witnessed many family problems such as alchololic parents, violance at home etc. It drained every single energy inside him, and turned Altai in a stone golem.
He tried to enjoy in different ways, he got good at billards, dart and knife throwing, riding horse... But he was always bat at music. Can't sing unless he practice for months, also can't play any insturment. His drawing skills... Well, no. Just don't make him draw something.
He got in jobs at summers and learned the true life, how hard it could be. He learned people, he learned how people live and always been jealous about it. That's where he get his scars on the finger, a fight which involved glasses, knives, clubs and etc.
He got in law school but dropped it after 3rd year, then he was drafted to Military(service by requirement law), served about 12 months in Mechanised Corps. Learned how to choke someone instantly while trained to operate assault rifles and armored vehichles. He was involved in military operations against terrorist groups few times. An experience for him, another waste of year, another waste of time that he could spend better.
He spent his whole life learning things, reading stuff and watching films/TV Shows. He learned tons of unuseful stuff like Sherlock Holmes did.
Then he finished his Novel, it got published in Turkey and it made him some money, it was his turn in life. He believed it, many said that the book will be translated into English later. For that, he went to Canada so he could contact with the authors and universities, it was time to make his life great again.
Then the outbreak hits, and everything fells into darkness again.
Equipment: Packs of cigarettes and lighters, including one smooth black zippo. One black jeans, one green camo pants(cargo), black laether jacket, some normal jackets(I mean like hoodies but without hoodie. Don't know this in English). He wears fingerless gloves and military grade black boots all the time. He still has his military jackets and uniform. Enough with clothing.
Black backpack. This dude is a little gothic, probably being teen because he never could be one. :D :D :D Just kidding.
Angel of Death necklace, jagermeister canteen(full leather jacket baby), flashlight, and another regular life items such as razor blades and etc. Also painkillers. He is trying to be addicted to painkillers but failed to do that.
Weapons:
Pocket knife
Switchblade
If possible, a 9mm pistol which he obtained illegally. Some clips and ammo for it, and gun holster which he place under his armpit.
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)**
*Agreed* |
47,438 | 1,288 | 2 | 2,705 | 9 | Armagh, Ireland
May 3rd, 2018 - 17:00 WET
The weather in all of its shoddy magnificence made grey of the land, with the anticipation of a dark downpour desiring to unleash in torrents; the last few days of the week having build up what would be this cruel force majeure with no way to argue against it, only endure and hope it moved in without much damage. And amidst the heavy rainfall, was a young Francis taking himself to jogging for salvation from the storm; his only protection was the hood upon his head, though it offered little else at this point. As last, he found himself outside a local pub to rush in for shelter and saving what he could of his mood.
He exhaled a pent breath of relief upon closing the mahogany doors, unzipping his hoodie to hang upon the many other jackets of the coat racks that littered the entryway. "By the love of Mary, will this hell ever let up?" He'd ask to himself in muttered pants, shaking his head in disbelief with the patting of raindrops painting themselves upon the window panes before he'd decide it better to ease his mind with a pint of guinness. The bar stool was comfortable enough if a bit taller than desired, though the selection and bartender (of an enchanting ensemble) gave leeway for him to forget the peeve. With a upward nod of his head to the lovely lass, he'd perk to say; "A kilkenny, if you would."
The minutes rolled by to hours, with Francis downing his pints over the leisure of the clock; with the storm roaring outside into the night, he was in no rush to leave - nor wanting to; the small talk he made with his server, a Miss Haggerty, blessed a titter of laughter of bitter sorrowfulness every now and again. He'd tuck a hand into his right pocket for his phone, flipping through his texts and contacts for what little interaction he did have when he seemed so abstract to the world of social media. A single text from his distant and desired partner Rebecca had skipped his heart, as it had every time before for his virgin heart; she would be his first and- as far as he knew -his only.
"Hey lil' Willy! Hope the storm hasn't drowned you out yet, you still got to get that butt of yours over here in a few months. Xoxo -Rebecca, 17:56
The young man's face warmed, though it was unsure whether from the kilkenny count or blushing; Miss Haggerty questioned in none either way, letting him enjoy the moment while he could, knowing by the lord's good graces that he needed any pick-me-up he could have come his way. In the later hours of the night and watching the nearby flatscreen of the weather forecast estimated for the night, it had become clear that the fury of nature wasn't letting up - at least not for another few days. With that said, Francis groaned childishly to himself as he'd slide from the bar stool, reaching into his wallet for his debit card to pay Miss Haggerty for her time well spent. His hoodie, still heavy with dampness, slid back over his torso and zipped up; he may as well protect what he could of his hair before jogging through the blackened night of downpour and thunder, making headway for Heidi and home. | Name: William Francis Lyons
Nickname: Will, Francis
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Nationality: Irish
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality: William is your average as-expected man, with a love for exercise from boxing, unloading a few rounds at the shooting range, to crashing back at his home with his golden retriever Heidi. Due to his active and social lifestyle, he's a fairly in-shape and well-prepared man in terms of how to physically handle himself. Though he lacks any advanced knowledge on anything beyond basic first aid, any moderate understanding of sciences, or the patience to comprehend it; in a mad world, he doesn't have time for a college lesson or to bother humoring one. He's also never had to take a life, whether zombie or otherwise; seldom watching TV or having time for the movies between work and his extracurricular activities have left him the odd man out from most social media. When he will have to kill, it will remain with him as a horrid reminder of the new world, and he may even hesitate when met with children or infants to which are infected.
Character background: William Lyons was raised in Armagh, Ireland with a pair of loving middle-class parents, Alexandra and Thomas Lyons. A rather quiet but hands-on child, he grew to excel at physical activities whilst keeping his grades at an above average constant for the majority of his schooling. As a teenager, he was as mild as could be, unleashing any frustration he had upon the punching bag and relaxation at home with Heidi; his life only met diversity when he grew into his late teens and moved to his own nearby apartment upon Station Rd.
Working full time as a teacher and coach for the local Epicentre Youth Group, he'd spend the good majority of his days helping children come to quelling their quarrels with their guarding and allowing them to ventilate any pent-up emotions they had in a safe environment or through acceptable means - such as punching pillows, counting to ten, jogging, ec cetra ad infinitum. For a few years, he kept up his life to aid youths through their troubles until he met some trouble of his own. Once night whilst at the local pub, he met a woman who would tug at his heartstrings more than any other; her name was Rebecca Lavoie, the woman who seemed so mellow and relaxed on the surface, only to entice young William with hints of lascivious grandeur and more, should they decide to know greater of each other after a few drinks and an exchange of numbers. Their relationship took off - yet she soon had to find herself returning back home to Toronto due to a soon-to-be expired visa keeping her time short.
A year or so passed, with the two remaining in contact by basic social media - with William still quite new to it all, leaving him to be rather scatterbrained with anything new added onto his phone. Deciding that he had finally enough money saved to feel comfortable with a vacation, he had taken his flight for Toronto from Dublin and expected to see his lover once again. Unfortunately, this is when the local pandemic spread... William was staying at one of the local hotels before forced quarantines were established for all recipients of the building; one by one, they were led like cattle by what informal military personel could be afforded to handle the job before one of the infected residents had already turned on one of the higher floors and taken a few lives in their wake. While the military was busy fighting off the minor horde upon upper floors, William took the chance to escape from the chaos and leave the building as soon as he could; the streets were far less better off with cars piling into bumper-to-bumper traffic. Escaping by what street smarts he had by prowling about to his utmost extent, he snuck for one of the local closed gun stores to rob for a light yet simple firearm before sneaking out for shelter. He found himself to the bunker, taking the chance to seek refuge when he could.
Equipment:
• 10 MREs
• 20 Water Bottles
• Bedroll
• Dark-Green Coffin Tent
• Leather Wallet (ID/LTC/$75)
• Verizon Edge 7 Phone
• Weatherproof Boots, beige pants, dark-green waterproof hunting jacket and wool cap.
• Hunting Backpack
• Two Duffelbags
Weapons:
• SIG Sauer M400 Enhanced (10 STANAG Magines of 20 round capacity)
- 5 120-round boxes (559 rounds)
• H&K 45 (3 Magazines of 12 round capacity)
- 8 50-round boxes (376 rounds)
• Black Label Tomohawk
• Benchmade Fixed Black Knife
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,439 | 1,288 | 3 | 2,301 | 766 | Samantha Park
"You moving out yet?" Samantha's dad teased, like he did every morning. Only a year out of college, Sammy was struggling to find a real job- a job that would get her a house. The main reason for wanting to get a house was to get her dad to stop asking her to get a house.
"No, Dad, I don't have a house yet. I think I'll put it off a few years just to annoy you, at this rate." Samantha smiled as she looked at her aging father.
"You better not. I'll make you pay rent."
Samantha gasped in mock horror. Her father chuckled heartily and went back into the living room to watch golf. Shudder. Golf? She had no idea how anyone liked watching golf. Not even drunk? The only acceptable form of golf was mini-golf late at night, with all your friends, and completely wasted. Even then, if you had all your friends at night and were drunk- the last thing you should be doing is playing golf.
And yet, there her father sat, comfy on the couch at 10 AM, doing nothing except watching richer, younger men hit balls into holes. What a blast.
Her cereal was getting soggy in her Soy milk (she wasn't a hipster, Soy milk just tastes better!) so she washed out the bowl. Her mother offered to take the bowl from her.
"Mom, I can wash my own dishes, okay? I'm a big girl now."
Her mother frowned. "I wish you weren't. I remember when you were just a little girl, this tall." She made a gesture at her knees. "Oh, one time, we all went to the playground and you said you were a doctor, and you played with all the little children and you were a doctor, one of them was a firemen, speaking of firemen, remember that one time when you set fire to those sticks in our backyard when you were 6? Such a little troublemaker back then. You're much better now though- your father made sure to that. No more books for you young lady! Oh, those were the days. It seems like only yesterday you were a little girl, about this high..." Making another gesture at her knees.
Samantha crossed her eyes dramatically, feigning death by boredom. Her mother made a noise and lightly pushed her in the shoulder.
"Sammy, you shouldn't treat your poor old mother like that!" She said. Before Samantha realized it, she had taken her cereal bowl and was washing it in the kitchen sink. How did she do that?
Her smart phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans. She reached in, to see that she had gotten a few texts over night, followed up by one from a friend of hers. Jean-Jacques, from high school. His younger brother Dom was a pretty popular character at the time if she recalled correctly, and he introduced her to his brother- Jean.
They seemed to hit it off pretty well at the time- and they both wanted to reconnect. You could never use enough friends.
Plus, he was like, super buff. She checked the message, and a small smile spread across her lips.
-- Ur coming 3 months from now. You excited? I am XD --
Her fingers went to work typing out the message.
-- yep! :) sry it couldn't happen sooner! SUPER busy with the job search!! should have some free time when it comes around tho!! --
She sent the message. Another text- this one from her brother, Steven. He's the one who started calling her Sammy.
-- Hey, Sammy. Just checkin' in on my little sis. Need any money? I've got money, because I've got a job. How is that job search going by the way? Need any money?--
Damn you, Steven. "Need any money"? Why are older brothers so good at annoying their younger siblings? It was all good meaning banter, but Sammy took it very seriously. She had to think of something to annoy him back. Hmm. It'd come to her later. She put her phone back into her back pocket.
"You better not be thinking of dating that Jean boy. I won't have my daughter married to a french man!" Mother said. For some reason, she had adopted "hating" the french people of Canada- like they were some kind of rival college football team.
"Mom-" Sammy laughed. "Mom, he's not from France. He's from-"
"AaaaaaaahhhI do not care! He is french! His name is Jean-Jacques! That is the most french name I have ever heard."
Her father laughed from the living room- apparently listening in.
"It wouldn't matter anyway, Mom. He's just a friend."
Her mother gave her a deadpan look. "Oh, yes. Of course. Just friends." She said, sarcasm soaking her words. Samantha smiled and turned away quickly to hide her blushing. How did she even know she was texting him? She passed her father on the way to her room, who also gave her a knowing look. Man! What the heck? It was in three months! They were acting like she and Jean just walked out of her room with frazzled hair like some kind of sit-com.
She quietly closed the door behind her and the quiet voice of the golf announcer became muffled. Her laptop was sitting there in sleep mode. Tapping her wireless mouse brought the computer to life once again- and the sight of a million resume tabs and a depressingly empty inbox. No responses over the night. She sighed, reminding herself that her degree wouldn't go to waste.
She spent the next few hours online- doing research, looking into job opportunities, playing some casual game. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She had it! She had it figured out.
She just thought of the perfect comeback to her brother! | Name: Samantha Park
Nickname: Sammy
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Nationality: Her family hails from South Korea.
(added a gif of her blinking. that's Ellen Wong, btw. I just recently rewatched Scott Pilgrim vs the World and Dark Matter and she was in both of those so when I was thinking about actors- hey presto)
In-Depth Personality:
When you're an intelligent pretty girl from a privileged background, it's safe to say Samantha has lead a pretty good life up until a week ago. Some might say she's spoiled- and some may be correct. As a result she's a natural optimist and somewhat sheltered. For her, the troubles of the world have always been in some other place. Often trusting and assertive of her positivism, she's eager to make friends. It may even be a little off-putting to negative folk on how open she is.
She isn't a hardened survivor in anyway. She's never been shot at or attacked. By luck she made it into a safety bunker before even encountering the virus. She's deeply worried for her family, but on the whole is pretty confident that everything will be alright. Her positive attitude is faltering however, as it's been a whole week and nothing but bad news has made it in through the radio. As a...well, regular human being, if she's attacked she'll run away. A life well lived does not prepare one for the end of the world. Sensitivity is the cost of her friendliness.
Character background: Her father's work moved her brother and mother to Canada when Samantha was an infant. Only her sibling Steven has memories of their homeland. Canada was her home- the people were welcoming and she was happy. There wasn't any of the negativity her father seemed to always be expecting- Samantha has adopted the behavior of optimism to counteract her father's ruthless pessimism. Despite being a good man, he somehow managed to make everything he accomplished seem worth jack squat. Poor Dad. Her parents made great money, her father an engineer and her mother an architect. (He often teased her of this, after all the "architect is just an engineer who failed first trimester." It was all in good jest, of course.)
She made excellent grades. Her brother faltered a bit, but he settled on learning a trade- perhaps become an electrical engineer. Her friends joked of how she had a stereotypical Asian family- focused on school and grades. She didn't mind- and as it was high school she probably rebuttled with a friendly racist joke as well. Par for the course. Her parents could have paid for a whole college education for both her and Steven- but she had most of it paid for and Steven's trade school wasn't nearly as expensive.
Indeed- Sammy's life was like the first part of a horror movie where everything is fine and dandy before the serial killer shows up and starts lopping off heads. Her brother found work and moved to New York from her town of Montreal a few days ago- and an old friend from high school wanted to reunite in downtown Toronto. In between jobs Samantha took on the offer- ready to have a fun time. She never made it.
Before she knew it, news of the sickness was spreading and a nervous Samantha found her way into a bunker. She thought she'd be there for a few hours- she clearly didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Mind in a daze she has only realized a deep feeling of dread she masks behind her usual optimism. Her brother and parents must be fine- surely the government has this all under control.
Right?
Equipment:
A purse full of civilian items. Wallet, ID, money, house keys, car keys, smart phone, lipstick, chapstick, some sunglasses. Obviously all very useful in the end of the world.
Weapons:
Other than a can of pepper spray her worry-wart mother convinced her to buy, nothing. If she finds something she'll pick it up- but Samantha was not packing heat when this all went down.
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,440 | 1,288 | 4 | 2,790 | 324 | It had been a hectic few weeks in Asia. One week in India to meet with a representative from the Indian government. The minister of infrastructure no less, along with a smaller delegation. They wanted to form a contract for a major solar power plant in a mountain range in the southern tip of India. It's close to the equator so they hoped that it would pay off many times over within a few years. It was nice to see countries switching from fossil fuels to renewable sources. It was a massive job though.
After a week of going to the site to see it for herself, planning, taking measurements, looking up the infrastructure in the area. And from the traffic she was almost amazed that she had not been killed already. Despite the government blocking off most of the area around it, getting there was another thing entirely.
Next on the list was China. A new factory to supply materials for the Indian instalation. Possibly even more due to the high demand that just kept piling up. She had already planned one factory in Canada and one in Germany. It was nice though that the Chinese government were willing to sponsor the factory slightly since it was planned to be massive and bring in quite a few jobs. Not only that, they wanted their own power plant. Their announcement a few years back were finally coming into fruition.
After that it was Japan. She heavily relied on electronics from Japan to get everything up and running. In a way she was happy that her company had grown to the extent where she did not have to program and install everything, but that did not stop her from sticking her nose into things anyway.
Her plan was to get a few days of vacation in Japan before going back home. But that plan never came to fruition. The second day into her vacation and she was already swarmed by emails from sites all over the globe. Amanda had given up and just started working to get a shipment delay sorted out and calling the affected customers and different suppliers to work out a new timetable.
Finally though she was on her way home. But even that turned for the worse as her layover got delayed by a day so she had to spend the night in LA. At least it let her make a few phone calls to US clients and suppliers.
Despite traveling as much as she does, she had never been able to sleep on an airplane and the layover was just a couple of hours. Not enough time to get a proper night's sleep. So by the time she arrived in Toronto Amanda was not in a happy mood. Not only that, but she had promised to spend some time with Lizzy once she got home, but the phone kept ringing.
She turned her phone to quiet calls and took a few deep breaths as she stood by the bagging area. Finally some calm and quiet. *Beep* Amanda almost jumped as she stood when her phone went off loudly. She was just about to curse when she was who sent the message. She stared at it for a few moments before replying.
"Yes. I'm heading over to the usual spot."
Amanda pressed send and started making her way over to the shop. She had a haggard look about her. Bags under her eyes and unkempt hair. Tired, exhausted, she waved at Lizzy, hoping to catch her attention.
Lizzy titled her head back as she let the last remaining drops of coffee fall from the paper cup into her mouth. The warm, bitter-sweet liquid warmed her to the core, casting away the cold brought on by the dreary and rainy day. She continued to bob her head gently to the music that filled her ears, only interrupted by the gentle ring signifying she had received a text. "Finally." she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes ever so slightly.
She looked up to see an exhausted Amanda walking across the floor over to her, a sight she had seen more times than she cared to admit. Lizzy stood and reluctantly took out her earbuds, plastering a gentle smile on her face that may or may not have been genuine and began to walk over to her mother. "Hey Mom.." she said gently, if not in a slightly cold tone towards Amanda, the words sounding foreign in her head. "What happened? You were supposed to be here yesterday."
Not waiting for an answer, Lizzy walked over and took one of the bags from her mother and began to lead the way to the car, a mix of slight happiness and partial irritation visible over her face. It was supposed to have been her day out with a few friends, not picking up her dear mother from the airport.
Amanda sighed as Lizzy asked. "The pilot got sick, believe it or not. And they could not find a replacement pilot in time for the flight so they postponed it." She didn't even have time to say thank you to her daughter before she was already on the move towards the car.
No sooner than that they got to the car Amanda's phone started buzzing. She gave it a tired look before putting it away. "I'm sorry Lizzy," she said and gently patted her daughter on the head. "I'll make it up to you." She didn't wait for an answer as she loaded her bag into the trunk and soon after sat down in the passenger seat. The car was a bit cramped for her tastes, but it was Lizzy's choice after all.
She leaned towards the radio and turned on the local news channel. To see if she had missed anything while flying and during the layover. Nothing too out of the ordinary, as her phone buzzed again. She decided to ignore it once again. She was going to keep the rule, she felt like she had to. It just felt like she was losing her daughter.
"I mean, thats what you said last time.....And the time before." She turned and looked out the window as she backed up the car, then turned back around and put the car into gear. "And the time before that." She tapped the gas a little harder on purpose, before easing up and driving like she normally would.
"So how was Asia? Or was it Europe this time, they all kinda blend together." Lizzy looked over her shoulder before merging back onto the highway. She glanced over to her mother briefly, before stating the obvious. "You gonna answer that, or are you gonna just let it keep ringing?"
Amanda looked out the window and sighed deeply. "Asia; India, China and Japan. Things are progressing quite well. I'm even thinking about stepping down quite a bit of responsibilities. I know I've said that before, but this time I'm serious about it." She didn't even know if she trusted her own words after she had said them.
She looked at her phone when it was mentioned before turning it off and tossed it to the back. "No, not today. I'll drop by the office either tomorrow or the day after that. I guess I'll have a thousand emails to go through after that."
"Right, and I'm running for Prime Minister next year. Seriously, you've been saying that since this business took off." She scoffed gently to herself and pushed on the gas, veering into the far right lane, before accelerating aggresively to around 130km/h. Lizzy shook her head and flicked on her music once again, gently tapping her hand to the beat of X Ambassadors, Renegades and the gentle acoustic that came with it.
And then she began to sing along, her voice soft and quaint, contrary to the bustling and busy city that they lived in. She lost herself briefly in the music, calming her mind and clearing her thoughts. "Where are you? Because you're certainly not here with me."
"Speaking of the PM, they called me and asked if I wanted to become an advisor for energy solutions." Amanda said and chuckled as she looked out the window. Her mind was so far gone that she didn't even notice the speed picking up high. Neither that the radio had switched from news to music.
Lizzy's question brought her back though. "I'm somewhere....somewhere far away...away from work, together with you. But whenever I imagine such a thing there is always a phone ringing or someone calling for me." She sighed deeply. "I don't know if you want to spend time with me Lizzy, but I've got at least today if you do. They should be able to last without me for at least a few hours."
Suddenly her emergency phone rang. "God damn it!" she cursed loudly before picking it up. "What!?" The annoyance was quite clear in her voice. The other side was quiet for a moment before speaking up hesitantly.
"I'm sorry ma'am, but the infrastructure minister is outside of the house and wants to see you. Apparently it's quite urgent, and you did not pick up on your normal phone." Their live-in nanny and maid was on the other side of the line.
There was a long pause before Amanda spoke. "Tell him that we'll be home soon...." She ended the call before looking at Lizzy with an expression of resignation. "I'll try to get it over with quickly. Ok? We can do something after...."
"Whatever, Amanda." Her tone was cold as she spat the name as if it were an insult. She turned the music up and went quiet, focusing on the road while she tried to hide a tear running down the left side of her face. | Name: Amanda Catherine Smith
Nickname: Annie
Age: 37
Gender: Female
Nationality: Canadian
Annie normally dresses in a female suit, both at home and at work. She basically lives in her suits. She feels the need to keep up a good outwards appearance for business contacts and for the sake of her reputation.
She has also started dying her slowly fading hair color along with a good coat of makeup to hide blemishes and wrinkles.
Annie stands at 176 cm tall and is of average body type, perhaps a bit on the thin side due to stress.
In-Depth Personality: She is a very driven woman and does everything she can for her company. This often leaves her daughter in the second seat for her attention since she spends a lot of time on the phone or in front of a computer at home.
While she tries to spend time with her daughter she often has to reschedule something they agreed on earlier. A workaholic to the bone, and expects the same from her daughter, which she makes sure to tell her.
Character background: Ever since Annie was a young girl she has always worked very hard. Be it helping others, helping at home. In school with homework or helping other students to pass their exams. She never really sat down and relaxed. Always on the move, or buried in another book.
She had always been influenced by leftover hippie culture from her parents. The talks about renewable energy, solar, grow it yourself. Her parents were always free spirited. Live life in the now and hard work.
This drew her into sustainable engineering and agriculture development. She was always drawing this or that design for a house or another building, landscaping. She took some preperational classes in highschool before attending college, studying to become what she wanted to be.
During her last year of high school she got pregnant but still finished her studies. The father was not interested in a child and broke up with her. Annie has had a hard time balancing work and studies along with being a single mother, but it has worked out somewhat.
This did not stop her though as she went deeper into engineering studies and tried her best to balance work and family, but this ment hiring a caretaker along with working most of the time that she was not in school to keep the income up.
She started her own company about the same time. Providing smart and economical solutions to household problems. Selling solar panels, counseling people on how to live green and self-sufficient, garden and landscaping.
A few years back her business really took off, leaving her daughter with a nanny most of the time, even sometime when she is working from home. She has become quite successful in her business, but it's taking a toll on her. And deprives her daughter from a lot of family time.
Equipment:
Medical equipment: a pack of cloth plasters. Five different sizes of bandages. A pair of scissors and a clamp. Along with disinfectant and soap. All packed neatly into a first aid kit.
Supplies: varied items of food. Some cans, some fresh, some bread and other items. Also a waterskin and a purifier.
Hygenical items: soap, shampoo, hair dye, washcloth and towel. Along with a razor.
Extras: some bullets, extra clothes, along with a basic cooking set. All stuffed in and around a backpack she carries.
Weapons:
A shovel and a scavenged CZ P-07 pistol. |
47,441 | 1,288 | 5 | 964 | 920 | Dural Warra
"Good Morning Newnham Campus, It's a beautiful 26 degrees out today with A nice cool Breeze."
His eyes opened slowly, the loud alarm of a radio blaring just a foot away from his bed under an Economics' exam Result with a large 99% in red marker scrawled atop the front. Sitting up with a loud sigh, he placed his feet on the cold hardwood floor as he reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the corner of his night-stand. With the gently click of his Zippo, he inhaled the icy smoke with pleasure as the slight buzz of a nicotine rush fully awakened him. Standing up, he gently pulled open the window to his dorm room and relished the cool morning breeze as the sun peaked over the horizon. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he lowered the blaring volume of his alarm to an acceptable level, acknowledging the bright blue 6:15 A.M. displayed across it's screen.
Taking another slow pull from his cigarette, he pulled on his jeans and socks as the radio continued to drone on in the Background.
"...And with just a week left in the year, expect the late-night music too be at an all-time high, so you early-birds better sleep with earmuffs or have an extra cup of coffee ready for the morning, because it's going to be painfully loud until the sun peaks. I'm your host Eric Johnson and this, is Seneca Local."
The radio was cut short as Darul reset it for the next morning, dropping his cigarette into the empty ashtray as he pocketed the pack in his light Jacket. Locking the door as he walked out, he pushed his earbuds in and hit the "Play" button on his ancient I-Pod Nano, walking to the upbeat tunes of Streetlight Manifesto.
Darul pulled out from the Campus parking lot in his Black 2010 Hyundai Elantra. Glancing at the radio he saw it was about 2:45 in the afternoon, and he was free until his 4-10 shift at the dealership. Thanks to his hedonistic mentality and sly charisma he was capable of pulling of the dirtiest of sales and becoming one of the best salesman of his branch. With the added bonus of a 25% commission rate at a Brand New dealership, he made an incredibly pretty penny that made his coworkers and employers wonder why he even bothered with furthering his education.
Thanks to the constant shrug of a response, his peers and coworkers were unaware that his plans were far from settling as an auto-dealer. After finishing his Bachelors in Accounting, he planned to go into law school. With degrees in both Law and Accounting and moral flexibility, he'd find his way into a corporate firm and quickly work his way up the food chain until creating a corporate firm of his own that'd hired only the best and brightest.
Darul gave a nod to the small group of students waiting at his regular meeting spot, a handful of jocks on GPA scholarships with rich parents, his best customers. Pulling a file from his glove-box, he gestured for the group to approach, opening the file and producing six paper-clipped packets, organized by name.
"Derek, Six-Fifty. Kyle, Six-Twenty. Alex, Seven-Ten. Nathan, Five-Ten. Chris, Five-Seventy Five. And Jayson, Nine hundred even. Good luck on those exams boys, but don't do too well or you'll get caught."
He listed with a smirk, taking the bonds of bills one by one, up to Jayson, whom he eyed with a growing look of irritation.
"Fuck you abo, I'm not paying nine-hundred for some fucking answer keys."
The man stated with obvious anger, not paying enough attention to notice the other five backing away from him, knowing what was to come.
With a mean look in His eyes, Dural unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car-door, stepping out and walking to the other side, looking into the Jock's eyes from less than a quarter metre away.
"You know the deal Jay, we talked prices less than a week ago and you agreed. Three Hundred for each of your exams"
"But you charged those other guys way less for the same number of exams, the fucks your problem?"
"Different courses, different fees, now pay up before I make that empty skull of yours bounce off the pavement."
"Yeah right Boonga!"
And with that, Darul reached quickly into the passenger side of his car and grabbed his club, smashing it into the man's head in a near instant. With a loud yelp, the man backed away grasping his now-bleeding forehead, glaring at Darul with gritted teeth. Stepping forward, he punched Darul hard in the stomach, who in response gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of him. Taking another hit, this time to the face, Darul swung the club low, feeling an agonising crack reverberate through the wood as it made contact with the man's knee, breaking the joint almost instantly. As the man dropped to his knee in pain, Darul kicked him hard in the jaw, causing him to fall forward completely. Spitting blood into the grass, Darul walked forward and grabbed the Man's head by the hair, then smashed it hard into the concrete.
With that, he walked back into his car, speeding away as the man lay crumbled on the sidewalk. | Name:
Dural Kalti Warra
Nickname:
N/A
Age:
22
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
Aboriginal and Caucasion
Appearance:
Standing at 180cm and weighing in around 70kgs, Dural is a bit taller than average, and in good lean shape. However, due to a rare case of Horner's Syndrome when he was an infant, the melanin in the front layers of the iris in his left eye deteriorated slowly over the course of six months and he developed complete heterochromia in the afflicted eye. His eye suffered no physical damage and he is still capable of seeing clearly with it, however he is aware of how it makes him stand out. He also has matching tattoo sleeves on both arms, and a simple piece on his chest.
In-Depth Personality: (Both strengths and weaknesses included.)
Dural doesn't walk, he struts. He has the confidence of a king, he's impulsive, and will never shy away from a fight. He's the type that won't treat you any differently if he beats your ass or you beat his, unless it suits him. An irresponsible hedonist with trust issues, if something won't benefit him he'll have nothing to do with it, and expects the same from others. From this he's learned to be morally flexible, and follows the belief that the greatest evil is doing something that doesn't benefit him or those close to him. He doesn't trust easily nor does he grow bonds with everyone he meets, but those he does become blood to him. Unless it fucks him over.
Like many, Dural is a contradiction; Cocky and Arrogant in his presentation, but generous and caring to those close to him. Deep down he's ridden with insecurities, longing for affection and intimacy he doesn't believe he deserves, but craves.
Character background:
According to his older brother Adjar, Dural was born the son of a "drunk man and a white whore," and after his parents' affair and untimely death he felt the bitterness and blame of responsibility. Adjar blamed Dural every day of his life for the death of their father, saying "My father never would have been in that car if it weren't for your slut of a mother" every chance he could. In anger, Adjar constantly lashed out at his younger brother by either beating the hell out of him, having others do it for him, or making Dural denounce his mother as a "white whore" after ganging up on him with his group of friends.
Ignored by his mother's family for his taboo and illegitimate conception, he was orphaned along with his elder "brother" in the slums of Southern Australia where he was bullied endlessly for his "whiteness." Being too light to stand with his Aboriginal Kin and cruel brother, Dural was torn between two cultures and eventually abandoned his community for one that showed less interest in his melanin and more interest in his productivity.
At a young age Dural learned that no one would look out for him, and so he had to do it himself. Despite his intelligence and success in school, he quickly became the pissed off 'bad boy' in classes, getting into fights just as often as he aced tests. The one thing that stood out about Darul, other than his eye, is that he didn't know when to quit. Whether in a fight with someone twice his size or taking a class years ahead of his peers Dural wouldn't stop until he was unconscious or won, and there was no "gray zone" about anything he did. This talent, or curse, followed him wherever he went and resulted in him receiving a full-ride scholarship to study abroad as far away as he could, Canada.
Equipment:
Duffel Bag
Two-Way Radio
Foldable Saw
Swiss Army Knife
Duct Tape
First-Aid Kit (Bandages, Anti-Bacterial Ointment, etc.)
Hand-Crank Flashlight
Flint/Steel
Zip-Ties
50m rope
Numerous MRE's
Crowbar
Binoculars
Whetstone
Weapons:
Wooden Club (See appearance for reference)
Compound Bow with 25 Arrows
Machete
Swiss Army Knife
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,442 | 1,288 | 6 | 2,247 | 152 | Phoenix “Ace” Lancaster
Deep in the wilderness, south of Algonquin Provincial Park
November, 11, 2017
You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.
It was late in the afternoon, trees with orange leaves, an orange sky with dark clouds looming above. It was slightly misty and the ground was damp. A young man was laying on the moist dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor, rifle butt pressed against his should and its barrel resting on his backpack. He held its sturdy polymer grip with his cold hand as he peered through its scope with laser-like vision.
”Three fifty…. no…. three seventy five…. no…. four hundred meters… just about there…
After saying this to himself, he fell silent. Moments seemed like minutes as he took deep, paced breaths, hot exhaust flowing out of his mouth with each exhale. His mark, an elusive stag, he had been tracing it for a few weeks and it was a wondrous machine of nature. Powerful, lean muscles, large, contorted antlers, and stood with its chest puffed out for the purpose of bolstering its swagger, though it was the only deer in that field, I suppose it must have made a habit of it.
Meanwhile the young firebrand still watching vigilantly from his cozy position atop the ridge had slowed his heart rate immensely, he was calm, the crosshairs of his rifle aimed a few inches above the deer’s heart. His mind was clear, his conscious did not speak to him, even the white noise of his subconscious had mysteriously disappeared. Again, to him, time seemed to slow, he heard only the low hum of his own breath. The of the scene he saw through his scope seemed sharp and detailed. It was time, all of the factors have converged onto this moment, the tracking, the mapping, deduction, induction, and finally, luck. He slowly began to squeeze the trigger, and a high pitched bang echoed throughout the beautiful wilderness.
Birds perched high in the trees hastily took flight, and mammals on the forest floor floors scattered to their dens. It was as if the wilderness’s animal kingdom was itself a living thing, and the Hunter’s bullet had triggered it to respond with a momentary surge of adrenaline. The trees that towered over all, of course did not respond, they simply stood there swaying in the wind, indifferently observing, flame colored leaves falling preparing for the winter season.
The dead brown leaves that lay all over the forest floor were splattered with crimson blood, and they were joined by a brown dead deer. The young man stared through the scope of his rifle for a few more seconds to confirm his kill, he saw its lifeless body, and was happy that he wouldn’t have to endure any more tracking for the day. He stood up, taking one deep breath and began to head towards the deer’s carcass. He made haste and was delighted to find that greedy scavengers had not yet attempted to claim his kill for themselves. He field dressed the deer, and used his camp axe to cut down some tree branches of medium girth. He fastened them together with cordage to make a wooden frame which he tied the deer’s corpse to.
He then proceeded to drag the deer back to the central part of his Uncle Jack’s estate. Despite not having had a particularly well-paying job, he did gain an equal amount of inheritance to his two older siblings, and now owns a large tract of wilderness where he can go hunting and trapping and a large, lakeside cabin and workshop where he basically pursues his passions and hobbies. After a grueling forty minute hike during which it started to rain, the pitter patter of raindrops which the hunter found calming to the mind, helped make the hike less agonizing.
By the time he returned to the manor, he was not surprised that Jack had abandoned his forge to seek shelter inside due to the rain. The weather conditions slowly deteriorating and the sky slowly turning darker, he knew that he had to move fast. In no time at all, he skinned and butchered the deer, placing its different cuts in an iced cooler and prepping the hide for further processing. At this point he was soaked. He entered the manor, which it really wasn’t all too spectacular, slightly larger than a two story middle-income home. He wiped his boots on a mat and walked in, the heavy thumping of his boots clearly audible throughout the house.
”Uncle jack!! Uncle Jack!!”
He didn’t appear to be downstairs, it was mostly open, he observed there to be no activity in the kitchen or the “lounge” as he would call it. He started his way up the creaking stairs.
”Resting perhaps?”
He thought to himself as he opened the door of Jack’s bedroom, only to find it empty.
”rats”
He thought. He thought for a second.
”ahhh… That must be it then.”
He said to himself as he opened the door to his Uncle’s study to find him immersed in a novel. He quickly noticed his nephews presence and with his eyes still fixated on the book and in a monotone voice he said
“Hey Phoenix, how did the hunt good, did you finally get him?”
”Lets just say we’ll be eating good tomorrow.”
Replied Phoenix, a satisfied grin grew on his face. Jack also smiled, he stood up, placing his book, open and face down on his desk. Following this, Jack excitedly said.
“oh really? How far and how many shots?”
”One at four-hundred
“OOOOO, that terrible, four hundred shots at one meter…”
Jack said sarcastically, Phoenix shot back, also in a sarcastic tone of voice.
“I know, I know, I really have to work on that trigger pull”
“No, but seriously, good work out there… that reminds me, do you know what day it is?”
Said Jack, his demeanor returning to normal. Phoenix paused for a second to think.
"....Damn, it’s my birthday?”
He was surprised, he got so caught up in this new way of life that he almost forgot.
“yes, and I think I may have a present for you… ACE”
He said, trying to give a hint.
“”…I don’t get it”
Replied Phoenix.
“What is that weapon that you tightly grasp in your left and after all of your hunts?”
”Surely you jest… I couldn’t, this is your service rifl-“
“no buts”
He was cut off.
“you earned it, you really put a lot of effort into your marksmanship skills, and though four-hundred meters isn’t that amazing, hitting the heart of a dear at that range… I’m impressed, and besides, if I ever rejoin the military, which I probably will do once you’re on your feet, I’ll get a newer, better rifle.”
He picked up his book and began to walk towards the door
”t-thank you”
Replied Ace, overjoyed that he now has a rifle. (Though he wasn’t really old enough to own one) Jack put his hand on Phoenix’s shoulder and said
“there’s no need for thanks, I’ll continue to read elsewhere, since you’re back, I’m sure you’ll want to do your own reading”
With that he left the room, Phoenix clutched the rifle, now his with both hands and grinned. He made a fist and pumped his elbow back.
”YESSS!!”
He uttered excitedly.
He quickly refocused on the task at hand, leaning the rifle against the desk and walking over to one of the bookshelves. He picked out a textbook he had been studying. One of the sciences that utterly fascinated him was chemistry, so he now held an old college chemistry textbook which he laid out on the table and opened it to the chapter he left off at. He opened a notebook, grabbed a pencil and got busy. For three hours he worked nonstop, taking detailed notes and completing the problem sets for two chapters. Afterwards he was tired as hell. He grabbed his rifle and went downstairs and began to climb the ladder to the loft, where he kept all of his stuff and would sleep at during the colder seasons. He placed his rifle, placing it next to his gear and took off most of his clothes, leaving only his grey undershirt and boxer-briefs. He laid down in his sleeping bag, and being spent, he fell into a deep slumber almost immediately. | Name: Phoenix Lancaster
Nickname: “Ace” his uncle who he has been living with for two years calls him this because he’s a good shot
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Nationality: American
Appearance: About 5’8, Lean but solid build about 142 lbs, dirty blonde hair and brown eyes.
In-Depth Personality: Phoenix is kindhearted, but generally uncooperative, rebellious, a bit rude and some would say slightly anarchistic. He is very intelligent and if he stayed in school would’ve had a shot at valedictorian, but that’s not what happened at all. He rebelled against his parents in a glorius act of defiance in order to live his own life and eventually forge his own path.
When he is around his peers, he is generally an introvert, having only a few friends, though some people who knew that he was from a prestigious family would kiss his ass, and when somebody does that it grinds his gears, he doesn’t like being treated as if he was higher or better just because he was a Lancaster. When he was around the people who he actually considered his friends, he would act slightly clownish making sarcastic and edgy comments from time to time and act out in order to spread positive vibes.
When he is alone he is a totally different person, thinking about why life exists and his purpose, in a higher sense and in terms of what he wants to be. In these terms he is pretty aimless. He at the moment on the other hand has a pretty clear goal which is to not die. In order to achieve this he currently tries to keep a clear and calm head as often as he can and he tries to make concise and pragmatic decisions. This isn’t always possible, he like everyone who didn’t die initially is pretty stressed out. He was especially shaken when his uncle died, but he must keep moving on so that his guardians’ death wasn’t in vain.
Character background: Phoenix was born to a wealthy family which owned a defense corporation, the Lancasters. He was the first and only child of the couple who actually owned the defense firm, therefore they wanted to make him their heir. They had him homeschooled and were very controlling of his life, making sure he has nothing to distract him from his studies, making sure he eats the healthiest foods, and only takes in things that will make him a suitable heir. At first he was a naïve child listening to his parents, not really knowing any better, but when he grew older, that air of rebellion emanated from him, his parents didn’t like it but they couldn’t shelter him from bad influences forever. He was sent to a prestigious junior high school where he did pretty well for himself. His parents made sure that he did extremely well, giving him the best tutors that money could buy. Phoenix made friends and did some sports, which his parents allowed, knowing that an athlete would attract prestigious colleges if his stellar grades and family name didn’t. He did cross country during the fall, wrestling in the winter, and tennis in the spring. He eventually got good at all of them though he did have some trouble with tennis and wrestling at first, he made the varsity teams as a freshmen when he went to the attached high school of private school he attended.
It seemed like everything in his life had worked out perfectly. The highest grades, the richest family and a star athlete. Though he had few friends he was looked up to by many, nobody knows why he threw it all away. On day he simply vanished and nobody knows why. It was his parents controlling behavior, the stress and pain that it caused him. He had to run, and only knew one person who might take him in, his uncle. His uncle was a military man and a rat racer, his family saw him as being a nut job, but Phoenix thought he was alright. In order to get to him he had to go through a major ordeal, literally hike to Canada. At this point there was a search going on and Phoenix had to make the journey by foot if he wanted a chance at victory. At this time he had assembled a basic kit which he used to navigate the north eastern section of the U.S. until he finally crossed the border into Canada which lead to him eventually finding his uncle’s property.
Jack Lancaster was a military man and a bit of a recluse. He had hidden himself away from the world especially after the death of his wife. He had served two tours in Afghanistan as a marine scout sniper and at the time was considering moving back to the United States and undergo training to possibly join the Navy SEALs. This changed when his nephew arrived. At first, Jack was going to turn him into the police so that he could go home, but once he heard what Phoenix was subjected to by his brother he decided to take in the boy. Jack lived in the wild and seldom went out. He only got supplies that he couldn’t forage for or make himself. Jack though he may have seemed like a crazy to many, but wasn’t really. He was just a guy who wanted to live a quiet life, he could sense a similar air in his nephew Phoenix when he told him his story. That’s one of the reasons why he took him in. After that Jack taught Phoenix survival and military skills that at first Phoenix thought was unnecessary, but eventually when the outbreak occurred his opinion on this will change and he will even be grateful to his parents for pushing him so hard, although at this point all of the knowledge he gained is somewhat useless, he is happy that he acquired an excellent work ethic. One of the skills that Jack taught him was sharpshooting, with that old M24 Phoenix became so fond of. Turns out he had natural talent in regards to marksmanship with a rifle at least, afterwards he was given the nickname “Ace” which was a relief to Phoenix because it was slightly less embarrassing then his real name.
One day he and his uncle heard the emergency broadcast system go off. It detailed the nature of what was going on, the outbreak, how it was to become a pandemic. It gave a list of locations and told those who were not yet dead to go to the nearest one, theirs happened to be in Toronto. They packed their kits up and got moving, Jack taking his trusty M4 and Phoenix taking his trusty M24. They went by car at first, taking about a half an hour to exit the forest and get on a paved road. The first road that they entered was a minor highway. Things were not looking good, it was mostly abandoned, there were some cars that seemed to be left behind and there was a single moving car that they encountered that was moving in the opposite direction that the two were heading in. There they also had their first encounter with the undead. They saw what seemed to be three bloodied people, aimlessly lumbering around on the side of the road, this even freaked out jack, the war veteran, who had killed dozens during his tours. When they made it to the main highway, they saw why the previous vehicle had turned back. The highway was backed all the way up, and they were everywhere. The two made a unanimous decision to turn back and then travel parallel to the highway until they got to Toronto, which wasn’t that far from their current location anyways. They did this and walked in the woods. They walked for hours and got into some encounters with the undead, they both killed and Phoenix was shaken by what he done, but Jack reassured him and Phoenix regained composure. Once they reached the city limits of Toronto, they got into a huge melee. Jack was surrounded and killed, his last words were “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!” directed at Phoenix. He wanted to do something, but knowing that even if he could get him to the hospital provided that it wasn’t abandoned, there’s probably nothing that he could do. On that note he ran, and ran, and ran. He simply outran the undead, the endurance and agility from cross-country and tennis, later his wilderness lifestyle would finally come in handy. He eventually found an area with a very low amount of undead and is currently seeking refuge in an abandoned apartment building. He’s trying not to cry, as he reads the map and plans his next move, in reality he doesn’t know what he should do.
Equipment:
Medical kit
-Ethyl alcohol
-Bandages
-Gauze
-Medical Stitches
-Penicillin
-Basic dissection kit (a bit crude but can be used for surgery)
-A splint
Navigation/communication
-Compass
-Map
-Small hand radio
Tools
-Tomahawk
-Hunting knife
-Crowbar
-Bolt cutters
-Small spade
Gear
-Lockpicks
-Screwdriver set
-Flashlight
-Flares
-knife sharpener
Materials
-Parachord
-Duct tape
-Extra batteries
Survival
-Canteen
-Bedroll
-Water purification tablets
-Snares (2)
-Book detailing edible plants in the region
Rations/cooking
-Some beef jerky (homemade)
-Medium pack of rice
-Salt
-Cooking blend (spice)
-A pot
-A skillet
-A cooking grate
Apparel
-Light grey thermal (top only)
-Sturdy pair of dark blue jeans
-black windbreaker/raincoat
-Brownish-tan steel toed boots
-Travel pack
-Black woolen gloves
-Ski mask (usually wears as a hat)
-watch
Misc
-copy of Robinson Crusoe
-Rubix Cube
Weapons:
(One of his uncle’s old service rifles, given to Phoenix on his seventeenth birthday, modified to take .308, 42 bullets, has bipod and sling)
(an axe that he grabbed before leaving the cabin)
(A knife that he grabbed before leaving the cabin)
-Crowbar (can be used as a weapon if he has nothing else at hand)
Quirks: Carries Robinson Crusoe with him, he does this because he basically got addicted to reading as a child (surprising, right?) and reads that book over and over (he’s a quick reader) in order to feed his habit.
Hates having his ass kissed just because he’s a Lancaster, not that that matters anymore
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,443 | 1,288 | 7 | 1,246 | 4 | Tail! Wake up! Tail You're late for work come on wake up!
Thalia woke up to being frantically dragged off her bed.
"Hmm-? What's going on?" Thalia asked while being dragged by her feet.
"We're late for work come on!" Thalia recognized the voice as Kate.
Thalia scrambled up from the floor before looking at the clock that read 6:34. She looked back over at Kate but she was already dashing around half dressed while also slurping coffee from her Three Days Grace mug.
Thalia closed her bedroom door and started to get dressed herself before running out to the living room and running after the now dressed Kate down the halls of the apartment building.
"I'm driving!" Thalia yelled after Kate as they ran down the halls.
"Fine! But I drive home!"
They both climbed into the Minivan and sped off towards Tim Hortons.
"What happened? Why did you wake me up so late?" Thalia asked.
"Forgot to set my alarm, didn't realize I had a shift today."
Thalia laughed.
"Hate when that happens. Wait- it's not even 7! Today is Thursday right? I don't have my shift until 8! HA!" She exclaimed.
"HEY! Don't rub it in! I don't choose my shifts!" Kate snapped back.
"If you did they would be 2pm to 3pm and quite imaginary." Thalia Snorted.
"True that. Oh- we're here now."
"Oh! I never would have noticed! Not like you know... I'm driving?! But nooooo! I Just let it drive itself, fell asleep too!" Thalia said jokingly.
"Stop wasting time we're late and we nee-"
Thalia cut her off.
"/You/ are late. I am just really early! Better hurry up!"
Kate quickly scrambled out of her side of the car as Thalia got out slowly laughing as she ran in.
As Kate got behind the counter Thalia walked up slowly to her.
"Hey Kate? I'll Have a Medium Coffee, Three Milk, Half sugar, a boston creme donut, Bacon English Breakfast Sandwich and 10 timbits to go! One of each kind!"
Kate smirked before mouthing "I hate you" to Thalia as she went to finish the order. | Name: Thalia Danielle Desjardins
Nickname: Tail
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Nationality: French-Canadian
Appearance:
Pre apocalypse
Post apocalypse:
In-Depth Personality:
Thalia is aggressive to anyone she isn't close to Because of the arguments with her uncle and fear of people judging her over her sensitiveness of her parents death. She is quite sarcastic to both friend and foe alike to keep people from taking advantage of her sensitiveness. She tries to be serious almost all the time because she feels she needs to be the person taking care of everyone else. This is because of her living off of Kate for many years until she got a job and she doesn't want to feel like a burden or have to be taken care of.
Character background:
Thalia Desjardins was born in the outskirts of western Ottawa. She learnt mostly French as her native language while taking english classes at school. She took archery lessons when she was 14 but they were cut short when her parents died in a car accident on the way to pick her up.
At the funeral she finds her uncle who she has never met before and proceeds to ask him if she could stay with him. He accepts and she packs up her things before going with him to his apartment in Toronto. She stays with him for a few weeks before they get in a fight over her parents and she grabs her stuff and leaves.
She stayed out in the streets for a night before the next morning she was caught by the cops and is brought into foster home. She stays there for a few weeks before escaping during the night. She ends up living in the streets of Toronto and made friends with a Employee at a Tim Hortons named Kate.
Kate was 21 and would give the food that they were supposed to throw out to Thalia. Thalia eventually moved in with Kate in her apartment and Kate became a sort of guardian to Thalia. Kate ended up adopting Thalia when she was 15. When Thalia turned 16 Kate taught her to drive, and got her a job at work with her when she was 17. With some of the money she earned she retook the archery lessons she never finished and bought a recurve bow.
When she was 19 she the apocalypse hit.
Equipment:
-Backpack
-Road Map of area in and around Toronto
-Iphone 5*
-Light autumn jacket around her waist
-Thermos
-a few Granola Bars and box of crackers.
-Chain bracelet*
-Earbuds with the left bud broken
-
(* could also be used as a weapon)
Weapons:
She has a wooden recurve bow, a butterfly knife and a couple dozen arrows. |
47,444 | 1,288 | 8 | 423 | 581 | Lonely World, Season One
August 29th, 2018 - One Week after the accident…
01:30 | The Smith Household
A thunderstorm had rolled in as darkness covered the city like a veil. Up until now, the blackness of the asphalt streets had never been rivaled by the night. Up until now, they hadn’t seen a country-wide-- no, a worldwide disaster such as this one. The power was still on in about half of the city. Lights still speckled the downtown streets of Toronto, but left the more isolated suburbs and rural areas shrouded in dark.
Lizzy gently shifted one of the blind panels aside and peered through the tiny sliver of window that she could see. Outside, the rain still fell in the dead of night, the clouds blocking out any remaining light that the moon would have casted upon the now silent city. The young brunette’s eyes scanned across the dark street, though what she was looking for remained unknown.
“I don’t see anything..” She whispered back in the direction of her mother, her voice quivering as she did. Lizzy’s mind raced, a thunderstorm of emotions more violent than the storm outside, raged inside of her head. At first, it had been panic like most people would’ve felt. Then came the true fear and the overwhelming nature of what had happened had hit her. Finally, a wave of sadness, before she had finally accepted the situation and started to wonder about their future. However long-- or short, that may be.
She slumped back down against the wall of the house, her knife grasped gently in her hand. A shiver went up her spine as she thought of the dead body in the next room over, the person that had all but raised her, gone from this world. A single tear rolled down her face, almost invisible in the dark, but still present. A show of mourning for her. Lizzy balled a fist; She would not be overtaken so easily.
“...S-so...now what?” | Name: Elizabeth Catherine Smith
Nickname: Lizzy
Age / Birthday: 17 / July 10th
Gender: Female
Nationality: Canadian
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality:
Just like her mother, Lizzy is a fairly determined individual. However, she is also rather stubborn and this has lead to interesting encounters between her and her mother. She is above par in school having an average of around 80 in school-- the effect of her mother’s constant reminders to do homework.
Lizzy has grown close to the nanny her mother had hired and often calls her “Mom” by accident. She has a touchy relationship with her mother and their time together has been severely limited by her occupation. Lizzy often makes their dinner and it’s rare that a goodnight hug is ever present.
Character background:
Elizabeth was born not knowing who her father was. Her mother rarely ever talked about him, and she didn’t care to ask. She was raised in a household where she was pushed to work hard in school and help with chores. She always tried to help out where she could to help her single, yet hard working mother. Lizzy was always good at reading emotions and the only thing she ever saw her mother as was stressed out.
In public school she excelled, hitting the top of her classes in grades one through six. She ended up skipping grade seven because of her flawless study skills and amazing memory, much to her mother’s pleasure. However, that was where the good parts of school ended for her. Grade eight was a nightmare. A constant stream of bullying and mockery at the middle school she was sent to left her crying herself to sleep on multiple occasions, often without the comfort of her mother’s arms.
There was hope to be found however. Her grade nine year at school was made better by tenfold by her participation in the school band as a percussionist, as well as her involvement in various activist groups run by the school board. Lizzy learned the drums very quickly and eventually pushed her mother to buy a drumset for her. This was quickly regretted by her mother as Lizzy’s bedroom walls were hardly soundproof, and on more than one occasion has her mother had to come in and tell her to stop.
High school was a breeze after that. There was the occasional fallout with a friend, or a stressful assignment that overwhelmed her, but it was otherwise a good time. Currently, she is about to start her Grade 12 year at school.
Equipment:
Backpack: Small sling tactical backpack
Supplies: Metal 20oz water bottle and a few granola bars.
Medical Supplies: A few bandaids, alcohol wipes and a roll of 2” gauze.
Miscellaneous Items: Google Nexus 5x with earbuds, drumsticks, wallet, soft shell jacket clipped to her bag, extra socks and a lighter.
Hiking boots
Weapons:
A small flip knife
A lightweight hatchet
**I’m the GM, I don’t have to agree to this!** |
47,445 | 1,288 | 9 | 2,705 | 9 | Al Flaherty's Outdoor Store, Toronto, Canada
August 29th, 2018 - 19:25 EST
"For the love of Mary, would the rain ever end?" -Francis
The downpour hailed down without mercy from the abyssal sky, with black clouds crying for what felt like ages and lightning bringing flashes of revelation in the darkness; the weather brought no immediate relief to Francis' mind as his eyes traversed quicker than he did for the new scourge that haunted the country, averting to his utmost extent from the infected. His exposed hands from his crimson hoodie trembled with a mixture of unfiltered fear and adrenaline pushing his every fiber, tugging between the realms of fight or flee - with the latter opportunity gaining the upper hand. His every breath brought permeating clouds to preclude his vision of clarity for short moments, only raising his infuriating ever so slightly; he was adamant for protecting himself, with proper amounts of munitions before he'd find his own short supply dwindled to nothing - as he would shortly follow after in such a bind.
He remained kneeled at the edge of the alleyway, holding his breath and peering out into the light-forsaken street for what demons this hell held; stragglers limped in their expected uncoordinated manner with ghastly groans, leaving both a mixture of relief and strain. "Bloody hell..." He muttered from under his breath as the cloud of his air raised out in front of his eyes, ducking back behind the alley to look for the side entrance into the Outdoor Store. The sounds of the infected's groans still echoing relentless, calling out to the world of their unnatural hunger. Within the narrow alley remained several plastic trash cans laying on up straight, mostly empty; Will moved them in a line near the street, offering an objective and visual barrier to deter any infected from approaching or seeing him. The side entrance in the alleyway was a standard door - but unfortunately locked, as Francis soon realized as the door's knob jiggled yet offered no release. "Fff-... You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me here." His eyes glanced about as he'd look up at sky, and a crack of lightning streaming across the sky and offering boisterous booms from the resounding thunder; a 'click' in his head striking an idea to mind.
Francis stood higher in his stance, on his tip toes as he'd ready to see the next flash of blinding light flicker down on them all. An awkward minute ticking by ever so slowly before a flash would appear, meeting with a nearby explosion of thunder resounding from the sky - now was the time! His weight shifted onto his front foot as his rear met with the wood besides the knob, cracking in the door as he broke the mechanism under the guise of nature's voice to conceal himself. With the door smashed open, he'd crouch his way inside and prop the door to at remain as shut as he could with a nearby door stopper. Hesitantly, his volume and breath calmed to seek hearing any shifting or footsteps within the walls of the store; silence fell, save for the muffled groans from behind unbroken panes from the streetside view, a good sign that nobody remained within - at least not infected. No lights remained lit within the building, still under the darkness of the night, with only his adjusted sight to allow him to be guided; his gat following in his caution with each step gliding over the ground and stepping flatly upon the tiles, wincing at the slightest squeak that his damp heels made. But at last, he was opened to the array of opportunity that the outdoor store offered.
He immediately sought for new clothes, adorning himself in dry, thick outfit to better suit himself to the weather outside, including a dark-green waterproof baretta hunting jacket and waterproof boots; an exhale of yearned relief once again washing over him. "Bless you, god. Bloody bless you." He muttered quietly to himself repeatedly as he'd grab a hearty backpack and two 96L camouflaged duffel bags to begin stocking himself up on dry MREs and accessories; taking both a black label tomohawk and benchmade knife to puck away under his belt, six 62-grain 5.56x45 NATO boxes to completely stuff one of the now-filled (and near painfully heavy) duffel bags, stealing a lovely SIG Sauer M400 rifle from behind the counter - as well as ten 20-round STANAG magazines to later loading. Not forgetting his H&K .45, he'd load half of the next duffel bag with .45 ACP ammunication and bottles of water that he could salvage. And finally, his backpack upon his back would be a packed tent, its respective stakes, and a bedroll stuffed to a near uncomforting level. With carry just shy of his own weight in gear, he'd move to return to the same exit he had snuck from in hopes that all would be as planned...
By some miraculous fortune of fate, the barrels remained untouched - sparking another prayer from Francis to thank god in his most dire hour of need; his hands and feet supporting his weight and peering over the bins to see the roamers still at their mindless stranding, offering him a final blessing as he moved a single bin to take to his escape, returning back to the lit side of town. An hour or so of traversing back to a local apartment upon Day Ave to hide upon the roof; the only way up was via the fire escape, one that he made sure would be tedious for even himself to climb with only a rope allowing one to pull down the ladder from its retraction. Once upon the door, he'd sneak back into his room and rest himself for the physically exhausting night that dragged the energy from him, collapsing onto the bed of the barricaded apartment to take rest for the night. It was a victory, and likely the only one for the next several, painful years... | Name: William Francis Lyons
Nickname: Will, Francis
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Nationality: Irish
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality: William is your average as-expected man, with a love for exercise from boxing, unloading a few rounds at the shooting range, to crashing back at his home with his golden retriever Heidi. Due to his active and social lifestyle, he's a fairly in-shape and well-prepared man in terms of how to physically handle himself. Though he lacks any advanced knowledge on anything beyond basic first aid, any moderate understanding of sciences, or the patience to comprehend it; in a mad world, he doesn't have time for a college lesson or to bother humoring one. He's also never had to take a life, whether zombie or otherwise; seldom watching TV or having time for the movies between work and his extracurricular activities have left him the odd man out from most social media. When he will have to kill, it will remain with him as a horrid reminder of the new world, and he may even hesitate when met with children or infants to which are infected.
Character background: William Lyons was raised in Armagh, Ireland with a pair of loving middle-class parents, Alexandra and Thomas Lyons. A rather quiet but hands-on child, he grew to excel at physical activities whilst keeping his grades at an above average constant for the majority of his schooling. As a teenager, he was as mild as could be, unleashing any frustration he had upon the punching bag and relaxation at home with Heidi; his life only met diversity when he grew into his late teens and moved to his own nearby apartment upon Station Rd.
Working full time as a teacher and coach for the local Epicentre Youth Group, he'd spend the good majority of his days helping children come to quelling their quarrels with their guarding and allowing them to ventilate any pent-up emotions they had in a safe environment or through acceptable means - such as punching pillows, counting to ten, jogging, ec cetra ad infinitum. For a few years, he kept up his life to aid youths through their troubles until he met some trouble of his own. Once night whilst at the local pub, he met a woman who would tug at his heartstrings more than any other; her name was Rebecca Lavoie, the woman who seemed so mellow and relaxed on the surface, only to entice young William with hints of lascivious grandeur and more, should they decide to know greater of each other after a few drinks and an exchange of numbers. Their relationship took off - yet she soon had to find herself returning back home to Toronto due to a soon-to-be expired visa keeping her time short.
A year or so passed, with the two remaining in contact by basic social media - with William still quite new to it all, leaving him to be rather scatterbrained with anything new added onto his phone. Deciding that he had finally enough money saved to feel comfortable with a vacation, he had taken his flight for Toronto from Dublin and expected to see his lover once again. Unfortunately, this is when the local pandemic spread... William was staying at one of the local hotels before forced quarantines were established for all recipients of the building; one by one, they were led like cattle by what informal military personel could be afforded to handle the job before one of the infected residents had already turned on one of the higher floors and taken a few lives in their wake. While the military was busy fighting off the minor horde upon upper floors, William took the chance to escape from the chaos and leave the building as soon as he could; the streets were far less better off with cars piling into bumper-to-bumper traffic. Escaping by what street smarts he had by prowling about to his utmost extent, he snuck for one of the local closed gun stores to rob for a light yet simple firearm before sneaking out for shelter. He found himself to the bunker, taking the chance to seek refuge when he could.
Equipment:
• 10 MREs
• 20 Water Bottles
• Bedroll
• Dark-Green Coffin Tent
• Leather Wallet (ID/LTC/$75)
• Verizon Edge 7 Phone
• Weatherproof Boots, beige pants, dark-green waterproof hunting jacket and wool cap.
• Hunting Backpack
• Two Duffelbags
Weapons:
• SIG Sauer M400 Enhanced (10 STANAG Magines of 20 round capacity)
- 5 120-round boxes (559 rounds)
• H&K 45 (3 Magazines of 12 round capacity)
- 8 50-round boxes (376 rounds)
• Black Label Tomohawk
• Benchmade Fixed Black Knife
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,446 | 1,288 | 10 | 2,790 | 324 | It had been quite a hectic night, a hectic week to be honest. After the first reports of the outbreak her company had been working on the powersupply day and night. Only she and a few had known about what was really going on. Or, even she had not known to what extent it was. She had just been called in to fix their power lines and sewage system. But the infection had spread too quickly. They had not been able to contain it.
For once she had been happy that those doomsdayers had been right. At least when it comes to preperations and constructions. Her company had been working on secure bunkers that could be left self-sustaining for years. At least if the capacity was not overextended, which it probably would be. They had even done a few private ones. Their own cellar was self-sustaining, but not for too long. Along with all her work...she had not tended to it as she should had.
"Good...then perhaps we can avoid any other incidents today...." Amanda said and puffed as she dragged the body of their nanny towards the counter and started putting it into a garbage bag. She had to get rid of it somehow. Not only would it start smelling soon, but the mental trauma for Lizzy.. Not only had she been there...she had to see it as well.
Amanda tried her best to look calm and normal as she returned into the living room of their house. "Now...." she said quietly as she crouched down in front of her daughter and gently placed her hand over her's. "We can either wait here...or we can try to make it to the shelters. That or far away from here."
She tried her best to calm Lizzy down as she gently looked at her. Amanda wiped away some of the grime from her face before slumping down next to her daughter. "I'm sorry about Cait." She finally said and sighed deeply before patting her daughter's shoulder and stood up once again to find something for them to eat. | Name: Amanda Catherine Smith
Nickname: Annie
Age: 37
Gender: Female
Nationality: Canadian
Annie normally dresses in a female suit, both at home and at work. She basically lives in her suits. She feels the need to keep up a good outwards appearance for business contacts and for the sake of her reputation.
She has also started dying her slowly fading hair color along with a good coat of makeup to hide blemishes and wrinkles.
Annie stands at 176 cm tall and is of average body type, perhaps a bit on the thin side due to stress.
In-Depth Personality: She is a very driven woman and does everything she can for her company. This often leaves her daughter in the second seat for her attention since she spends a lot of time on the phone or in front of a computer at home.
While she tries to spend time with her daughter she often has to reschedule something they agreed on earlier. A workaholic to the bone, and expects the same from her daughter, which she makes sure to tell her.
Character background: Ever since Annie was a young girl she has always worked very hard. Be it helping others, helping at home. In school with homework or helping other students to pass their exams. She never really sat down and relaxed. Always on the move, or buried in another book.
She had always been influenced by leftover hippie culture from her parents. The talks about renewable energy, solar, grow it yourself. Her parents were always free spirited. Live life in the now and hard work.
This drew her into sustainable engineering and agriculture development. She was always drawing this or that design for a house or another building, landscaping. She took some preperational classes in highschool before attending college, studying to become what she wanted to be.
During her last year of high school she got pregnant but still finished her studies. The father was not interested in a child and broke up with her. Annie has had a hard time balancing work and studies along with being a single mother, but it has worked out somewhat.
This did not stop her though as she went deeper into engineering studies and tried her best to balance work and family, but this ment hiring a caretaker along with working most of the time that she was not in school to keep the income up.
She started her own company about the same time. Providing smart and economical solutions to household problems. Selling solar panels, counseling people on how to live green and self-sufficient, garden and landscaping.
A few years back her business really took off, leaving her daughter with a nanny most of the time, even sometime when she is working from home. She has become quite successful in her business, but it's taking a toll on her. And deprives her daughter from a lot of family time.
Equipment:
Medical equipment: a pack of cloth plasters. Five different sizes of bandages. A pair of scissors and a clamp. Along with disinfectant and soap. All packed neatly into a first aid kit.
Supplies: varied items of food. Some cans, some fresh, some bread and other items. Also a waterskin and a purifier.
Hygenical items: soap, shampoo, hair dye, washcloth and towel. Along with a razor.
Extras: some bullets, extra clothes, along with a basic cooking set. All stuffed in and around a backpack she carries.
Weapons:
A shovel and a scavenged CZ P-07 pistol. |
47,447 | 1,288 | 11 | 2,126 | 2,875 | Jean & SammyA collab between the wonderful and I
This was wrong. Everything, this whole damn thing was wrong. One moment, he passing the try line, cheered on by his good buddy George. He was a giant of man, broad shoulders, bushy beard and bulging muscles. A perfect prop for the team, one of the rising stars of the Wolfpack. He was a softie at heart, everyone in the club knew so. They knew about his wife and kid, little Emily had visited the club frequently. They remembered when she caught her first pass, and proceeded to tackle her father for the first time. They remembered the sound of her laughter mixed with his, the little girl propped up on his shoulders as they ran around the pitch. They saw her skeletal fingers grab at her father’s throat, pulling him back with inhuman strength as she ravaged his face on the ground. The blood spilling on the green grass. The pained cries of a friend. A comrade. A mate.
One of the watching fans, people who had been watching them train for their upcoming finals, reacted first. He shouted at her, telling her to stop. She continued eating like there was nothing wrong, digging into her father’s eye sockets, his screaming dying down. He approached her and tried to pull her off, gripping her shoulders. The little girl finally stopped and turned, before lunging at the spectator. This was when everyone started running. Jean dropped the ball and ran past the scenes, eyes taking on a detached look, trying not to stare at the scene in front of him. He heard shouting, screaming. People running away. The girl munching on the two corpses.
Jean had seen some gruesome things in the slums. Murder was a regular occurrence, orphans were regularly abused by their very own caretakers. He himself, when he was very young, had witnessed the death of his birth mother. But this horror, this panic. The impending doom he felt in his stomach, these feelings are unmatched in his mind. He shouted at the rest of his team that were still on the pitch, some running like he was, others dumbfounded as they watched their friend’s dead body writhing in front of them.
”Don't just stand there boys! Head to my house, pick up people who need a lift, we need to find out what the fuck is happening!” Jean forced them into action. He didn't know what was happening, why George’s little princess was in the middle of eating someone, but he knew he needed to get people going. Snap them out of their trauma. Tell them what to do so that they forgot what just happened, let them focus on other tasks. It was his decisiveness under pressure that made him a good winger. He just hoped that this would pay off.
Slamming the door of his car, awakening the vehicle into a roar. Jean brought out his phone, hearing the commotions outside as friends took people into their cars and drove off. Dialling 911, he felt his breath accelerate, hands shaking. He was nervous, anticipating the worst. That when he hit "call", no one would answer. This was real fear. The kind that fucked with your head, that rising feeling in your stomach. He shook his head, pressing the green call button and brought his phone to his ear. He had lived through Abidjan, there was no way he could be fearful of this.
No one answered. Instead, an automated voice message ringed through his ear. Jean dropped his phone and swore under his breath, drooping his head down on to the steering wheel. There was no helping them then, it was up to the common people for now. Whatever was happening, it screwed with the emergency services. The sound of cars firing up brought him out, springing him into action. With one last look towards Emily and her father's twitching corpse, he floored it towards his house.
"Fuck! What the fuck!?" He felt like screaming his voice raw. This was his friend, a man he has known for three years now, even before rugby entered his life. And now he was gone, killed by his own grotesque daughter. Police sirens in the background, fires in the surrounding neighbourhood, this was carnage. Whatever was happening, it was something big. Ahead of all his friends, they had formed a line of cars, weaving through abandoned and burning vehicles. His mind focused on the scenes playing out before him, he had forgotten what day it was.
Driving down the highway, speeding across miles of land in a small car with songs reverberating in the small earbuds resting in her ears; That was when Samantha felt the deep feeling of dread flash, like an eye-burning glare off a car’s windshield. Gone as soon as it came; she’d go on to forget about it a few short minutes after. Whatever it was, it proved to be an inconsequential warning. No one, it seemed, was prepared for the downfall of civilization.
Samantha would wonder how she could not have seen the signs. A fire in the second to top story of a skyscraper in the distance? Police cruiser upon police cruiser, zooming to a disaster so far away, and yet so close by? Helicopters buzzing overhead, jets flying high, high above the clouds- just dots against an uncaring blue sky. Traffic would slow to a halt behind her- Samantha was lucky enough to get through before the sudden spike in car accidents brought all automobiles to a stand still. So many wrecks of vehicles- and not a single ambulance. How hadn’t she noticed something was wrong? How hadn’t anyone else? The national emergency tones blaring through the radio came much, much too late.
The high pitched tones emitting from her radio were background noise, to the sight of an overweight man sinking his bloody teeth into the horrified face of a young woman, a bag of groceries scattered along the ground. Her car was pulled alongside Jean’s house, and Samantha Park sat behind the wheel of her car staring catatonic at the gruesome sight. It was the first time she’d ever seen that much blood- the first time she’d ever seen someone die. It was, for everyone, the first time they’d ever seen someone turn on their loved ones so savagely, so feral, and cannibalize them without hesitation. The first time anyone had ever frantically dialed 911, only to be told that all cruisers were deployed already- and that there’d be no help coming.
So when Sammy saw that poor woman being devoured by a neighbor she knew only as Paul, her brain drew a blank. There was no precedent for this- no course of action! Ever as her knuckles turned white and tears began streaming down her face, she could not bring herself to turn around and drive away. The thoughts of calling the police had not even entered her mind- she didn’t know it but it would be an effort in vain anyway.
It was more than likely that she would sit there and stare for the rest of time- but it was but one and a half minute later of watching this macabre scene unfold that the man she was there to see, Jean, would snap her out of her stupor.
Pulling over a dozen meters from his house, Jean peered at the car in front of him. This was unusual, why would a car stop like that right in front of his driveway? He heard screaming and his memories finally kicked in. Sammy. Visiting in August. In front of his house. Swearing, he feared the worst as he opened his car door, causing confusion in the cars behind him. He ran to his house at full sprint, realising the situation in front of him.
”SAMMY! Snap out of it!” Not thinking straight, Jean warned his friend to get her mind in control in front of her car but also got the attention of the overweight infected man in the process. He turned to face him and screeched, raising his arms towards him, disgusting face filled with hunger. Without hesitation, without even threatening the man, he charged and went for a jab at the man’s stomach. Expecting him to keel over, the rugby player was caught off guard when the man simply took the blow and grabbed him. He was pushed against Sammy’s car, back hitting the door with a thud.
Recovering quickly, Jean prepped a haymaker and wildly swung at the man’s head. The blow struck against his neck, making a sickening crack sound as it bent on an awkward angle. Unfortunately, instead of killing this creature, this just angered it. Screeching even louder, the now identified monster slammed him against Sammy’s car, it’s high pitched screeches sending him reeling. The thing pinned him by the shoulders as he struggled against its weight and strength, mouth wide open as it bent forward to bite his neck. The Ivoirian glared at it, squirming and wriggling against the car.
Crack! Jean stared as it’s head caved in completely, an overhead swing ending its life as blood sprayed all over him and the car behind him. He felt it slump against him, pushing him against Sammy’s door before shoving the corpse away. He directed a small smile at his saviour, Connor the Aussie prop. “I always have to fuckin’ save you mate, every single time.”
Jean pushed off of the door, staring at the large corpse on the ground before spitting on it, making Connor scoff at him before he turned around and headed into the house. Shaking his head, the Ivoirian turned, oblivious to the scary amount of blood on his clothes and face, opening Sammy’s bloodstained door and grinning weakly at her. ”Hey pretty girl, enjoying the view?” He coughed, trying in vain to look cool in front of his friend.
Sammy’s wet, dead eyes met with Jean’s. For a moment, there was no recognition. Then, like headlights piercing a fog, Samantha’s sanity returned. She was afraid- anyone could see it in her eyes- but she was obviously relieved to see Jean. Without meaning too- the images and sounds of that last minute and a half had been completely wiped from her brain. A repressed memory, lost from the archives. Still, her senses returned.
Samantha slammed her left hand down on the unlock button by her hand. What he was doing out there? Trying to look cool!? She had NO idea what the hell was going on, but he needed to get into the fucking car, right fucking now! She rolled down the window and began to shout at him.
“Get in! Get in! Get- get the heck in here!” She decided to not let her inner swearing get the best of her. Wiping at her wet face, Samantha briefly wondered what exactly it was she was so afraid of earlier. After unlocking the door, she frantically dialed 911. A deep dread spread across her face when she was met with a busy tone. She set it to speaker, and let the dial tone play loudly so Jean could hear it.
“What’s happening, Jean? What has happened?” She said, showing him the responseless emergency number through the window.
Grimacing, Jean shook his head and sighed, running a hand through his hair as further police sirens and explosions sounded in the background. ”I don't know Sammy. There's no emergency services and there was one of those…” He paused, hesitating to call these thing’s people, thinking back to Emily’s skeletal face. ”Monsters. Toronto’s a mess Sammy, nothing works. Please don't do anything drastic, I'm not getting in the car. Please get into the house, we can hole up in there with a few other people before all this blows over.” He frankly wasn’t sure whether this event was short or long term but he didn't give a damn, he wanted his friend safe in his house before the military came to deal with this
"Jesus..." From the look on Jean’s face, he’s clearly seen something Sammy hasn’t. She supposed she was going to go in anyway...It was probably only a matter of time until the army shows up or something, right? Frowning worriedly, she clicked open her car door and closed it behind her, remotely locking it.
Jean stepped backward to let her open the door, patiently waiting for her to lock her car before leading Sammy to his house. It was a quaint little thing, a house built very similar to those around it. White picket fencing, white porch, white boards and a green fresh lawn. He absently thought about mowing that lawn the weekend before, how normal it was back then. The nice wave to his neighbour Paul, putting his muddy rugby boots on the mat before the house, following his normal afternoon rituals. Now the neighbourhood was on fire, a friend had just cracked Paul’s skull and he was covered in thick blood.
He lead her to his front door, opening into his living room where many people currently resided. He directed her to sit on the couch before standing before everyone. Sammy slowly sat down glancing up at the worried looking people around the room. All eyes were on him, including her own. It seemed Jean was the leader here, now. She frowned- poor Jean. There were seven people in his rugby team who were all standing with varied expression on their faces, information that he physically frowned at but kept it to himself. He would be mourning much in the coming days it seemed. However, many other people were sat around the room, the general atmosphere being panic. It seemed as though that whatever… event that just took place affected everyone present and was hitting them hard. He heard harsh whispers from where he stood, crying and sniffling, others fiddling with their phones in their hands. He cleared his throat.
Everyone turned their attention towards him, Jean suddenly feeling a sudden pressure as lost eyes locked onto him. He addressed the room with a careful voice ”I-I’m not sure what's happening. I don't know why my neighbour just…” He paused, swallowing the swirling saliva before continuing ”Tried to eat me and why there are burning cars in my street. I'm just as confused as all of you. But, I ask you to just stay in my house for now until the military or law enforcement deals with whatever is happening.”
A woman stood up, bags under her eyes with dry tears on her cheeks. She was one of the ones fiddling with her phone, looking mad in her stress, blonde hair seemingly unkempt. She stood up straighter as she realised that everyone was looking at her. “W-What about my son? He was at s-school today! I need to get him!” Outcry was bursting throughout the room, concerned people looking out for their loved ones. Jean concerningly looked behind him, checking if the noises attracted any unwanted attention. He waved his arms in a quieting motion, telling everyone to calm down and pointing at the corpse viewable through the living room glass. Once they were more settled, he cleared his throat once more.
"Please, just calm down. I'm sure the authorities would have picked your children or your loved ones to a safe location just like we did. All I ask is that you calm down. We’ll hunker down as this will all blow over soon.” He hoped. This was a large amount of people and he only had food for one person. Sure, emergency supplies could be used and rationed but such a thing could only last a month. As the room quieted down significantly, Connor motioned for the Ivoirian to follow him as he started walking towards one of the various bedrooms connected to the living room via hallway.
Jean nodded and started walking towards him, glancing back at Sammy and giving her a small smile of assurance. She returned a small smile. He was lead into a bedroom with one of his teammates in the bed, covered in blankets and looking extremely sick. He looked at Connor with a quizzical look before closing the door behind him. “He was bitten Jean, by one of those fuckin’ things. One of the boys did sum First Aid and shit but his fever’s gettin’ worse. What do we do?”
Jean looked incredulous before glancing at the sick form of Flyback Joe in the bed. "We take care of him until the authorities arrive of course. Ask one of the people out there if they have anything they need too. It's gonna be a long couple of days till the government deal with this shit, we just need to hang in there.” He ran a hand through his hair, praying to some sort of deity for hope. But Lady Luck was not on his side that day.
Sammy couldn’t exactly remember how long they were all crammed in that house. Tensions were high- as the day crawled on there was still no word from the authorities. No one was coming to save them. When they all went to bed, and when they all woke up and found their nightmares were not over, that must have pushed things over the edge. They needed to do something said some, but it was too dangerous, said others. Sammy didn’t participate in the arguments, and just tried to help Jean to not go crazy from his apparent leadership role in a house full of panicked people.
Then, she heard groaning from the man who was named Flyback Joe amid the arguing. Their sentences and cries were muffled as if she were underwater. But the strange noises Flyback Joe was making seemed obvious only to Sammy. Saying nothing, she creeped over to the room where he was being kept. She’d overheard that he was bitten by one of those...sick people.
But maybe, she thought, maybe he’d be fine. He was in bed- healing. He’d be better, had too. But those thoughts melted away and all that came into her core was a bitter dread. She grabbed a kitchen knife and held it in front of her. She peeked around the corner.
…
"Joe?" She asked. All that returned was a horrible, gurgling groan. Flashing her head back to Jean, they made eye contact. He understood. He quickly paced into a room, and someone screamed. It was Joe’s scream, then it was Jean’s scream, then it was Sammy’s scream. Blood from the mouth and eyes, Joe had tackled Jean like some kind of rabid dog. They slammed into the wall and to the floor in a heap of limbs. Joe was biting at him with a furious anger, but Jean had his forearm lodged under his throat, keeping him at bay.
In a split second, Sammy had to make a decision. She stepped forward and cut the man in the head, splitting his scalp. He looked up, oblivious to the pain, apparently- or too angry to care. He looked at her with cold, hungry eyes- and the last thing they saw was her knife. She plunged it to the hilt into his right eye and he fell backwards, staring angrily into space. Jean pushed him off, and just then Connor emerged into the room a split second too late to help. There was a knife in Flyback Joe’s eye, a Jean struggling to his feet, and a Samantha with a bloody hand. He made the connection.
“What the fuck happened in here!?” He yelled.
Then it was all over. Sammy kept her head down when it devolved into chaos. A few moments later, Jean had stuffed some random things into his bag and left, Sammy close behind. Something crashed behind them. It was go go go go. What just happened? How can everyone be so aggressive? Why are people turning into monsters? | Name: Altai
Nickname: Hedgehog(Because his hair gets very spiky if he doesn't take care of it. Especially after he puts his head on pillow)
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Nationality: Turkish
Appearance: White skin but not pale, nor mid European. More like Southerns. He has long face with a little hooked nose, his brown eyes are shaped as almond. He is 180cm (I think 5 ft 10 or 5 ft 9, not sure) and 70 kg(154 lbs I guess). His hair is mostly white, 90% of it, thanks to his genetics. His hair is... How can I describe it... Shortened sides, front of his hair longer so he can spike it up.
He has short beard, which are really black and hard. His eyebrows are also opposite of his hair and a little thick...
He is not symphatic, very far away being of it. He actually looks really... He looks like he has dangerous and hard nature, which makes people don't get close to him most of the time. Which lead him to be little social and shy. Nothing he can do about it, if there is nothing funny or worth it, he won't smile.
He has well built Torso-really well built chest and shoulder while having normal sized arms. Yep, he is not gym guy. He was really overweight once, because of that his belly will never be "fit" enough to be flat. He is hairy dude, mostly upon his arms, legs and chest. But they are not white like his normal hair, they are black. He has scar on his right middle and ring fingers, from a fight in pub. One moment of silence for the bear glass that caused it.
In-Depth Personality: Reckless, cold-blooded, literated dude who has capability of understanding most of the thing while not getting into anything because he is very melancholic, self-hating, asocial and almost anti-social, trying to look tough and making everyone staying away from him. He wants to be really social but he is too shy and lack of confidence. But when it comes for non-social stuff, his Confidence will be on the top level of humanity. He can't make the first step to meet with someone, unless it's needed for his job/task. He is sarcastic, making tons of jokes and references that only he can catch.
He is protective against children because he has young brother-or he had, no idea what happened to him. He doesn't want to live but also trying to achive his simple goals, so he is planning to get himself killed after he achive these personal goals, which are truly simple for normal people.
He has sadistic attidues to humans and also he hate most of the people. He belivesed that he can understand people by just looking at them for ten seconds. He has moral and ethic issues which are completly different from normal society. He also has borders for himself.
He won't talk much until he gets comfortable and he will always scare that he is going to mess everything up-because when he gets angry, he goes nuts. No, it's not losing control of himself but more like... Being aware of it, and having fun with that mess...
He is creative and writing novels, trying to be well-known writer. Well, it was possible before the outbreak but... Never need to lose his faith on writing skills.
He has his side on most of the situations but getting involved always depends on the gain, so we can call him pragmatist. He also loves animals, mostly the cats, hedgehogs and turtles. But anything baby will do the job.
He also has smoking addiction and he knows the best tobaccos. He won't drink alcohol too much.
*****(If I need to write more, just tell me)*****
Character background: Born and raised in Turkey, a country which is witnessing many terror attacks and violance, a land where violance is normal and appreciated. He had to learn how to defend himself, how to fight, how to fight dirty. Truly dirty, which will involve every kind of items and cheats to stay on ground.
However, he was really smiling person once, until his 12. He was always interested in books and fiction, but after age of 12, he witnessed many family problems such as alchololic parents, violance at home etc. It drained every single energy inside him, and turned Altai in a stone golem.
He tried to enjoy in different ways, he got good at billards, dart and knife throwing, riding horse... But he was always bat at music. Can't sing unless he practice for months, also can't play any insturment. His drawing skills... Well, no. Just don't make him draw something.
He got in jobs at summers and learned the true life, how hard it could be. He learned people, he learned how people live and always been jealous about it. That's where he get his scars on the finger, a fight which involved glasses, knives, clubs and etc.
He got in law school but dropped it after 3rd year, then he was drafted to Military(service by requirement law), served about 12 months in Mechanised Corps. Learned how to choke someone instantly while trained to operate assault rifles and armored vehichles. He was involved in military operations against terrorist groups few times. An experience for him, another waste of year, another waste of time that he could spend better.
He spent his whole life learning things, reading stuff and watching films/TV Shows. He learned tons of unuseful stuff like Sherlock Holmes did.
Then he finished his Novel, it got published in Turkey and it made him some money, it was his turn in life. He believed it, many said that the book will be translated into English later. For that, he went to Canada so he could contact with the authors and universities, it was time to make his life great again.
Then the outbreak hits, and everything fells into darkness again.
Equipment: Packs of cigarettes and lighters, including one smooth black zippo. One black jeans, one green camo pants(cargo), black laether jacket, some normal jackets(I mean like hoodies but without hoodie. Don't know this in English). He wears fingerless gloves and military grade black boots all the time. He still has his military jackets and uniform. Enough with clothing.
Black backpack. This dude is a little gothic, probably being teen because he never could be one. :D :D :D Just kidding.
Angel of Death necklace, jagermeister canteen(full leather jacket baby), flashlight, and another regular life items such as razor blades and etc. Also painkillers. He is trying to be addicted to painkillers but failed to do that.
Weapons:
Pocket knife
Switchblade
If possible, a 9mm pistol which he obtained illegally. Some clips and ammo for it, and gun holster which he place under his armpit.
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)**
*Agreed* |
47,448 | 1,288 | 12 | 423 | 581 | Elizabeth and Amanda Smith
August 29th, 2018 - I dunno what to write here now...
03:15 | The Smith Household
"Like hell you're sorry!" Lizzy snapped. Her mind was racing out of control and tears were now streaming down her face. She looked to her mother with stormy eyes before tucking her head down against her knees. Caitlyn was dead....gone. It had all gone so fast. One second, Caitlyn had been in the bathroom, and then there was screaming as the creatures had swarmed her from the bathtub. It was mere moments before she had been turned, the sheer amount of them having overwhelmed the poor woman.
"You barely knew her, not even close to the extent that I did. The only reason you're saying sorry is because now you have take care of me and not run your god damn business!" Lizzy wasn't even thinking as the words poured from her mouth, months of pent of frustration now being forced out in a desperate attempt of self preservation. Her nails dug into her legs as she cried, her breathing shallow and gasping as she vented. It had finally broken her. The overwhelming thoughts of Caitlyn filling her mind and drowning out everything else.
Armanda quietly kept looking through the drawers and shelfs for something to eat when Lizzy vented. She had no retorts. She had nothing to reply with. At least nothing that would make things better. But just like Lizzy, Amanda was at the breaking point. She tried her best to stay calm, taking deep breaths as she grasped the can so hard her knuckles turned white. She poured the contents into a bowl and put it into the microwave and turned it on.
She turned around and walked back into the living room and walked up to a nearby table and grabbed a stack of papers before tossing them into Lizzy's lap. "The papers appointing a CEO of the company that would run it instead of me. So that I could spend more time with you and Cait. Not like it matters now though with the world going to hell." Amanda started fiddling with the hem of her top, a trait she had never gotten over.
I"I really am sorry for all of this. I really am sorry about Cait. Because I know you love her. Even when I was going to step down I was not going to fire her, because i knew you loved her." Amanda walked out of the room again at the sound of a beep and shortly returned with a plate of soup and handed it to Lizzy. "Here, eat up. You're going to need some food." She felt like she wanted to shout and scream, but she never did. Her face was still relativly calm as she spoke and grabbed a nearby hankerchif and handed it to Lizzy. "I know I'm not a good mother, but I do try..."
Lizzy was silent as she ate the semi-warm canned pasta, her breaths still short and shallow as she calmed down. She grudgingly looked at the papers, the bold title of the contract staring her right in the face. With a deep breath and a final bite of pasta, she stood up and walked over and placed her bowl on the counter. Pacing over to the door and into her room, she began to collect a few things of importance-- her drumsticks, pocket knife, cell phone with earbuds --and stuffed them into her small backpack.
She ventured out to the closet next to the doorway, collecting the hatchet she had hidden there. Lizzy had been afraid of people breaking in and had hidden a hatchet by the doorway in some attempt at false security. She grabbed her soft-shell jacket and hiking boots, before getting ready to head into the literal dead of night. "I assume we're leaving then, considering the cellar really isn't a viable option anymore."
"Leaving at night isn't a good option either. If those things can see in the dark then we won't be around for very long. I say we eat out full, then sleep until the morning. We can both fit in the small bunker and if needs be we can leave through the emergency exit. Then as morning comes we pack up as much as we can before we leave." Amanda sighed. She really did not want to leave at night. Who knew what senses the monsters could use. Sight? Smell? Hearing? And if they've improved over a normal person? There were way too many uncertanties for her, too risky. | Name: Elizabeth Catherine Smith
Nickname: Lizzy
Age / Birthday: 17 / July 10th
Gender: Female
Nationality: Canadian
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality:
Just like her mother, Lizzy is a fairly determined individual. However, she is also rather stubborn and this has lead to interesting encounters between her and her mother. She is above par in school having an average of around 80 in school-- the effect of her mother’s constant reminders to do homework.
Lizzy has grown close to the nanny her mother had hired and often calls her “Mom” by accident. She has a touchy relationship with her mother and their time together has been severely limited by her occupation. Lizzy often makes their dinner and it’s rare that a goodnight hug is ever present.
Character background:
Elizabeth was born not knowing who her father was. Her mother rarely ever talked about him, and she didn’t care to ask. She was raised in a household where she was pushed to work hard in school and help with chores. She always tried to help out where she could to help her single, yet hard working mother. Lizzy was always good at reading emotions and the only thing she ever saw her mother as was stressed out.
In public school she excelled, hitting the top of her classes in grades one through six. She ended up skipping grade seven because of her flawless study skills and amazing memory, much to her mother’s pleasure. However, that was where the good parts of school ended for her. Grade eight was a nightmare. A constant stream of bullying and mockery at the middle school she was sent to left her crying herself to sleep on multiple occasions, often without the comfort of her mother’s arms.
There was hope to be found however. Her grade nine year at school was made better by tenfold by her participation in the school band as a percussionist, as well as her involvement in various activist groups run by the school board. Lizzy learned the drums very quickly and eventually pushed her mother to buy a drumset for her. This was quickly regretted by her mother as Lizzy’s bedroom walls were hardly soundproof, and on more than one occasion has her mother had to come in and tell her to stop.
High school was a breeze after that. There was the occasional fallout with a friend, or a stressful assignment that overwhelmed her, but it was otherwise a good time. Currently, she is about to start her Grade 12 year at school.
Equipment:
Backpack: Small sling tactical backpack
Supplies: Metal 20oz water bottle and a few granola bars.
Medical Supplies: A few bandaids, alcohol wipes and a roll of 2” gauze.
Miscellaneous Items: Google Nexus 5x with earbuds, drumsticks, wallet, soft shell jacket clipped to her bag, extra socks and a lighter.
Hiking boots
Weapons:
A small flip knife
A lightweight hatchet
**I’m the GM, I don’t have to agree to this!** |
47,449 | 1,288 | 13 | 2,705 | 9 | Local Apartment Complex, Toronto, Canada
August 29th, 2018 - 23:40 EST
Theme Song: We're Killing Strangers
"I'll kill every last one of you bastards!" -Francis
Hours had passed since Francis found himself free from the trek from Al Flaherty's several blocks away, having done nothing but pass unconscious upon the bedroom's king-size since then; his body was exhausted, ached, and oiled from dried sweat left to stain his skin. The clothes stuck to him in a undesired manner, having been beyond the point of care to have removed them upon laying upon the bed initially. What awoke him was the battered sounds of limbs against lumbers, as it seemed someone in another nearby room had taken the attention of a horde of infected; the constant symphony of strikes and cracking wood suggested they were no small number either, giving Francis all the more fuel to his fears of being discovered. His door was loosely secured and barricaded, not enough to hold any dedicated amount like that for too long - a minute or two at best. He'd tip-toe his way along the carpet of the bedroom, grabbing for his M400 to hold tightly to his chest, before making his way closer to the door to peer through the keyhole for whatever mess he could make from this - only to catch glimpse of an infected staring back at the door, causing him to recoil. He'd fall back and crash his back to the ground, causing a loud enough audible collision to drag some of the attention of the horde to his door next; this wasn't going to end well.
Uncoordinated fists and legs began beating upon the door mercilessly, pushing back the screws upon the hinges and bringing the door to a crooked tilt; the mangled, shambling corpses visible from the cracks of visibility. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He cussed out louder and louder, anguished that he knew the first round would be the signature on the contract; once he unleashed a single bullet from that chamber, every infected in the floor would be bursting through that door. He began rushing for the door, holding faith that the barricade would hold long enough for him to traverse up the fire escape for the roof as a last resort of sanctuary. Midway through slinging the duffel bags over his shoulders - an ear-piercing cry overwhelmed the banging and moans of the forsaken. "Ahhh! Help me, please - somebody help meee!" It was familiar, though - he could not pin where he had heard it before, not at the moment of adrenaline and hell raising. He'd keep muttering to himself as he'd unsling the bags back off his shoulders, pacing back to the main room with four of his STANAG magazines slammed down onto the granite countertop; "Don't be a hero, don't be a hero, don't be a hero, be a hero, be a hero, hell with it!"
His thumb slid down to caress the safety, flipping it over to semi-automatic and signing his death wish provocatively with a bullet expelling from the chamber aimlessly into the door. The crack demanding the attention of the rest of the floor to try and push their way into the doorway. "It's dinnertime, boyos! Come and get a pint while you're fuckin' at it!" More of the door began to break as wood splintered and faltered in, exposing more of the nightmare separating the two sides of the war. He'd bring the ironsights to his gaze, beginning to pick off one after another through the cracks and shreds - some falling as dead weight to make it worse, and others falling miscellaneously to offer nothing but another corpse to trot over. It wouldn't take long after emptying a single magazine where the door would finally cave in completely. Ejecting the mag out onto the counter to pop another one in, he'd take precise shots for their heads and domes to take one after another. His eardrums ringing from lack of protection from the cracking high calibers, deafening him as he'd roar out incoherently. The shambling infected moved ever so closer to the standpoint where Francis demanded to remain, within reach of his remaining three magazines. There were too many to pick, too many approaching, and he had to retreat back for space.
His feet slid back one after another, finishing off the magazine that he'd eject onto the counter again. Two infected within feet of him, and with him having an empty rifle. He'd toss it onto the counter as well to retrieve the H&K 45 from its holster to unleash into both their skulls with two bullets to each. Half a dozen remained approaching him, demanding the last of his current magazine and the next; he aimed for the knees, giving himself the time to aim properly for the heads next on the next sweep of ACP rounds. The ringing in his drums deafened him for the time, unable to hear the distant groans in the hallway that met with the sound of rending flesh from a corpse. He took no time to rush, reloading his pistol to soon holster, then reaching for his rifle again to reload another magazine into as well. His feet stepped over the still bodies, turning out the doorway to see the horrendous sight of a single infected devouring out the throat of a just victim with her body still twitching. His face contorted to that fury, walking behind to administer the stock of his M400 repeatedly to the back of the shambler's skull until it was but a caved-in crevice.
He'd look up to the still-living victim of the torn throat, bleeding crimson onto herself for the last few moments of her life. A disturbing gurgling noise making its way from her mouth, tormenting Francis as he'd widen his eyes - and drop his rifle. His hands raised to cup his mouth with watering eyes, as he butchered out the name; "R-Rebecca?" Alas, the victim before him had been his beloved Rebecca, gurgling - begging for mercy before inevitably falling still, dead... Quaking hands balled into fists as he'd fall to his knees, pressing the heels of his palms to his brow, and broke down into shameless tears. The man broken and shattered by what had been done, and his inability to save his own girlfriend... Minutes flying by, and all that interupted poor Francis' sorrow was the sounds of more approaching infected finding their way up the stairwell upon the opposite side of the hall - and they'd be only a minute or so before on his position if he chose not to act. A hand slid across his nose with a sniffle to wipe, reaching for his rifle he had dropped to aim to Rebecca's crown, praying quietly to whatever forsaken god was watching over; "H-holy father, f...f-forgive me." The bullet lodged itself into her dome, giving Francis the alleviation that at least she would not suffer the fate of the afterlife. The sullen, shaken soul marched back to his room for the rest of his gear, stowing away the empty magazine and making his way down the fire escape; the city was no longer safe, not the dark side at least. He'd sneak his way down the downpour and darkness, vowing a promise. "I'll kill every last one of you bastards!" | Name: William Francis Lyons
Nickname: Will, Francis
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Nationality: Irish
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality: William is your average as-expected man, with a love for exercise from boxing, unloading a few rounds at the shooting range, to crashing back at his home with his golden retriever Heidi. Due to his active and social lifestyle, he's a fairly in-shape and well-prepared man in terms of how to physically handle himself. Though he lacks any advanced knowledge on anything beyond basic first aid, any moderate understanding of sciences, or the patience to comprehend it; in a mad world, he doesn't have time for a college lesson or to bother humoring one. He's also never had to take a life, whether zombie or otherwise; seldom watching TV or having time for the movies between work and his extracurricular activities have left him the odd man out from most social media. When he will have to kill, it will remain with him as a horrid reminder of the new world, and he may even hesitate when met with children or infants to which are infected.
Character background: William Lyons was raised in Armagh, Ireland with a pair of loving middle-class parents, Alexandra and Thomas Lyons. A rather quiet but hands-on child, he grew to excel at physical activities whilst keeping his grades at an above average constant for the majority of his schooling. As a teenager, he was as mild as could be, unleashing any frustration he had upon the punching bag and relaxation at home with Heidi; his life only met diversity when he grew into his late teens and moved to his own nearby apartment upon Station Rd.
Working full time as a teacher and coach for the local Epicentre Youth Group, he'd spend the good majority of his days helping children come to quelling their quarrels with their guarding and allowing them to ventilate any pent-up emotions they had in a safe environment or through acceptable means - such as punching pillows, counting to ten, jogging, ec cetra ad infinitum. For a few years, he kept up his life to aid youths through their troubles until he met some trouble of his own. Once night whilst at the local pub, he met a woman who would tug at his heartstrings more than any other; her name was Rebecca Lavoie, the woman who seemed so mellow and relaxed on the surface, only to entice young William with hints of lascivious grandeur and more, should they decide to know greater of each other after a few drinks and an exchange of numbers. Their relationship took off - yet she soon had to find herself returning back home to Toronto due to a soon-to-be expired visa keeping her time short.
A year or so passed, with the two remaining in contact by basic social media - with William still quite new to it all, leaving him to be rather scatterbrained with anything new added onto his phone. Deciding that he had finally enough money saved to feel comfortable with a vacation, he had taken his flight for Toronto from Dublin and expected to see his lover once again. Unfortunately, this is when the local pandemic spread... William was staying at one of the local hotels before forced quarantines were established for all recipients of the building; one by one, they were led like cattle by what informal military personel could be afforded to handle the job before one of the infected residents had already turned on one of the higher floors and taken a few lives in their wake. While the military was busy fighting off the minor horde upon upper floors, William took the chance to escape from the chaos and leave the building as soon as he could; the streets were far less better off with cars piling into bumper-to-bumper traffic. Escaping by what street smarts he had by prowling about to his utmost extent, he snuck for one of the local closed gun stores to rob for a light yet simple firearm before sneaking out for shelter. He found himself to the bunker, taking the chance to seek refuge when he could.
Equipment:
• 10 MREs
• 20 Water Bottles
• Bedroll
• Dark-Green Coffin Tent
• Leather Wallet (ID/LTC/$75)
• Verizon Edge 7 Phone
• Weatherproof Boots, beige pants, dark-green waterproof hunting jacket and wool cap.
• Hunting Backpack
• Two Duffelbags
Weapons:
• SIG Sauer M400 Enhanced (10 STANAG Magines of 20 round capacity)
- 5 120-round boxes (559 rounds)
• H&K 45 (3 Magazines of 12 round capacity)
- 8 50-round boxes (376 rounds)
• Black Label Tomohawk
• Benchmade Fixed Black Knife
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,450 | 1,288 | 14 | 1,863 | 730 | Joseph Ferrier
Her hair glowed like the sun, in white-gold curls, thick and deep. She stood in front of the window, transcendent beauty, clad only in a white silk robe, the cloth translucent in the morning light. She held a cigarette in one hand. Her breath smelled like coffee and smoke. Her skin smelled like lavender, and that perfume I like. Her skin was so soft. In that light, she was an angel, holding inside her blue eyes all the divine light of God-
Blood dripped from my forehead. More, from my nose. My right leg ached, a sharp flare of pain each time I tried to pivot my knee. My vision was blurry. My head swam, and I grasped, desperate, at straws of memory that slipped through my fingers like water.
Screaming. I thought, there was screaming.
But there had been more than screaming, had there not? There had been sirens, gunshots... And screaming.
There was fire and smoke, filling the air...
But what happened before?
I rolled over to examine my surroundings. My flask, reflecting the sun's white, smiling face, bore a wound from the day's ordeals, a bullet hole, perhaps a .22 or .32 calibre, stood, juxtaposed against the stainless steel. Whiskey poured from the puncture like blood from a wound, my little soldier slowly bleeding out in a Vancouver alley.
Why are there no passerby? But, maybe, there were, and I just hadn't noticed. Or, maybe there were none, because this was still a disaster site. Or maybe-
Another scream. Piercing, female, mortal terror if I'd ever heard it. I forced myself to my feet. My knee threatened to buckle beneath me, and it ached like rain.
There were gunshots, light, rhythmic pops that denoted the offending weapon both semiautomatic and small-arms, likely a small calibre rifle or handgun. Then, there was another sound: a low, deep growl of a moan. It had the sound of a grazing animal, but bore the edge of a predator. And above it all, it sounded human, in a way.
Another memory tore its way to the forefront of my mind, of me, flashing my badge at several young men, standing on the sidelines-
The sidelines of what?
Why, of the disaster, of course. I reached into my jacket for my gun. Surprisingly, it was still there. I was almost certain that someone had robbed me while I lay there. After all, I had no way of knowing just how long I'd been there... But judging from the time of day in my memory, it must not have been long.
As I slipped my gun from its holster and racked the slide, the noises stopped. Not just the screaming. The moaning and the gunshots too. The latter gave two last little struggling pops, the universal sign for "Shooter Down". I kept my gun out, and checked the safety. "Red equals dead", I said to no one in particular, while I limped out onto...
"Main street?" It was completely empty. "God damn..."
Then another memory hit me. TVs, stacked up in a grid, each displaying the same anchorwoman, each showcasing the same story, focused on 'seminecrotic reanimation'. But what had happened next?
Fire. Smoke. A thrown bottle? A Molotov cocktail. A Molotov Cocktail through the window, and the electronics shop had burned. The man inside had been trapped-
Stay on target. What happened next?
My boots crunched on broken glass like eggshells, the silent street serving to magnify my every noise-
"WAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" Someone charged straight through a nearby shop's glass door, the plate glass bending and bursting out like lethal glitter as a man's silhoutte cheese-grated itself on the doorframe. Brown blood gushed from the man's wounds like toothpaste, congealing in his veins. I had time for only one thought: WHAT THE FUCK-
Stinking, putrid flesh plowed into me, with all the weight of an obese linebacker focused behind two palms as they struck my chest and shoulder, fingers gripping my jacket as the man forced me to the ground. My hand struck the open grate on the sidewalk, rusted metal tearing a rude gash across my knuckles. The man went wild, all but foaming at the mouth, in an attempt to bite and even lick at the blood that bubbled up from my fist like a fucked-up fountain of youth.
I could hear more moaning in the shop, the one this freak had torn out of. There was the sound of shuffling, something breaking as dozens of feet stepped onto it, the sickening CRACK of a splintering bone-
My bone. My cut arm. I screamed when a white flash of agony tore through my brain like Apollo's chariot. My left arm reacted instinctively, slugging a savage blow with my elbow across the man's jaw, throwing him face-first into a fire hydrant. He was unfazed, and kept ahold of my broken arm with his hands.
My knife was swift, and my aim true. The blade sank into flesh, then a sudden give, as steel penetrated skull, and my attacker lay dead at my feet. No longer was my screaming in pain, but in fury, the "battle-rage" that Vikings liked to talk about. But the bodies shoved one another aside, peeling and tearing the flesh from their arms and faces as they pushed through their peers through the shattered door, glass drawing oozing slash-lines on their rotten skin.
I had only enough time to curse my luck and recover my firearm. I ran.
I had two destinations in mind. The first, my apartment, on the corner of Majestic and Sterling. The second, my office, wherein lived a Mossberg 1014, with two hundred Ten-gauge shells that I most certainly was not allowed to have in this country. Ah well.
Once an American, always an American.
Another memory: young men, familiar- Bad men. Gang members. Stomping me. A boot in my ribs. Air Jordans dancing on my face. A baseball bat, maybe, or a piece of pipe, on my shoulders. Then, screaming. Them, screaming. I ran then, too, when I saw the hands.
The hands all over him. They pulled him down. They peeled him open. They felt around inside. I didnt see any of these things happen, as I was long gone. But I know that they did happen.
The same fate that awaits us all. As I ran for the second time that day, so far as I could recall, a poem came to mind.
I am Oxymandias, king of kings.
Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair. | Name:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier
Nickname:
"The Ferrier" (High School) "Joseph Finder" (Current)
Age:
35 years old
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
American born and bred
Appearance:
5'9", 160 (app.) lbs., military-style buzzcut, unkempt 5 o' clock shadow, white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket, dark jeans, dark brown combat boots over khaki socks. Caucasian, athletic build, former police officer, wears his gun in an over-the-shoulder holster, brown leather. Carries a second firearm in a black nylon ankle holster. Wears polypropylene kneeplates and shinguards under his jeans while on duty.
In-Depth Personality:
He is not a social person, despite how much he has been forced to fraternize. He is inquisitive, taking things apart, and studying passerby to learn about the workings of the world. He is a talented investigator. He has had trouble in the past with painkiller addiction, due to his subconscious need to "mimic the mind" of various perpetrators and victims in relation to his cases.
Character background:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier was born in Newport News, Virginia, United States, to an FBI agent mother and local Sherriff father. He lived his early life adhered strictly to a code of rules and regulations, and did little to stray from it. He showed a proficiency for baseball, though he had not the interest. What Joe really wanted to do was follow in his mother's footsteps. She came home every day with a briefcase, full to bursting with images of violent crimes and mugshots and police reports. His father, as he saw it, did little more than watch the city destroy itself.
During high school, Joseph started to stray, getting involved with a local gang. In a drug deal gone wrong, he was shot in the leg. He was sixteen. His knee still aches to this day, when signaling rain or snow. The bullet wound healed slowly, and Joseph was bedridden for the better part of eight months while his leg pieced itself back together with the aid of silicone and titanium, the bullet having shattered his kneecap. His delinquent friends visited him often, to the point where he suggested that they use his hospital room for drug deals. His parents worked often during this period, as a serial killer, having claimed the lives of two couples and six individuals with a pickaxe, was quite active in the town. He retained a strong hereditary sense of justice, and once paid to have a man shot, the individual in question was accused of assaulting one of Joseph's couriers. Joseph became known on the street as "The Ferrier", as in "One who operates a ferry", as he was the one individual through whom one was able to acquire cocaine, methamphetamine, heroin, cannabis, and prescription painkillers, and deliver them safely and reliably, as guns were unable to brought into the hospital due to the metal detectors at the door, and a constant security presence prevented people from getting out of hand. He paid his three regular nurses to ignore it. Joe enjoyed this for quite some time, amassing profits he'd never dreamed of. But, he was healing fast, on the "up and out" as they say.
When he was discharged, seventeen years old, he was at a crossroads. He'd lost his safe haven for trade, but found that he no longer felt the same enjoyment from the money. He wanted to do something, as teens often do. Despite his new lease on life, he passed his High School finals as the definition of average, and applied immediately to the FBI Academy in Quantico. He was notified that he needed a degree to qualify, and opted instead, for Langley's Police Academy, scoring high marks in Logic and Deductive Reasoning, low ones in Public Relations. He was twenty years old.
He served for four years as a beat cop in Newport News, before an argument with his father prompted him to leave his hometown in search of a career elsewhere. He found a job listing in Detroit, and found a place on the streets. After witnessing a murder of an unarmed civilian by one of his coworkers, and watching as Detroit PD ignored it, and protected the killer, he checked back through the department's record, revealing a long line of corruption. He fought for two years to have the cases reopened, but to no avail. Gradually, after receiving no help from DPD and IAF, he denounced federal policing altogether, and left the country after publicizing the information. At the time of leaving, he was twenty-nine.
He used his life savings to lease a building in Vancouver, Canada, hanging up a sign that read simply "Joseph G. Ferrier, Private Detective", and has used the rest of his life solving discount homicides, overindulging, and being a mean old bastard. At this point in his life, he finds himself in a six-year rut, temper growing shorter and shorter, bottles becoming emptier, baggies lighter. He finds it more and more difficult each day to keep his finger off the trigger, and his hand off his baton. His badge is no longer a shield in his mind, but a war banner. He is thirty-five years old.
Equipment:
- 5 oz. Stainless steel flask (Jim Beam, Devil's Cut)
- 5" Maglite, x2 AA batteries
- Detective Shield
-Polypropylene Kneeplates & shinguards
- Swiss Army Knife multitool, 4" blade, 13 tools total
Weapons:
-.45 Calibre Beretta M92fs, rechambered from 9mm (primary)
- 36" ASP Airweight titanium extending police baton
- Smith & Wesson .38 Calibre Detective Special (secondary)
- Cold Steel Kobun tanto-tip high-carbon stainless steel knife, kydex sheath |
47,451 | 1,288 | 15 | 2,301 | 766 | Samantha Park
Hey, little sis, got any change?
No Steve. Am only six.
What? What kind of lame person has no money when they're six? I was a millionaire at your age.
No you weren't!
Yes I was. Probably because of my magic powers.
You don't have majigal powers, Steve.
Yes, I do. Watch.
What?
Just watch my face. It's a magic power. See? I pulled a quarter out of your ear.
Wow! How did you do that!? Can you teach me?
Maybe some day.
"Hey, Jean?" Sammy pulled back the covers of the house they made themselves at home in. The early morning sun was peaking in through the wooden boards someone had nailed at some point. The morning sun slipping through the boards created a line pattern on her face, of dark and light. The home was empty- the only thing left was pictures of the family that had lived here. Sad stuff. She tried not to think about what was happening to her family until they got there. It'd do no good to worry about them, would it? Just a lot of bother. She was lucky to be with Jean, though. For the first few days there she was just as panicked as anyone. Like a big...a big herd mentality across the whole world just overtook her like anyone else. Panic, panic, panic! Everyone's going to die! You should turn on your friends and dropkick your grandma down the stairs. No thanks, she'll pass.
"Jean?" Maybe he wasn't awake yet. Or probably not paying attention. Or being quiet and sulky. Didn't really matter, she supposed.
She had her eyes right up between the boards, looking at the empty street in front of her. A bird fluttered it's pretty blue wings up in a tree. The sun was shining, the clouds were puffy white. The grass was green and glittering with morning due- and there was an ominous small blood stain on the neighbor's drive way. The earth doesn't give a shit. I mean, darn. The earth doesn't give a darn. Sorry, Dad.
"When we have to fight those sick people again..." And she knew they would have too at some point. "Do you think they'll be like zombies in all those movies? Is it 'go for the head rules'? Or is it 'you cannot kill that which has no life' rules?"
Her tone was joking, but there was genuine curiosity and worry in it as well. Are these sick people unstoppable? Is the world over? Or is there something someone could do about it? She wasn't sure why she thought Jean had an answer. She just wanted to talk to someone about it. | Name: Samantha Park
Nickname: Sammy
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Nationality: Her family hails from South Korea.
(added a gif of her blinking. that's Ellen Wong, btw. I just recently rewatched Scott Pilgrim vs the World and Dark Matter and she was in both of those so when I was thinking about actors- hey presto)
In-Depth Personality:
When you're an intelligent pretty girl from a privileged background, it's safe to say Samantha has lead a pretty good life up until a week ago. Some might say she's spoiled- and some may be correct. As a result she's a natural optimist and somewhat sheltered. For her, the troubles of the world have always been in some other place. Often trusting and assertive of her positivism, she's eager to make friends. It may even be a little off-putting to negative folk on how open she is.
She isn't a hardened survivor in anyway. She's never been shot at or attacked. By luck she made it into a safety bunker before even encountering the virus. She's deeply worried for her family, but on the whole is pretty confident that everything will be alright. Her positive attitude is faltering however, as it's been a whole week and nothing but bad news has made it in through the radio. As a...well, regular human being, if she's attacked she'll run away. A life well lived does not prepare one for the end of the world. Sensitivity is the cost of her friendliness.
Character background: Her father's work moved her brother and mother to Canada when Samantha was an infant. Only her sibling Steven has memories of their homeland. Canada was her home- the people were welcoming and she was happy. There wasn't any of the negativity her father seemed to always be expecting- Samantha has adopted the behavior of optimism to counteract her father's ruthless pessimism. Despite being a good man, he somehow managed to make everything he accomplished seem worth jack squat. Poor Dad. Her parents made great money, her father an engineer and her mother an architect. (He often teased her of this, after all the "architect is just an engineer who failed first trimester." It was all in good jest, of course.)
She made excellent grades. Her brother faltered a bit, but he settled on learning a trade- perhaps become an electrical engineer. Her friends joked of how she had a stereotypical Asian family- focused on school and grades. She didn't mind- and as it was high school she probably rebuttled with a friendly racist joke as well. Par for the course. Her parents could have paid for a whole college education for both her and Steven- but she had most of it paid for and Steven's trade school wasn't nearly as expensive.
Indeed- Sammy's life was like the first part of a horror movie where everything is fine and dandy before the serial killer shows up and starts lopping off heads. Her brother found work and moved to New York from her town of Montreal a few days ago- and an old friend from high school wanted to reunite in downtown Toronto. In between jobs Samantha took on the offer- ready to have a fun time. She never made it.
Before she knew it, news of the sickness was spreading and a nervous Samantha found her way into a bunker. She thought she'd be there for a few hours- she clearly didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Mind in a daze she has only realized a deep feeling of dread she masks behind her usual optimism. Her brother and parents must be fine- surely the government has this all under control.
Right?
Equipment:
A purse full of civilian items. Wallet, ID, money, house keys, car keys, smart phone, lipstick, chapstick, some sunglasses. Obviously all very useful in the end of the world.
Weapons:
Other than a can of pepper spray her worry-wart mother convinced her to buy, nothing. If she finds something she'll pick it up- but Samantha was not packing heat when this all went down.
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,452 | 1,288 | 16 | 2,126 | 2,875 | Jean & Sammy
"We're into the last minute as Jameson finds Jacques with a final throw! Let me tell you Philly, this man is called the Lightning for a reason, one of the biggest men in the field but he flies like he's twinkletoes! Look at him! Dodge left, dodge right, duck under the arm of Cray as the Irishman tries to pull him down! Coming up to 10 meters from the try line, he's facing fierce opposition from the Ottawa Harlequins. Jay Johnson, the captain of the Harlequins looks to tackle Jacques right where it hurts! But with a one, two, three step dodge and he scores a try on the last second! Toronto won and moving on to the finals against their rivals. Lemme tell you Philly, that was one of the best tries I've seen in Canadian Union history! Jacques is a coming star in the League-"
Indiscernible sounds awoke Jean, the sun peering from the boarded windows into his wide eyes. He hissed quietly, his vision going white before he slowly opened his eyes again. He moaned, holding his head in pain as a small headache struck against him. Sammy didn't know this but he had been drinking the previous night, once they found this house. He let her go to sleep inside the bedroom while sleeping on the couch that faced away from her current position. They had been staying at this house for the night, having run away from the horror of the previous house, and he had found the drinks cabinet. He drank to his sorrows, grieving by stealing from the cabinet and grabbing a few Molsons. He drank and drank until he fell asleep, not content with just one drink. He wasn't a lightweight but the combination of fatigue, heavy drinking and stress turned into one massive hangover. He bit his lip, preventing himself from making another moan.
'Oh how the mighty have fallen...' Jean thought bitterly, massaging his temples subtly, trying not to alert his friend. The pain slowly but surely subsided, now dulled to an almost unnoticeable numbness that he ignored. He sat up, turning to the side to pick up the baseball bat he had received from Connor. Before they set up in the house, the Aussie left for bed and announced that he was going to go around to scout for more information. During that week in the house, they had listened for any radio contacts and government announcements but beyond that, the group's information on the world was limited. All they knew was that when people got sick with whatever disease this was, they turned into some fucked up zombies. The normal ones, called Screechers and Sprinters, like his deceased teammate's daughter he had encountered a week before.
It hadn't felt like a week for the Ivorian. He had taken the leadership in their group before, making sure that everyone was receiving the same amount of rations and was doing alright. It was day after day of getting people to cooperate and stay calm but even under him, several members left in the night. One day, one of the former group members, a man by the name of Daryl had ran away with several weeks worth of food and especially water in a truck. This had left them starved, tensions rose amongst group members and the house was threatening to buckle under the weight of the aggression. Flyback Joe's sudden awakening as one of those damn monsters only sped the process up, the eventual breaking of the house group. Everyone went out of the house in chaos and panic, some taking whatever supplies were left while others just ran away.
Luckily, Jean, Sammy and Connor made it. They didn't have the chance to get any supplies in the mad escape but found this house to sleep on for the night. And the weapon he was currently eyeing on the coffee table. A Bennelli M3 with six ammunition packs of 12 gauge shells. He had found the gun during his drunken haze yesterday and kept it at his side on the table, now glad that he still had the sense not to shoot the gun. He recognised the weapon from his days back in the Ivory Coast, popular with those territorial gangsters and gangbangers in the slums as well as common people for protection. He had never fired an M3 but he roughly knew how to work it, extracting memories of people he used to know who fired the gun in front of him. It was a powerful weapon but Connor seemed to have left it alone when he went to scout.
It make Sammy a little uncomfortable seeing a lethal weapon right out in the open for all to see. She turned around from the boarded up window and hauntingly empty street to glance at her old friend. Just a little click of the trigger and someone far away from you dies. That one was a shotgun from what she could tell. You pumped the pumper thing- chk-chk Boom! Repeat until all terrorists are dead. She day dreamed for a brief moment of her blasting away Flyback Joe after Flyback Joe as they kept coming after her. She blinked the thought away and kept trying to keep the mood light as Jean who looked up at her. No need for constant depression all the time- Jean looked like that was the last thing he needed. She couldn’t be sure but she had a sense he had been drinking. Maybe it was from how tired he looked; but that could just be the whole end of the world thing.
Jean was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Sammy speaking, turning his head towards her. He smirked standing slightly, greeting her and slowly walking towards the kitchen to start cooking, bringing a pan and oil out. He took a swig of the bottle of water on the counter, letting out a small sigh before indicating towards the bat and gun. "Well, we've dealt with these fuckers before haven't we? These guys seem to be following zombie movie and show rules, like the Walking Dead. There's probably a protagonist, main lover and everything right now, probably planning to save the world." He failed to mention the futility of the people in the Walking Dead but he kept with his light tone, bringing out a can of corned beef in the unfortunately emptying pantry.
"Hey, you think we're the protagonists? Me, the stunning, awesome main character and you, my awesome sidekick?" He poked back at her, trying to keep the conversation from anything deep. Letting the moment settle into a sort of normality, he let himself relax to the sound of sizzling oil and beef.
”If you’re the protagonist then I think the world is-” fucked. That’s what she almost said. She had to keep her swearing down. Jean was a bad influence! If Dad found out...well...try not to think about Dad. We have to find Jean’s brother first, right?
”...then the world is done for.” She finished quickly.
Jean chuckled, smiling while shakily pointing his hand ‘threateningly’ at her ”Hey, listen here missy. I can smash a few zombie heads and save a few princesses.” He paused, adding the corned beef to the sizzling oil, swirling the pan around as he turned to face her again. ”And stop the smart talk or no breakfast for you.” The whole conversation felt surprisingly normal. It was as if the world wasn’t breaking apart around them. It was… comforting, to them both.
However, the moment was broken with a crash from one of the back rooms and the sounds of a screecher filled the house. Coming from a door nearer to the kitchen countertop, the monster lunged at Jean, growling and shouting with fierce determination. The monster had seemingly come out of nowhere and looked slightly familiar to the Ivorian but before he could dwell on this, the thing pounced on him and tried to pin him on the table.
The rugby player's eyes widened in surprise, gasping as he pushed against the massive mass of muscle. "Connor?! What the fuck?!?!" He struggled against the former Aussie, trembling against the bigger zombie. He tried to look for a weapon but had to keep his eyes on the monster in front of him, shoving him away and grappling him. He took a moment to glance towards Sammy before being pinned successfully on the counter, Connor's jaws opening wider than they should.
"SAMMY!" Jean fought against the former human but was slowly losing. Either from the fatigue or the mild headache, his strength seemed to have been sapped from him. Staring at the hungry, open mouth of his former friend, he could think of only one word. Fuck.
Fuck. It was a surprisingly common thought in the room at the moment. When Jean’s eyes locked with her own for a brief moment, things seemed to go in slow motion. First she checked to see if Connor hadn’t already chomped down on her friend and the fight was over; it hadn’t, thank the Lord. She still had a chance to react. Then she thought about how Connor was dead and it upset her. Then she thought about how Jean would be dead pretty fucking quick if she didn’t do anything right now.
Jean roared, pushing the thing back to the wall before going for a punch to the head. However, as zombie-Connor staggered back from the shove, it tipped the pan full of oil and beef on to the floor. He had put the handle outwards and it was bumped into. As the alive rugby player went for the lunging blow, he slipped on beef, falling face first on the floor as the monster hit the opposing wall. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the smell of processed meat on his face, he faced a charging dead Australian.
She said nothing, just made a kind of frightened noise, and dashed clumsily over to the pump shotgun on the table. Thoughts of dislocated shoulders popped into her head because of poor firing posture but she could suffer the consequences of her inexperience later. She caught a glimpse of Jean faceplanting the floor as she gripped the metal cylinder in her hands.
Right. Brace the shoulder. Arms tight. No, wait, arms loose. Fuck it, just fire!
Jean swung at the monster’s side but was parried and shoved backwards. Glancing at the pan, he grabbed it quickly and went for an overhead swing at Connor’s head. The blow was blocked and the pan was taken from the Ivorian, and in a clumsy series of grapples and strikes, the pan kept swapping users. At one point, zombie-Connor tried to backhand him with it but slipped on the oil, missing completely and spinning a whole 360 degrees. In the end, the pan was flung out of the window in frustration and they faced each other off once more.
Click. Fuck. There was the F word again. The safety! Right!? Of course the safety was on! It had to be on! Shit! Shit! Where was it? She frantically scanned the weapon that felt heavy in her hands for the safety. There! By the trigger on the right hand side. She pressed it in and the plastic switch showed green. Firing mode. Okay! Okay! In the brief second or two of this scramble for firepower the brutal fist fight had developed some more and Sammy had to re-adjust her aim.
Now!
Click. FUCK! Sammy let out a brief yelp of frustration and fear as the shotgun did not respond to her command a second time. Jean! Dead! From her own incompetence! It was all over! Despair filled her veins, but her eyes refocused from her terrible future and onto the terrible present Jean was still in a desperate struggle for survival while Sammy was in a struggle over getting a stupid gosh darn weapon to fire!
Hindsight is 20/20, of course, and Sammy realized instantly that there was no shell in the shotgun. No shell- no fire. They were there on the table, and the woman grabbed a bright red and yellow cylinder and crammed it into the chamber that she knew was there from all the actions movies she watched.
This was it! Everything was ready. A shell in the chamber, the safety was off. She pulled tightly back on the pump handle and the recognizable noise of a shotgun ready to fire rang around the house. Now, the only task ahead of her was firing the weapon in such a way as to slay Connor but spare her friend. Perhaps the hardest part of all? Her shotgun swiveled this way and that as she tried to line up the shot, trying not to just panick.
The monster charged, screeching louder and louder, making sure that it didn't slip on the stupid oil again. Jean grinned as he heard the satisfying ca-chunk of a pumped shotgun and he dodged right, letting zombie-Connor’s gut hit the edge of the counter. He ducked downwards, hiding from any shots while looking at the monster stumbling backwards in surprise. ”Sammy, fire now!”
”Okay!” She actually, literally said aloud. With a powerful blast, the shotgun pellets exploded out of the barrel. In close unison with each other they collided with Connor’s shoulder and lower arm that were facing Samantha. They ripped through flesh- but blood did not come spraying out of the wounds. Instead he bloodlessly stumbled to the ground. Because of the nature of the infection and much to Sammy’s chagrin, he squirmed on the ground desperately clawing to his feet.
That was what Sammy saw as she fell backwards onto the couch behind her. Holy shit. That fucking hurt. She must have held that wrong. It went way high into the air after she shot it and the metal part slammed into her shoulder. There’d be a bruise there for sure. And the bastard wasn’t even dead!
Oh, Connor. Why? She thought with sudden sadness once again. Still, the fight wasn’t over. She quickly snatched another shotgun shell from the table as Connor got to his feet. The former rugby player glared at Sammy with such an incredibly furious expression that she almost froze up and didn’t put the shell into the gun. There was a brief moment where they locked gazes didn’t move. That didn’t last long.
Zombie-Connor growled, a hideous screeching sound like nails against a blackboard. Jean glared at it from his position and lunged from a crouch, aiming to tackle the thing to the ground for a fierce melee. Unfortunately, the Aussie bastard dodged him and ran at Sammy, it’s right arm wide for a heavy swing. It was a terrifying sight, a tall, muscular zombie charging like a drunkard, yelling out a monstrous war cry. As the Ivorian landed on the ground after the failed tackle, he just stared at the following encounter, hoping that Sammy will put his former teammate down.
Sammy was still sitting on the plush couch- reaching out for the shell on the table when the towering figure sprinted towards her. As she desperately plugged the second shell into the chamber, an odd thought entered her mind for a brief second.
Huh. He runs like a rugby player.
Then, he was almost upon her, the height difference doubled by her sitting on the couch. A quick pump of the shotgun- a tremendous effort normally but with all of the adrenaline running through her veins it was nothing- she raised the shotgun upwards with a terrified expression. Connor practically ate the barrel.
Another explosion rang out as everything above Connor’s lower lip vanished into thin air. With a shocking lack of blood or even gore. the rugby monster stood for a brief moment. The headless figure took two slow steps backwards as if backing out of an awkward social interaction, then collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
Sammy dropped the shotgun that had once again buried itself into her shoulder. It fell softly onto the soft rug.
”...Jean?” Sammy spoke out meekly. He rose upwards from the kitchen ground, staring at his former friend’s corpse. A good man, bit of an idiot but a good man and an even better friend. Unwilling to give any signs of grief, he strode towards his friend and picked up the shotgun on the ground before extending a hand to his thankfully living friend. Maybe the last of his living friends. He smiled like Prince Charming, trying his hardest to stop the tears in his eyes. The trembling hand gave it away but he still managed to keep the rest of him under a cool façade. ”Hey, let’s go Sammy. Every fucker in a mile radius could've heard that shot, we need to move hun. Let's grab all our things and go.”
Sammy wanted to say something to her friend. Have a moment of silence. She wanted to...apologize. If that made sense. But nothing came out but a croak of agreement- there were more of the sick people coming. They had to escape before something terrible happened. They’d talk about it later. She crammed her emotions into a box and shelved it for now. For when it was safe, okay?
Underneath her white t-shirt, her right shoulder was already turning purple. Still, she scrambled and shoved everything she could into a backpack.
Jean watched Sammy go into a bedroom to grab her stuff before grabbing his own bag which was leaning against the couch. Shoving shotgun shells in there, he moved on to the kitchen and grabbed any supplies. Cans of food, bottles of water, anything that could last them. He arrived to the drink cabinet and looked around. Seeing that no one was looking, he added a beer into his pack before zipping it up, satisfied that they now had enough rations to last a day or two. He turned to grab the baseball bat near the couches before stepping over Connor’s corpse. He stared at it blankly for a moment, spotting two Snickers bars in it’s pants. He picked them up and put it in his pockets, turning to face a ready Sammy.
He handed her the baseball bat with a small nod before turning and opening the door. He walked out, letting his friend go out behind him He gripped the shotgun loosely in his hands, pumping it to release any empty shells before reloading. He counted six before stopping, noting that they only had 24 shells left other than the gun. He looked up and nodded at Samantha, a grim expression quickly replaced with another bright smile. A little too bright, she would notice. ”Let's go Sam, last I heard the government was making some sorta safe zone out in the city center, near some apartments. We can head there, I'm sure we’ll encounter people on the way.” He prepared himself, taking a deep breath before letting his friend take his side. They walked together, avoiding and dodging any screeching sounds, looking warily around their surroundings. This would be their time.
They hoped someone would be at the apartments, that they weren't alone. But hey. It's a lonely world out here. | Name: Altai
Nickname: Hedgehog(Because his hair gets very spiky if he doesn't take care of it. Especially after he puts his head on pillow)
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Nationality: Turkish
Appearance: White skin but not pale, nor mid European. More like Southerns. He has long face with a little hooked nose, his brown eyes are shaped as almond. He is 180cm (I think 5 ft 10 or 5 ft 9, not sure) and 70 kg(154 lbs I guess). His hair is mostly white, 90% of it, thanks to his genetics. His hair is... How can I describe it... Shortened sides, front of his hair longer so he can spike it up.
He has short beard, which are really black and hard. His eyebrows are also opposite of his hair and a little thick...
He is not symphatic, very far away being of it. He actually looks really... He looks like he has dangerous and hard nature, which makes people don't get close to him most of the time. Which lead him to be little social and shy. Nothing he can do about it, if there is nothing funny or worth it, he won't smile.
He has well built Torso-really well built chest and shoulder while having normal sized arms. Yep, he is not gym guy. He was really overweight once, because of that his belly will never be "fit" enough to be flat. He is hairy dude, mostly upon his arms, legs and chest. But they are not white like his normal hair, they are black. He has scar on his right middle and ring fingers, from a fight in pub. One moment of silence for the bear glass that caused it.
In-Depth Personality: Reckless, cold-blooded, literated dude who has capability of understanding most of the thing while not getting into anything because he is very melancholic, self-hating, asocial and almost anti-social, trying to look tough and making everyone staying away from him. He wants to be really social but he is too shy and lack of confidence. But when it comes for non-social stuff, his Confidence will be on the top level of humanity. He can't make the first step to meet with someone, unless it's needed for his job/task. He is sarcastic, making tons of jokes and references that only he can catch.
He is protective against children because he has young brother-or he had, no idea what happened to him. He doesn't want to live but also trying to achive his simple goals, so he is planning to get himself killed after he achive these personal goals, which are truly simple for normal people.
He has sadistic attidues to humans and also he hate most of the people. He belivesed that he can understand people by just looking at them for ten seconds. He has moral and ethic issues which are completly different from normal society. He also has borders for himself.
He won't talk much until he gets comfortable and he will always scare that he is going to mess everything up-because when he gets angry, he goes nuts. No, it's not losing control of himself but more like... Being aware of it, and having fun with that mess...
He is creative and writing novels, trying to be well-known writer. Well, it was possible before the outbreak but... Never need to lose his faith on writing skills.
He has his side on most of the situations but getting involved always depends on the gain, so we can call him pragmatist. He also loves animals, mostly the cats, hedgehogs and turtles. But anything baby will do the job.
He also has smoking addiction and he knows the best tobaccos. He won't drink alcohol too much.
*****(If I need to write more, just tell me)*****
Character background: Born and raised in Turkey, a country which is witnessing many terror attacks and violance, a land where violance is normal and appreciated. He had to learn how to defend himself, how to fight, how to fight dirty. Truly dirty, which will involve every kind of items and cheats to stay on ground.
However, he was really smiling person once, until his 12. He was always interested in books and fiction, but after age of 12, he witnessed many family problems such as alchololic parents, violance at home etc. It drained every single energy inside him, and turned Altai in a stone golem.
He tried to enjoy in different ways, he got good at billards, dart and knife throwing, riding horse... But he was always bat at music. Can't sing unless he practice for months, also can't play any insturment. His drawing skills... Well, no. Just don't make him draw something.
He got in jobs at summers and learned the true life, how hard it could be. He learned people, he learned how people live and always been jealous about it. That's where he get his scars on the finger, a fight which involved glasses, knives, clubs and etc.
He got in law school but dropped it after 3rd year, then he was drafted to Military(service by requirement law), served about 12 months in Mechanised Corps. Learned how to choke someone instantly while trained to operate assault rifles and armored vehichles. He was involved in military operations against terrorist groups few times. An experience for him, another waste of year, another waste of time that he could spend better.
He spent his whole life learning things, reading stuff and watching films/TV Shows. He learned tons of unuseful stuff like Sherlock Holmes did.
Then he finished his Novel, it got published in Turkey and it made him some money, it was his turn in life. He believed it, many said that the book will be translated into English later. For that, he went to Canada so he could contact with the authors and universities, it was time to make his life great again.
Then the outbreak hits, and everything fells into darkness again.
Equipment: Packs of cigarettes and lighters, including one smooth black zippo. One black jeans, one green camo pants(cargo), black laether jacket, some normal jackets(I mean like hoodies but without hoodie. Don't know this in English). He wears fingerless gloves and military grade black boots all the time. He still has his military jackets and uniform. Enough with clothing.
Black backpack. This dude is a little gothic, probably being teen because he never could be one. :D :D :D Just kidding.
Angel of Death necklace, jagermeister canteen(full leather jacket baby), flashlight, and another regular life items such as razor blades and etc. Also painkillers. He is trying to be addicted to painkillers but failed to do that.
Weapons:
Pocket knife
Switchblade
If possible, a 9mm pistol which he obtained illegally. Some clips and ammo for it, and gun holster which he place under his armpit.
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)**
*Agreed* |
47,453 | 1,288 | 17 | 1,965 | 2,253 | Henry "Hunter" Monroe
A few months before Taxes ended
Central works Firearms
In a small town in the middle of nowhere, there is not a lot to do beyond farming, watching DVDs, and target practice. Anyone or anything that supported these hobbies normally had steady business. Gun stores were a common place to find people who were still allowed to purchase firearms. "I'm looking for something that is strong enough to take down a bear from a safe distance?" Hunter said to the old man behind the counter who looked more bored then anything. "So... a rifle?" The gun smith said sarcastically. "If it's cheap and won't explode then sure." Hunter replied with the biggest smile on his face. He figured getting any real professional help would be difficult from a guy like this, he figured that his question wasn't too vague? Apparently the old man didn't understand simple questions.
Hunter sighed and rubbed his head a bit trying to do some proper thinking. "Okay, look. My dad and Uncle are going on a hunting trip up north in a few months and I don't have anything with enough kick to do shit. I have a budget of about two hundred to cover a gun, some ammo, and any accessories to it. Things like a cleaning kit, a scope, et cetera." The old man had less of a bored face now and a look of concern. "Are you one'a them kids who got dropped and told he was able to do anything he wanted? Because you can't. That amount ain't gonna get you shit but a shit gun and maybe a couple rounds." Hunter stood at the counter a moment thought about his situation. "So what if we said screw it to everything but the gun and some bullets? Could we do something in that budget? I'll take used?! I'll take in need of love condition too!" He was desperate at this point. And Hunter was not good at hiding it. If he knew anything about making deals it was to not show how desperate he was. "Come on man, this is the first trip I may actually be able to afford before my Uncle has to leave the country again for another five years!" The old man simply was dumbfounded by this point. "...first off... In need of love condition? What in all hells kinda things did they teach you in school? And second, you can't afford the trip if your total budget is two hundred. But if you're really that desperate I may have something." And the old gunsmith left only long enough to bring back an old and worn bolt action rifle.
The rifle was a single shot 30-06. Iffy range, mostly accurate, and held a single shot inside the chamber. But the ammo was decently common, and it was accurate enough to work for Hunter. So out of impulse and fear of not going on this trip he bought it with his remaining funds. After a few target practice moments with it, he decided that ammunition for a high powered rifle in general was expensive, and that he needed a better budget. But that didn't stop him from practicing and preparing for his trip north.
Home
Home wasn't much for Hunter, but it was a place to hang up his coat, take off his shoes, enjoy his iffy wifi, and park his El Camino with out paying a parking meter. The double wide trailer was in need of a good cleaning and some good love overall. There were soda cans, pizza boxes, and cups laying about everywhere. Along with a makeshift TV stand for the TV which housed several gaming systems and his computer tower.
His bedroom consisted of a queen bed, a short dresser, and a pile of electronics and airsoft gun parts int he corner, with maybe one working airsoft gun between it all. Overall, it was his place, and he enjoyed it. he could do whatever he wanted as long as nothing was burning too much and he wasn't harassing the neighbors. It was a nice and simple life for him.
He spent the night looking for the best place to store his "new" Rifle and show it off a bit to any visiting family. He eventually decided above the bed was a great place until he woke up that night to a falling rifle hitting him in the face. The next morning he simply put it in its case and put it in a closet.
One Week after People stopped caring about taxes and bills
Some poor dude's home
Hunter eased his way into the second story apartment aiming his rifle around the room. Normally he would have decided to stay inside his El Camino and keep safe. But his supplies for his hunting trip would only last him so long. Food ran out the day before last, his water supply is only consistent with what he can collect in rain now, and his car in it's current state can't move. The keys for the starter were confiscated when he was pulled over fora busted headlight and then later to be found out his transmission was faulty and needed to be replaced. Hunter himself could still drive it but with out the keys to start it all he could do was lock the door with the second set of keys.
The way he saw the key situation was more of benefit. No matter what his keys to start the car would be confiscated until the vehicle was fixed. But due to the fact the starter was replaced with a used one from another vehicle the keys to start it and lock it were not the same. That only delayed the fact he needed to leave for supplies sooner or later.
Inside the apartment there was a lot of blood, more then he really cared to see. More then his mind could care to see. He spent the next couple minutes puking up what little fluids he still had left in his systems until he got used to the smell of blood and death. Once that was over he found the source of the mess, several human bodies...
A couple of them looked like they had been shot to bits before dying, the last one looked like they took their own life with the shotgun in their hands once the events here ended. Hunter felt bad for them all, but his rifle had only so many bullets, and he wasn't that great of a shot with it. He slowly poked the body holding the shotgun with his rifle and when it didn't move he quickly grabbed the gun.
He did the basic checks first, check to see if it was loaded, see if the chamber was clear, was it relatively clean? All in all, it was good. In fact, the shotgun was in better condition then his rifle despite what it had been through. He spent the next few minutes looking around for ammo for it, finding a mostly full box of shells to help fill the shotgun up. And finding a small hatchet wedged in the wall of the apartment. Part of Hunter wanted to know what had happened here, another part of him knew better then to try and figure it out. Once he had gathered some supplies like ammo, food, water, and empty shell casings, he ate some food and had something to drank he left. The smell of rotting bodies could only be handled so long.
But now what? His car was still missing keys to start it and he had no idea where to find them. They could be anywhere in the shop, or in the pocket of a dead man miles away? He wouldn't know... So for now... he needed a plan. A safe place that didn't involve a torn up seat and listening to footsteps around him every night. It was pouring out, not the ideal conditions to travel, but the apartments here were unsafe and his car could only do so much. If he was in a situation where he had to shoot inside that thing he would have nowhere to go. But somewhere was better then here it seemed.
Outside in the rain
He went outside and put the guns on his back along with his bag as he pulled out his radio and his earbuds, only putting one in he started trying to listen to the radio. Listening to the same messages on repeat over and over again. He made sure to crank it slowly as he walked as to not make too much noise, but he need to keep alert in case something were to spot him. While browsing through the stations one he found was still playing music, occasionally the listener if paying attentions could hear the drunk mumbles of whoever was still running the station even while the music was playing.
Hunter was Semi-familiar with the area, but he didn't know where much of the local areas were, like some of the shelters he's been hearing about, or the police stations, or the military checkpoints. Damn radios explaining everything in kilometers. His sister was much better at this then he was. Most of what he can do consists of partial skills of next to useless things. Being able to build a half a batter doesn't mean much without the other half. Or making ammunition without knowing the right proportions for powder and primer. Or what kind of powder to use... "damn..." he said once he realized all of his useless survival skills were... well kinda useless.
Walking in the rain sucked, the radio wasn't able to keep charge at the slow crank so he was eventually forced to walk in the quiet, and the dark. Though he felt safer with a decent shotgun in his hands then his rifle. Though if need be the rifle was a lot more accurate and had some decent range to it. And it was one of the things that let him think about his past without too much emotions. Despite the fact he was walking down a street full of houses with a high powered rifle at hand and a pump action shotgun on his back.
Then he heard it, two shots, loud ones too. Coming from not too far ahead, another shotgun would be his best guess. Now he was wondering what was going on, though he also questioned if it was worth the risk. What if who ever was shooting was shooting another person? Could he hold his own in a gunfight? He could shoot and handle a firearm, but he wasn't the best by any means.
He didn't get much choice, while contemplating his thoughts he saw the two human figures leave a house not far down the road, and making their way his direction. "....fuck my life." he said quietly as he decided what to do now. He decided if he was to get into a gunfight he would rather have his new shotgun ready for use instead of his rifle, so he put that in his hands. And he decided to walk up to the two, hands raised in the air while holding the shotgun by the pump in one hand.
Once in reasonable talking distance so he didn't have to be loud he spoke. "I come in piece, don't shoot me please." He tried to say quietly with a calm comedic tone. Truth be told he was scared shitless and he didn't want to die, but he was too scared to go it alone now. "I'm..." He thought about his answer, he could answer anything he wanted too and no one would know the better? This could be a new start! "Henry. Wait... dammit... I meant to say Hunter..." And just like that, the new chance was gone. | Name:
Henry Monroe
Nickname:
Hunter
Age:
24
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
American
Appearance:
Henry is a young man who stands roughly 5'11" with minimal muscle build and a very light skin color to him. At first glance he looks to have an average build for someone his size, but for the most part he is not a person of physical stature. He isn't strong, and if he were to take off his shirt it would show pretty easily. He weighs roughly 180 lbs and very little of that is muscle.
Henry has dark almost black hair that even when groomed looks like someone decided to fluff it using a balloon and a pissed off cat. But in all honesty it's just messy curly hair that is never cut or groomed, even before the end of the world. His eyes are also a darker shade of brown, not quite as dark as his hair but definitely a really dark shade.
His usual apparel consists of cargo pants/shorts, a T-shirt, and a jacket of varying kinds depending on weather and if he thinks he will need storage available. Many times he will have his old backpack with him keeping his odds and ends readily available. Normally holding everything from a pen to his computer to even a really cheap Crank Radio.
In-Depth Personality:
Henry is the kind of person who normally would try to stay quiet and out of the way of people. He is in basics, an introvert. When he eventually warms up to people it seems almost impossible to shut him up. He feels he needs to keep talking to people many times to keep their interests so that he won't be forgotten or left behind.
Another key thing to note is that despite his anti-social behaviors he is very protective. He when he can will lean to the side of peace, though he always likes to keep the option of physical force if need be available. The idea of someone harming another person who at first seems defenseless is one of the main things that can set off his emotions. Situations like this is where he may not think with a strait head and go into a situation with out thinking his own actions through.
Henry is also paranoid as hell. He is the kind of person who carries multiple lights, one in his coat, one in his bag, and one in his pants, and some matches just in case kind of person. Calling him a doomsday prepper wouldn't really be a proper term, more of a bargain day prepper who happens to have finally grabbed the right thing for once. Most of anything that he can consider to be survival supplies would be things that were on sale or were super cheap so he decided there was no harm in trying to use it. Like a lot things bought on a dirt cheap sale, most broke or were such a poor quality that they were useless to anyone who actually knew what they were doing.
Henry has a slight tendency as well to start tasks and not finish them. A large reason for this is because he thinks he knows how to do something but he learns part way through he doesn't and convinces himself that it is not worth the effort to figure it out. Another thing that ma stop him is he may be short a couple things but is either too lazy to find them or has no idea how to find them so they lay as uncompleted projects.
Character background:
Henry grew up in a small town in Central New York State in a relatively old neighborhood. Most the people there were either really old, really young, or in too poor a position in life to leave. Growing up his family believed int he idea of self defense and self reliance. So at a young age Henry learned how to shoot. Sadly as he grew up he never really was great at it. By the time he was in his twenties, his family finally said "Good enough" and let him do what ever at that point.
School was an odd challenge for Henry. He had a slight tendency to never pay attention in class unless he found real interest in the topic. So in most cases he didn't pay attention. The few exceptions being a few odds and ends in Engineering, History, and occasionally in science or math when he actually pulled up something he learned from Engineering. Henry in school took up the nickname Hunter, for the fact he claimed to know a ton on firearms and with all his practice he must have been an amazing shot! Most people believed this to be true, a select few knew he never was a great shot. Just... "Good enough". His main goal in school was to become an electrical engineer, that way when his cheap things he bought at stores broke he could fix them with out paying more money then eh had too. For the most part he was able to take onto this, but he still had a huge issue with paying attention to things for long periods of time or when he was overall just not interested.
Once his school ended he moved out of his parent's place in hopes of making a life for himself. He moved back twice before he turned twenty years old due to insufficient funds and poor planning skills. After a couple more years work and paying a cheap rent to his parents he moved out third time, leaving with a working car and a potential job working on a construction site to build up experience and references. After about three years of this he bought his first place, a trailer on a small lot with about a half an acre. It was his dream life.
As of this moment he works close to full time as a maintenance worker for a local mall regularly going on trips to see his family. Many of those taking time to go on Hunting trips. Most of which him and his family members who went would come back empty handed. And a few rounds of ammo less to their names.
Equipment:
A cheap Crank Radio
Empty shells with odds and ends of metal and materials
Odds and ends of bullets and shells. Some of which do not fit into Henry's guns but he figures better safe then sorry. Not considering the weight or the likelihood that he would ever use them.
Water that is stored in a metal thermos attached to his belt with a carbiner. And if he feels he can easily store it he may throw a couple extra bottles of water in a day and finish them off fast to avoid storage.
A multi tool. A overall useful tool that has been passed down to him from his father. And by passed down, Hunter found it and never gave it back.
A random book. At any given time Hunter will have a book on him. The book may change a lot, but he likes to always have reading material available to him. It may be fiction, non fiction, science fiction, or an instruction manual. He just likes to be able to read whenever he gets the chance.
Pocket items: Things like a pen, pencil, wallet, change, half dollar flashlights, ect.
Matches: All the damn cheap lighters broke, so now down to the damn cheap matches.
A MP3 player with earbuds and odds and ends of cables and SD cards.
A small notebook computer that in all honesty is useless in an apocalyptic senario. It is more held onto because it is small, light, and has sentiment to Henry.
Weapons: |
47,454 | 1,288 | 18 | 1,863 | 730 | Joseph Ferrier
I stormed down the street. One of the spooks got too close, so I slowed down, just enough to sling a kick at its knee. I felt the crack as the kneecap broke the into the connecting bones beneath. My stomach jumped. Stay on target. Just stay on target. You're almost there.
And I was. My apartment was less than a block away. But those things kept a steady pace behind me. They were making a lot of noise. I twisted my sleeve at the bicep, using the tough leather to cut off circulation to my right arm, like a tourniquet. I guess, all in all, I was lucky it broke further up the forearm. Any lower, and the break would risk slicing my brachial artery. Like I said earlier, Red equals dead.
I could see the street sign. There was red on the green, obscuring the name of the streets, but I knew this city fairly well. And my building was now in view.
Hands erupted from the bushes growing along the complex's chainlink fence as I passed, and a moaning face followed. I threw all my weight behind my shoulder, slamming it back in as I sprinted, laughing in spite of my pain at the rattle when it hit the fence.
The door! My code! For a moment, I actually forgot it. Then, in a flash: 5-2-3-8! 5-2-3-8! I released my jacket sleeve, fresh blood gushing down my arm onto my shirt, to punch in the combination. I didn't see the blood in the lobby until I slammed the door.
It was covered in it. The white couch was now red. The shitty plastic plant dripped into its clay pot, moisture and nutrients it neither needed nor would benefit from. One of the elevator buttons glowed a streetlamp-orange, the other a savage red.
Naturally, the bloody button was the one I needed. I let go of my sleeve again, to clumsily draw my weapon and fumble with the safety. Thank god it's ambidextrous. The elevator dinged to life, and I brought up my pistol as the doors opened. Surprisingly, in fact, the only good surprise I'd had all day, the inside was clean. Nothing on the floor but dust. I squeezed my sleeve again, and slapped the button marked '3' with my elbow. The mechanisms whirred to life, and sent me up.
The doors dinged open on my floor. I was ready, weapon pointing straight down the hall. I could hear someone crying in another room as I passed, room fourteen, I believe. My place was just next door. My keys were slippery with blood that had oozed into my pocket while I ran. It was hard to identify the right one.
My apartment was exactly as I'd left it: a mess. Empty takeout and pizza boxes were stacked up next to the garbage can, papers littered my kitchen table, but I only needed one thing to be where I'd left it.
My liquor cabinet was locked, and I didn't feel like getting the key. So I slammed my elbow into the glass. Fuck it. Can't stay here anyway. A bottle of Silverback Gin was calling my name. Pop went the cork. I filled up a spare flask, struggling a bit at first with cap, and then sucked some from the bottle. I drank deep, the piney burn filling my throat and nostrils and silencing the shrieking pain of my arm so I could finally think.
I needed a car. That was first. Luckily, I could choose from anything in the parking lot. I could hotwire just about anything in an emergency, and this certainly qualified. I doubted anyone would still look at it like a crime.
First thing's first, though. Gotta set the bone. Stop the bleeding. Oh fuck. The bone was offset only slightly, a hairline fracture becoming a-
"Ow! God-DAMN!"
-a hairline fracture becoming a short break. Easy to set again, even though it would suck.
I walked into the bathroom, leaving a little blood trail behind me as I went. I needed the first aid kit, under the sink. I took it into the kitchen and swung across the table, throwing case notes, files, and bills onto the floor. I grabbed the roll of paper towels I'd lost under the mountain two months previous, and bit into the dry, fluffy paper. I pressed my arm down onto the table, teeth digging into the towels, and used my other hand to push the bone back together. The arm squelched and gushed more blood, and my vision swam and my stomach lurched. The bones scraped as it slid back into place. I still think about that feeling when I'm trying to sleep.
Thank god for Silverback Distillery. Without their excellent and tasteful Strange Monkey gin, I would not be the same man today.
I wrapped gauze around the wound, tears streaming down my face, and took another swig. I spit out bits of paper towel, and tore the bandage with my teeth, tucking it in, a little tight, but not too tight. I taped over this with some duct tape.
My hand was in better shape, though I could see the ligaments through the gash. I dumped some gin on it. Bad idea, by the way, do not use gin. White light exploded in my brain when it burned. Possibly felt even worse than the broken arm. But, at the least, it was disinfected. I coiled more gauze around it, and, almost as an afterthought, rolled a magazine around my arm and taped it, as a splint.
I sat back in one of my rarely-used kitchen chairs and wished that somehow, New China could deliver in the middle of all this. I wanted nothing more than sweet and sour chicken with some teriyaki sauce and some lo mein. I passed out on the bloody table, still thinking about Chinese food. | Name:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier
Nickname:
"The Ferrier" (High School) "Joseph Finder" (Current)
Age:
35 years old
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
American born and bred
Appearance:
5'9", 160 (app.) lbs., military-style buzzcut, unkempt 5 o' clock shadow, white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket, dark jeans, dark brown combat boots over khaki socks. Caucasian, athletic build, former police officer, wears his gun in an over-the-shoulder holster, brown leather. Carries a second firearm in a black nylon ankle holster. Wears polypropylene kneeplates and shinguards under his jeans while on duty.
In-Depth Personality:
He is not a social person, despite how much he has been forced to fraternize. He is inquisitive, taking things apart, and studying passerby to learn about the workings of the world. He is a talented investigator. He has had trouble in the past with painkiller addiction, due to his subconscious need to "mimic the mind" of various perpetrators and victims in relation to his cases.
Character background:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier was born in Newport News, Virginia, United States, to an FBI agent mother and local Sherriff father. He lived his early life adhered strictly to a code of rules and regulations, and did little to stray from it. He showed a proficiency for baseball, though he had not the interest. What Joe really wanted to do was follow in his mother's footsteps. She came home every day with a briefcase, full to bursting with images of violent crimes and mugshots and police reports. His father, as he saw it, did little more than watch the city destroy itself.
During high school, Joseph started to stray, getting involved with a local gang. In a drug deal gone wrong, he was shot in the leg. He was sixteen. His knee still aches to this day, when signaling rain or snow. The bullet wound healed slowly, and Joseph was bedridden for the better part of eight months while his leg pieced itself back together with the aid of silicone and titanium, the bullet having shattered his kneecap. His delinquent friends visited him often, to the point where he suggested that they use his hospital room for drug deals. His parents worked often during this period, as a serial killer, having claimed the lives of two couples and six individuals with a pickaxe, was quite active in the town. He retained a strong hereditary sense of justice, and once paid to have a man shot, the individual in question was accused of assaulting one of Joseph's couriers. Joseph became known on the street as "The Ferrier", as in "One who operates a ferry", as he was the one individual through whom one was able to acquire cocaine, methamphetamine, heroin, cannabis, and prescription painkillers, and deliver them safely and reliably, as guns were unable to brought into the hospital due to the metal detectors at the door, and a constant security presence prevented people from getting out of hand. He paid his three regular nurses to ignore it. Joe enjoyed this for quite some time, amassing profits he'd never dreamed of. But, he was healing fast, on the "up and out" as they say.
When he was discharged, seventeen years old, he was at a crossroads. He'd lost his safe haven for trade, but found that he no longer felt the same enjoyment from the money. He wanted to do something, as teens often do. Despite his new lease on life, he passed his High School finals as the definition of average, and applied immediately to the FBI Academy in Quantico. He was notified that he needed a degree to qualify, and opted instead, for Langley's Police Academy, scoring high marks in Logic and Deductive Reasoning, low ones in Public Relations. He was twenty years old.
He served for four years as a beat cop in Newport News, before an argument with his father prompted him to leave his hometown in search of a career elsewhere. He found a job listing in Detroit, and found a place on the streets. After witnessing a murder of an unarmed civilian by one of his coworkers, and watching as Detroit PD ignored it, and protected the killer, he checked back through the department's record, revealing a long line of corruption. He fought for two years to have the cases reopened, but to no avail. Gradually, after receiving no help from DPD and IAF, he denounced federal policing altogether, and left the country after publicizing the information. At the time of leaving, he was twenty-nine.
He used his life savings to lease a building in Vancouver, Canada, hanging up a sign that read simply "Joseph G. Ferrier, Private Detective", and has used the rest of his life solving discount homicides, overindulging, and being a mean old bastard. At this point in his life, he finds himself in a six-year rut, temper growing shorter and shorter, bottles becoming emptier, baggies lighter. He finds it more and more difficult each day to keep his finger off the trigger, and his hand off his baton. His badge is no longer a shield in his mind, but a war banner. He is thirty-five years old.
Equipment:
- 5 oz. Stainless steel flask (Jim Beam, Devil's Cut)
- 5" Maglite, x2 AA batteries
- Detective Shield
-Polypropylene Kneeplates & shinguards
- Swiss Army Knife multitool, 4" blade, 13 tools total
Weapons:
-.45 Calibre Beretta M92fs, rechambered from 9mm (primary)
- 36" ASP Airweight titanium extending police baton
- Smith & Wesson .38 Calibre Detective Special (secondary)
- Cold Steel Kobun tanto-tip high-carbon stainless steel knife, kydex sheath |
47,455 | 1,288 | 19 | 2,060 | 322 | Rachelle
So much had happened in a small window of time. All it literally took was one moment. One scream of panic- absolute terror, in fact, before all hell broke loose on their small town. One short, cut off, staggered scream. The world as they knew it fell completely apart.
Working at the skate shop had proved useful for her over the years. Not only did Rachelle continue to practice her skill, but she was able to make valuable contacts that she knew she could use in the future. She had her eyes set on the next X Games- they would be in town within the next few months. Nothing would make her deviate from that plan, even her big sister. Especially not her big sister. Even though the women had found common ground over the last few years, they still were often at odds with each other. All Rebecca would talk about is her little sister finally getting a real job and finding a man, settling down, blah blah blah.
There was no way in hell that was happening anytime soon. Chelle hadn't even thought of a man in a romantic sense since she had been a young teenager in high school- and that relationship turned out to be nothing but a headache. She had decided to swear off men and just reign in all her energy for her ultimate goal of champion. That didn't stop Becca from pestering, though.
And she continued to pester all the way from her extended trip.. Every few minutes it was Will this and Will that. It quickly turned nauseating. It almost made her eternally grateful to hear that her sister's visa was up and she had to come back home without the annoying sidearm. It was sad to think, but Rachelle was almost looking forward to her sister's heart being broken- maybe then she wouldn't want to talk about the annoying male species. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. Her big sister talked non-stop about the 'lovely gent' and how she had wished that he had followed her back to Canada. Becca had never seemed happier, and Rachelle secretly loathed her for it.
It's funny how in the blink of an eye, all the useless thoughts in your head that you had previously thought so dire, were suddenly so incredibly dumb and unimportant.
It had been weeks since the first outbreak was seen in their hometown. After Rebecca had thrown herself into the shop to grab her sister, they had both taken off together to try to find shelter. Their own apartment complex had already been cornered off; there was no going back to their belongings. All they had left was what they each had on them. A letter opener from the shop, a nail file just because...Useless items. If they had been better prepared, she could have prevented anything bad from happening to them. She could have saved them from becoming just like the infected. So many things she could have done if she had just paid attention.
And so it was that they were hiding out in an abandoned apartment complex. It had been the first place they could think of going that probably wouldn't have very many people near it. Becca wanted to try to find other survivors; Rachelle wanted to tough it out on their own. They didn't need anyone other than themselves. How stupid she had been. How stupid she had been to allow her only sibling to try to find some supplies on her own. How stupid she had been to have just watched her only sibling been bitten by one of them and done nothing to try to help her. How stupid.
She didn't even notice the man who had found Rebecca and put her out of her misery.
Her thoughts were muffled by a loud, heart-wrenching scream. Took several moments before she realized that the sound was coming from her very own lungs. | Name:
Rachelle Maribeth Lavoie
Nickname:
Chelle, Chelly, Ra-Ra
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Nationality:
French-Canadian
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality:
The Lavoie sisters were raised on three things: kindness, loyalty, and honor. Rachelle's father brought his little girls up on believing that anything could be solved with a kind word or gesture; any small act can make someone else's world a little brighter. While this soft, endearing upbringing sheltered the young woman to a degree, it also caused a bit of rebelliousness. Rachelle was known as the wilder Lavoie sister as the two grew: where her sister wore frilly dresses and high heels, Chelly was in short-shorts and converses.
As the years went by and high school came around, the sisters grew further apart. Chelle found a love of skateboarding and extreme sports. Always the risk taker, she always swore to try something at least once. While sometimes reckless and carefree, she never forgot what her father had instilled upon her. Her kind heart still shines on to this day- it's just a little more rough around the edges.
Character background:
Raised in Quebec, Canada, Rachelle was born into a family of three. Her father Reginald, her mother Mary-Ann, and her older sister Rebecca. Since the girls were only eighteen months apart, they were pretty much inseparable from the moment they met. Their parents made sure to give the girls a good, steady life. They lived in the same little house and could have never wanted for anything more. Everything was perfect.
Until their father died when Rebecca was just entering high school. Their lives were wrecked to the core and nobody knew which end was up. Becca turned to helping their mother run the household and quickly found an after-school job that paid under the table. Rachelle did a complete one-eighty. While Becca was playing house, Chelle was off at the skatepark working on her next big trick. School became an after thought. It surprised everyone when Rachelle continued to pass through middle school and actually ended up in high school along with her big sister. She didn't like to show it much, but she had a photographic memory that made her quite intelligent. It didn't run well with her street cred (not that she had much to begin with).
When Rebecca graduated high school, she moved off to Toronto, leaving her little sister behind with their newly married mother and step-father. Again Rachelle was the outsider. She started to pick fights at school and almost got kicked out- until her big sister let her move to Toronto with her. Dropping out of school, Rachelle moved into Becca's two bedroom apartment. She soon studied to get her GED and planned to become good enough to enter the X Games. She got a part-time job working in a skate shop to help her sister with the bills, where she was still working when her sister decided to take an extended vacation.
It was good for the two of them to get some distance. Rebecca deserved to get her own life apart from her sister, and Chelle definitely enjoyed the breather. It didn't last long- Becca called with news that her visa had expired. Once her sister returned, all she heard about for weeks was the dashing Irish man she grew quite fond of. Their lives continued on until the outbreak spread to their town.
Equipment:
Letter opener
Nail file
Pepper spray
Bookbag
Cell phone
Skateboard
Weapons:
None
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,456 | 1,288 | 20 | 1,863 | 730 | Joseph Ferrier
I awoke, peeling my face off the table, where the blood had dried, gluing my skin to the wood. For some reason, I expected to see a half-eaten Lo-Mein box when I opened my eyes. Just wishful thinking. My whole body was on fire. A hot sweat had coated my body in slimy perspiration I could feel had soaked into my clothes. I felt awful. But, I still had to move. Standing was trouble. I realized that as soon as my ass left the chair and my head spun. Throbbed, too, like a deep war-drum heartbeat in the depths of the earth. But it was all in my head. Just like the urgency. If I hadn't been so damn panicked, I might have made it.
The crying next door had stopped. I'd knocked over the rest of the gin while I slept. That sucks. At least I had my flask. I'd need it.
I packed up some essentials in an old duffel bag. By 'essentials', I really just mean a first aid kid, a lot of extra ammo, and some clothes. Odd that I, a free American with the resources to up and move to Canada, owns over twelve-hundred rounds of .45 ACP ammunition, and yet the only food in my kitchen is a single can of Vienna Sausages from god-knows-when. Breakfast. After eating my meager meal, I could think a bit more clearly. Except for the pain. That was still a fairly distracting factor. A couple swigs of gin later, and that wasn't an issue anymore. But, I also wasn't thinking very clearly anymore either.
I devised a plan. First, to loot the nearby apartments. I was certain that there was a good amount of food and supplies left over, if only not in my apartment. The first door I knocked on was the one I'd heard crying from the day before. No answer. I knocked again, a little louder. No answer. Once more, a full on 'cop-knock', three hard, solid raps on the door, and called out, "POLICE! Open up!" No answer. I knocked again, this time with my bootheel.
The door swung open as the frame splintered, the deadbolt tearing through the veneer like a little wrecking ball, and I entered the room, revolver ready in my left hand, my bandaged right held behind me, to keep it out of the way. It was pretty empty in here. Didn't even look like anyone had been there in weeks, it was so clean. It looked like a goddamn IKEA catalogue. Then I saw it. A red blossom, bursting up the pantry door, and a slumped body below, wearing a thick green oven mitt. There was a hole in the mitt, where an index or middle finger might be. The hole was ragged, a gunshot if I'd ever seen it. Well, that's why I didn't hear a shot. Her head was gone, torn off by what further inspection revealed to be a .357 Magnum revolver. Five full chambers. Off-brand. Absolutely no nonsense. If you gotta kill yourself with something, you could do a lot worse. I slipped it into the back of my waistband, and without even a trace of reverence, kicked the body aside and went to open the pantry. Something stopped me.
That 'something' was a wire coat hanger, coiled around the pantry's double doors. Oh dear. I knocked on the doors. "Police. Come on out-"
The doors stretched and groaned as something heavy hit them from inside the pantry. Something small. A child- The doors creaked and bent again, and the coat hanger screeched on the metal knobs. I stepped back, and raised my weapon. On the third impact, i fired twice, and the resulting thud within assured me of a good shot. I uncoiled the wire with difficulty, considering I only had one good hand.
Just then, there was a shout from the hall. "KNEES ON THE FLOOR AND HANDS IN THE AIR. I AIN'T FUCKIN' PLAYING." A man. As though I thought, perhaps, that maybe he was in fact playing, he felt the need to emphasize this with a shotgun pump. But I know the sound of an empty shotgun. And I know the sound of a bluff. And I heard both. Unfortunately, I am unfamiliar with the difference in sound of an empty or full bolt-action rifle. And that's what I heard next, accompanied by "Do what he says. We ain't playin'." A woman. I dropped my gun and knelt down on the floor, still unable to face my new 'friends'. "Go get his gun."
"Nah, you go get it."
I took advantage of their squabble to slip my hand inside my jacket. I only needed one thing.
"I got the fuckin' shotgun. You go get it."
"Give me the shotgun, and you can get it- HEY NO MOVING!" I dropped what I was holding, and it bounced on the floor, where it caught the light just right, reflecting gold and blue sparkles onto the ceiling. I took that opportunity to speak.
"I'm CIA. You're impeding a federal investigation." I heard a weapon barrel hit the floor as their jaws dropped.
"Oh, shit." That was all the time I needed. I tucked and rolled, snatching up my pistol in my damaged right hand as I went. The pain was blinding. I'd have to make this count-
BLAMBLAM! BLAM! They returned fire.
CRACK!
Clouds of smoke and disturbed dust floated through the room, obscuring everything in a light mist. I could barely see what had happened, but the sounds clued me in. One of them coughed, wet, phlegmy coughs, that could only produce that sound through a lungfull of blood. I got one. The other dark figure lay on the floor, unmoving. I got em both. I stood, feeling like Bruce Willis, and approached, walking like John Wayne. I made up my mind right then to forget about looting. Clearly, it doesn't end well. The coughing one raised his hand, and I spit on his face, before raising my weapon to his forehead. I could see it in his eyes. He was begging. There was a rustle in the hall. I spun fast, barrel already seeking a target. But all it found was a little girl, less than three years old, sobbing silently. I looked back at my assailants. Same hair color. Same eye color. Her parents. I holstered my weapon, collected my bag and left them there, left the little girl to say goodbye, and left her father to choke on the words 'I love you'. The rules of engagement had changed, and not for the last time, either.
I shed little more than a few tears for that girl and her parents. They made their choices. I made mine. Mine just happened to be a lot faster.
The elevator was stuck on the floor above mine, of course, and I was left with two options. I could force the door with the 'EMERGENCY' button, and make my way down the shaft. It was sure to be pretty clear, but the dangers were great. For one, what if the elevator dropped? Or what if I slipped? The other option was the stairs. Sure, I hate stairs, but with only one good hand, the choice was clear.
Surprisingly, the stairs were clear as well. It seemed as though everyone in my building got out alright. There was a hole in the plate glass lobby door, probably how that little family of looters got in. How stupid do you have to be to bring a child out here with you? It seemed as though everyone got out alright, except for the mystery of a full parking lot. What happened here? I picked out a Jeep, an old maroon one, and raised my sidearm.
BLAM!
One round, through the window. I fumbled with the locks as the alarm went off. I slapped the hood release and made my way around to the front, feeling under the hood for the latch, peeking around, certain that someone was about to sneak up on my. I pulled up the hood, and yanked off the red battery cable. The alarm ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. I reconnected the battery after counting out thirty seconds, and threw my gear into the passenger seat, before kneeling down to pull open the console. What was it? Yellow to red? Green to red? Blue to red? Yellow to blue? I took a guess at Yellow-red, and was rewarded by the sound of a starting engine.
CRACK!
A shot rang out. My windshield shattered. I ducked.
CRACK!
A hole in the open driver's door. They were in front.
WHAM!
From the side, a shotgun. I drew my .45 in my crippled right hand, and held onto the steering wheel with my left, propping up my feet on the car floor, so they couldn't see me from under the Jeep.
CRACK!WHAM!
Only two attackers. I can take these assholes-
POPPOPPOP! POPPOP! Behind me.
Stings in my back. I fell onto the pavement. My shoulder was on fire. I was bleeding. A young woman stood over me in a red leather jacket. She laughed. The pistol in her hands was small, but seemed enormous when she put it to my head. I could hear them unzipping my bag. I could feel them pulling my weapon out of my hands. They found my ankle holster, too.
"No food. Lotta ammo. Sickass guns."
"Who goes around with no food?"
"Hit pretty fast. Maybe he didn't have time. 'Least he got us a car."
The woman spoke. "He can still hear you guys."
"Jesus, put him down. Have some mercy."
Her rouged cheeks, her cherry nail polish, her jacket. Right before she pulled the trigger, I heard my own voice in my head, saying,
Red equals dead.
I choked out a laugh. The woman put a boot on my face and pressed. "The fuck you laughin' at?"
I slipped my good hand behind my back as I rolled, to move her heel to a more comfortable position on my cheek. My right leg tensed like a spring. I spit out blood and responded, "Red equals dead."
The scavenged .357 thundered as I whipped it out of my waistband. My right heel crashed against her ankle, throwing her shot wild. POP! POPPOP! One round hit my chest and ricocheted off my flask. Her left eye burst like fireworks.
BOOM! BOOM! My weapon roared like a lion while I laughed like a hyena and bled like a busted hip flask.
In the end, no one got the chance to shoot me again. In the end, she got the same funeral I would've. Her buddies left in my car. I crawled and bled, and crawled, and bled. And crawled, and bled. And bled.
The rules of engagement had changed. And not for the last time. | Name:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier
Nickname:
"The Ferrier" (High School) "Joseph Finder" (Current)
Age:
35 years old
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
American born and bred
Appearance:
5'9", 160 (app.) lbs., military-style buzzcut, unkempt 5 o' clock shadow, white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket, dark jeans, dark brown combat boots over khaki socks. Caucasian, athletic build, former police officer, wears his gun in an over-the-shoulder holster, brown leather. Carries a second firearm in a black nylon ankle holster. Wears polypropylene kneeplates and shinguards under his jeans while on duty.
In-Depth Personality:
He is not a social person, despite how much he has been forced to fraternize. He is inquisitive, taking things apart, and studying passerby to learn about the workings of the world. He is a talented investigator. He has had trouble in the past with painkiller addiction, due to his subconscious need to "mimic the mind" of various perpetrators and victims in relation to his cases.
Character background:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier was born in Newport News, Virginia, United States, to an FBI agent mother and local Sherriff father. He lived his early life adhered strictly to a code of rules and regulations, and did little to stray from it. He showed a proficiency for baseball, though he had not the interest. What Joe really wanted to do was follow in his mother's footsteps. She came home every day with a briefcase, full to bursting with images of violent crimes and mugshots and police reports. His father, as he saw it, did little more than watch the city destroy itself.
During high school, Joseph started to stray, getting involved with a local gang. In a drug deal gone wrong, he was shot in the leg. He was sixteen. His knee still aches to this day, when signaling rain or snow. The bullet wound healed slowly, and Joseph was bedridden for the better part of eight months while his leg pieced itself back together with the aid of silicone and titanium, the bullet having shattered his kneecap. His delinquent friends visited him often, to the point where he suggested that they use his hospital room for drug deals. His parents worked often during this period, as a serial killer, having claimed the lives of two couples and six individuals with a pickaxe, was quite active in the town. He retained a strong hereditary sense of justice, and once paid to have a man shot, the individual in question was accused of assaulting one of Joseph's couriers. Joseph became known on the street as "The Ferrier", as in "One who operates a ferry", as he was the one individual through whom one was able to acquire cocaine, methamphetamine, heroin, cannabis, and prescription painkillers, and deliver them safely and reliably, as guns were unable to brought into the hospital due to the metal detectors at the door, and a constant security presence prevented people from getting out of hand. He paid his three regular nurses to ignore it. Joe enjoyed this for quite some time, amassing profits he'd never dreamed of. But, he was healing fast, on the "up and out" as they say.
When he was discharged, seventeen years old, he was at a crossroads. He'd lost his safe haven for trade, but found that he no longer felt the same enjoyment from the money. He wanted to do something, as teens often do. Despite his new lease on life, he passed his High School finals as the definition of average, and applied immediately to the FBI Academy in Quantico. He was notified that he needed a degree to qualify, and opted instead, for Langley's Police Academy, scoring high marks in Logic and Deductive Reasoning, low ones in Public Relations. He was twenty years old.
He served for four years as a beat cop in Newport News, before an argument with his father prompted him to leave his hometown in search of a career elsewhere. He found a job listing in Detroit, and found a place on the streets. After witnessing a murder of an unarmed civilian by one of his coworkers, and watching as Detroit PD ignored it, and protected the killer, he checked back through the department's record, revealing a long line of corruption. He fought for two years to have the cases reopened, but to no avail. Gradually, after receiving no help from DPD and IAF, he denounced federal policing altogether, and left the country after publicizing the information. At the time of leaving, he was twenty-nine.
He used his life savings to lease a building in Vancouver, Canada, hanging up a sign that read simply "Joseph G. Ferrier, Private Detective", and has used the rest of his life solving discount homicides, overindulging, and being a mean old bastard. At this point in his life, he finds himself in a six-year rut, temper growing shorter and shorter, bottles becoming emptier, baggies lighter. He finds it more and more difficult each day to keep his finger off the trigger, and his hand off his baton. His badge is no longer a shield in his mind, but a war banner. He is thirty-five years old.
Equipment:
- 5 oz. Stainless steel flask (Jim Beam, Devil's Cut)
- 5" Maglite, x2 AA batteries
- Detective Shield
-Polypropylene Kneeplates & shinguards
- Swiss Army Knife multitool, 4" blade, 13 tools total
Weapons:
-.45 Calibre Beretta M92fs, rechambered from 9mm (primary)
- 36" ASP Airweight titanium extending police baton
- Smith & Wesson .38 Calibre Detective Special (secondary)
- Cold Steel Kobun tanto-tip high-carbon stainless steel knife, kydex sheath |
47,457 | 1,288 | 21 | 2,126 | 2,875 | JaSammy & HenryA collaboration between , and I
Jean and Sammy had started their trek with trepidation, carefully travelling through the suburban streets. They were currently following his own knowledge of the streets, navigating through areas the Ivorian was familiar with. They had just started down the road but there was an ominous feeling in his gut. He didn't feel good about any of this, how they were travelling on foot and how they were currently exposed on all sides. They kept to walking as quiet as possible on the sidewalk pavement but any ambushes from their sides or from their backs could potentially split them up. He kept with his friend as close as possible, keeping his eyes to the front and sides while her eyes watched the flanks.
He ran his hand along the Bennelli in his hand, trying to even his breathing. He was starting to panic, the eerie silence worried him. He gripped his weapon harder, trying to keep calm. He had to. He glanced back at Sammy, trying to restrain the concern he had for her. He didn't mean to sound so… distant when he told her to pack her things. He was still grieving over his friend but he had to focus on his living ones for now. The beer in his bag would be for later. He stamped down on any regrets and guilt, burying it to focus in the task at hand. Survival. That was what was important. He needed to zone everything out, to protect the both of them. Already, he was placing a weight on his shoulder that he couldn't bear but he didn't comment. He didn't say anything. He just smiled at her before facing forward again, keeping his finger near the trigger.
As her gaze floated over the ominous houses lining either side, Sammy thought about Connor. She thought about Flyback Joe. Sammy had personally killed two of Jean’s rugby team. When would that set it? She felt like there was a sword over her head and would snap at any moment- the guilt and the remorse would split her down the middle. Blood everywhere.
The wooden baseball bat was gripped tightly in her hands. Her fingernails had remnants of red fingernail paint on them, like the baseball bat had remnants of black wording on it. Something about a high school. She frowned at the thought of children. Where were they all? Would a baby crawl towards us at any moment, clawing at our ankles? She glanced down at her feet- two white and blue sneakers, a little gap of skin, and then blue jeans all the way up to her white t-shirt. She found her eyes on the back of Jean’s head. Did he resent her for killing his friends? She couldn’t imagine seeing someone you know like that. Her mind tried to conjure up a horrible imagine of her parents undead and moaning, but is simply failed to register. Impossible.
She shook her head and her black ponytail swished to the sides- lagging just a bit behind. Have to focus. She went back to staring at the ominously dark windows of the dead suburbia around them.
The Ivorian peered at a dark shape in the middle of the road, his eyes tearing up a little as he focused on it. It was difficult to make it out but as it and them came closer to each other, he began to recognise things. A head. Legs. A face. Eyes and a mouth. He raised his shotgun, not directly at the person but pointing at the man’ feet. He halted but failed to mention it to Sammy. As a result, the woman had to stop suddenly into him. She wondered what was going on, when someone broke the silence.
Once in reasonable talking distance so he didn't have to be loud Hunter spoke. "I come in peace, don't shoot me please." He tried to say quietly with a calm comedic tone. Truth be told he was scared shitless and he didn't want to die, but he was too scared to go it alone now.
Samantha jumped at the voice breaking the silence. She readied her bat, glancing at Jean. He was gripping his shotgun tighter, his eyes in the direction of the voice. Before she could say anything, the oddly awkward looking man continued.
"I'm..." Hunter thought about his answer, he could answer anything he wanted too and no one would know the better? This could be a new start! "Henry. Wait... dammit... I meant to say Hunter..." And just like that, the new chance was gone.
There was a tense silence. The rugby player eyed him warily, keeping his muscles tense in case of hostilities. However, after deeming him as “potentially friendly”, he began to speak while keeping the shotgun at the ready ”Hunter, right? Look, I'm sorry we aren't very trusting right now but-” He paused, hesitating to speak for the both of them but continued on ”But we don't know you. Who are you? Why did you come out? It's dangerous out here, those monsters are out here.”
Sammy was eager to make new friends. Despite what happened at the house, she felt like banding together was the best option. What else is there? Live on your own forever and die? No thanks. But Jean was right. She bit her lower lip, tightly holding the baseball bat with both of her hands. Her left hand was on the base of the bat, and her right hand was about halfway up. She reassured herself Jean could take him. Because Jean had a shotgun. She’d have to run a good 40 feet and whack him with a bat. Hard pass. The sooner she could get her hand on a gun- afraid of them as she was- the better. She continued to say nothing when Henry responded.
Hunter had a few thoughts at mind, one of them being his planning skills were still less then great. Another being that the people he just met were not only armed, but scared as hell of him. Granted he was armed too but his guns were either on his back, or not in a good position on his hands to use. Granted, they had reason to be scared, he was too. But he figured they would be more grateful, or at least less tense. He figured a good start would be too at least answer the man’s questions. That’s always a good start right?
Hunter put the shotgun on his back as well and began to speak. “Well, to answer your first set of questions my name is” He stopped himself this time to make sure he said the right name. “Hunter. Hunter Monroe. As for being outside, I can’t start my car because I don’t know where the keys are. So I am walking. I figured I’d get to the government protection area sooner or later. Despite my lack of knowhow for Kilometers.” He eyed the girl with the bat, cute, but he worried about his skull if he spoke wrong. The guy on the other hand was like an ox, well built, the kind of person Hunter would avoid fights with, and in the lighting was hard to see well. That is a nice trait to have nowadays. Hunter was so pale that you shine a flashlight on him in these lights he would stick out like a glowstick. Part of him wished he spent more time outside, even dirt would help at this point.
”You headin’ to the apartments too?” Jean stowed his shotgun away, the sparking tension was dulled now. He looked back at Sammy then at the man. The man was armed but if befriended, that rifle could be a valuable weapon. The shotgun was close-ranged and couldn't be aimed very well. All in all, he would have to come up close and personal to take the monsters out, creating a danger for himself. While he liked the nitty gritty combat, he would prefer it if he could keep his limbs intact. He raised a hand in Hunter’s direction in a pausing motion before turning to face his companion.
Jean scratched his neck, glancing backwards every now and then to make sure the pale man didn't pull anything. ”What are you thinking Sam? We take him with us?” He was usually one to take charge but he wanted to make sure that his friend approved. After all, maybe she could see more in the guy than he could. He wasn't the best at dealing and interpreting emotions.
Sammy gave a comically “mean” glare to try and intimidate the man or something like that. That’ll show him she means business. Even though he had a gun and she had a bat. Still, it was some rule of business that you couldn’t let your opponent know how much you wanted something. She really wanted a new friend. The more the merrier. This time it would be different.
He looked harmless. Really pale. Yeesh. Probably never went outside too much before this happened. Doesn’t look like some kind of craze serial killer (but she wouldn’t particularly know that.) A guy who wanted to kill them probably could have killed Jean from the shadow and then killed Sammy. She shuddered at the thought, reminded of everyone’s mortality. What if he had done that? But he hadn’t. He had them totally outgunned just with that rifle.
”He looks nice, Jean. I think we could... She looked down briefly, before looking back up at Jean.
”I mean, we can’t alone forever, right? The more people we get, the better, I think. If he was going to...you know…”
She paused, and her smile wavered. ”Kill us, he could have done it already. With that rifle. I’ll keep an eye on him, if you’re worried he might steal something. Steal one of the things we don’t have.”
She inhaled for once and decided to shut up so Jean could say something. Don’t want to go on like her mother does.
Jean nodded, turning towards the pale man and indicated that they were coming towards him. He trusted his friend’s decisions and her call was final. He led her through ruined cars and came to a halt in front of Hunter, swapping his shotgun to his left. He looked straight into the man’s eyes and placed a hand on his own chest ”I'm Jean and this-” He indicated towards his companion ”Is Sam.” She gave a small wave. “We’re heading to the government enforced area, like we said. Decided that some extra company won't hurt too much.” He then eyed the rifle and shotgun combo on the man’s back, raising an eyebrow.
”That's some serious hardware you've got there. Where'd you find it?” He was genuinely curious. They were valuable “assets” as it were, especially if Hunter could actually shoot with the thing.
Hunter motioned to the rifle on his back. “I got the rifle a few months back so I could go on a hunting trip with some family. I wasn’t able to get a lot of practice in with it since I got it but I know how to shoot it? I was actually on my way to meet my dad and uncle for the trip when...” He motioned around them. “All this fun stuff happened. The mechanic took my keys on the way so now my car won’t start.”
Hunter pulled the shotgun off his back, it felt different in his hands compared to his rifle. “This on the other hand, I found while looking for food. Not a lot of ammo but it’s easy to use. I think everyone that can hold one knows how to shoot one in my family? And with the right loads they make good distance. Hard to say on this one but I think the choke allows to about forty yards with the pheasant shot loaded inside of it? I never fired this one off yet but the chamber is clear so it should work fine based on how I found it.” He looked at the gun in his hands thinking. “...A rifle is still better for range don’t get me wrong, but pointing and shooting is nice when you need to get a shot off within ten feet,” did a quick look around to make sure his immediate area was safe. It would suck to die just because he was too busy talking. Seemed clear so far though.
He eyed the shotgun the new duo had. “I don’t suppose either of you know how to use it? Because the only thing less safe than someone who knows how to shoot a gun is someone who doesn’t...” He stopped for a moment thinking that he may have come across as rude. “Not to say you’re not safe or anything but…. If you don’t know how to use it I can give you the basic runthrough I went through a few years back?” He was trying to be helpful, that and he didn’t like the idea of getting his back blown open because of lack of firearm safety instructions.
She listened to Hunter’s explanation of his miniature arsenal, and when he got to the end, Sammy rubbed her rubbed the vague ache of her shoulder at the mention of gun safety. ”I think we’ll be fine, thank you very much.” She said unhappily. Jean nodded, gripping the shotgun a little tighter in his hands. He eyed the bruise on her shoulder concerningly but was waved off. He turned back to Hunter and nodded at him, indicating to follow before leading the way to hopeful salvation.
The three of them got moving as the sun crawled towards it zenith- emptied rain clouds dotting the blue sky. Whether the government complex was to be salvation or not, time would tell and luck would decide. Peering eyes stared at them from the dark. | Name: Altai
Nickname: Hedgehog(Because his hair gets very spiky if he doesn't take care of it. Especially after he puts his head on pillow)
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Nationality: Turkish
Appearance: White skin but not pale, nor mid European. More like Southerns. He has long face with a little hooked nose, his brown eyes are shaped as almond. He is 180cm (I think 5 ft 10 or 5 ft 9, not sure) and 70 kg(154 lbs I guess). His hair is mostly white, 90% of it, thanks to his genetics. His hair is... How can I describe it... Shortened sides, front of his hair longer so he can spike it up.
He has short beard, which are really black and hard. His eyebrows are also opposite of his hair and a little thick...
He is not symphatic, very far away being of it. He actually looks really... He looks like he has dangerous and hard nature, which makes people don't get close to him most of the time. Which lead him to be little social and shy. Nothing he can do about it, if there is nothing funny or worth it, he won't smile.
He has well built Torso-really well built chest and shoulder while having normal sized arms. Yep, he is not gym guy. He was really overweight once, because of that his belly will never be "fit" enough to be flat. He is hairy dude, mostly upon his arms, legs and chest. But they are not white like his normal hair, they are black. He has scar on his right middle and ring fingers, from a fight in pub. One moment of silence for the bear glass that caused it.
In-Depth Personality: Reckless, cold-blooded, literated dude who has capability of understanding most of the thing while not getting into anything because he is very melancholic, self-hating, asocial and almost anti-social, trying to look tough and making everyone staying away from him. He wants to be really social but he is too shy and lack of confidence. But when it comes for non-social stuff, his Confidence will be on the top level of humanity. He can't make the first step to meet with someone, unless it's needed for his job/task. He is sarcastic, making tons of jokes and references that only he can catch.
He is protective against children because he has young brother-or he had, no idea what happened to him. He doesn't want to live but also trying to achive his simple goals, so he is planning to get himself killed after he achive these personal goals, which are truly simple for normal people.
He has sadistic attidues to humans and also he hate most of the people. He belivesed that he can understand people by just looking at them for ten seconds. He has moral and ethic issues which are completly different from normal society. He also has borders for himself.
He won't talk much until he gets comfortable and he will always scare that he is going to mess everything up-because when he gets angry, he goes nuts. No, it's not losing control of himself but more like... Being aware of it, and having fun with that mess...
He is creative and writing novels, trying to be well-known writer. Well, it was possible before the outbreak but... Never need to lose his faith on writing skills.
He has his side on most of the situations but getting involved always depends on the gain, so we can call him pragmatist. He also loves animals, mostly the cats, hedgehogs and turtles. But anything baby will do the job.
He also has smoking addiction and he knows the best tobaccos. He won't drink alcohol too much.
*****(If I need to write more, just tell me)*****
Character background: Born and raised in Turkey, a country which is witnessing many terror attacks and violance, a land where violance is normal and appreciated. He had to learn how to defend himself, how to fight, how to fight dirty. Truly dirty, which will involve every kind of items and cheats to stay on ground.
However, he was really smiling person once, until his 12. He was always interested in books and fiction, but after age of 12, he witnessed many family problems such as alchololic parents, violance at home etc. It drained every single energy inside him, and turned Altai in a stone golem.
He tried to enjoy in different ways, he got good at billards, dart and knife throwing, riding horse... But he was always bat at music. Can't sing unless he practice for months, also can't play any insturment. His drawing skills... Well, no. Just don't make him draw something.
He got in jobs at summers and learned the true life, how hard it could be. He learned people, he learned how people live and always been jealous about it. That's where he get his scars on the finger, a fight which involved glasses, knives, clubs and etc.
He got in law school but dropped it after 3rd year, then he was drafted to Military(service by requirement law), served about 12 months in Mechanised Corps. Learned how to choke someone instantly while trained to operate assault rifles and armored vehichles. He was involved in military operations against terrorist groups few times. An experience for him, another waste of year, another waste of time that he could spend better.
He spent his whole life learning things, reading stuff and watching films/TV Shows. He learned tons of unuseful stuff like Sherlock Holmes did.
Then he finished his Novel, it got published in Turkey and it made him some money, it was his turn in life. He believed it, many said that the book will be translated into English later. For that, he went to Canada so he could contact with the authors and universities, it was time to make his life great again.
Then the outbreak hits, and everything fells into darkness again.
Equipment: Packs of cigarettes and lighters, including one smooth black zippo. One black jeans, one green camo pants(cargo), black laether jacket, some normal jackets(I mean like hoodies but without hoodie. Don't know this in English). He wears fingerless gloves and military grade black boots all the time. He still has his military jackets and uniform. Enough with clothing.
Black backpack. This dude is a little gothic, probably being teen because he never could be one. :D :D :D Just kidding.
Angel of Death necklace, jagermeister canteen(full leather jacket baby), flashlight, and another regular life items such as razor blades and etc. Also painkillers. He is trying to be addicted to painkillers but failed to do that.
Weapons:
Pocket knife
Switchblade
If possible, a 9mm pistol which he obtained illegally. Some clips and ammo for it, and gun holster which he place under his armpit.
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)**
*Agreed* |
47,458 | 1,288 | 22 | 423 | 581 | Elizabeth Smith
August 29th, 2018 - I dunno what to write here now...
05:45 | The Smith Household
Current Weather: 23°C and overcast, scattered showers.
Right, left, right, right, left, right, left, left…. The two wooden drumsticks bounced off of Lizzy’s legs gently as she made an attempt to entertain herself. Her mother had insisted to wait until morning before leaving and while she was most certainly bored out of her mind, Lizzy was glad they were choosing to wait. Impatience was certainly not a good excuse for getting yourself killed.
She looked up quickly as the faint sound of gunshots echoed through the silent streets. “Mom...we should go...they could be coming this way…” she whispered, glancing over to the window. Her curiosity almost screamed at her to look, but she resisted temptation and remained still.
Tick, tock. The clocks monotonous ticking seemed deafening in the utter silence of the Smith residence. She was getting restless, how long was it going to be until they left? An hour? Three? Or would they die the moment they stepped foot outside? Lizzy’s mind went through every possible worst case scenario, every possible way they could die. She couldn’t take the silence anymore. A few moments later, she put her earbuds in and drowned out the nothingness with a bit of Rage Against the Machine, drumming along with the main riff of Killing in the Name on her legs.
She didn’t care that her mother may have been trying to talk to her. She didn’t care that the gunshots may have been getting closer.
She needed to escape. | Name: Elizabeth Catherine Smith
Nickname: Lizzy
Age / Birthday: 17 / July 10th
Gender: Female
Nationality: Canadian
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality:
Just like her mother, Lizzy is a fairly determined individual. However, she is also rather stubborn and this has lead to interesting encounters between her and her mother. She is above par in school having an average of around 80 in school-- the effect of her mother’s constant reminders to do homework.
Lizzy has grown close to the nanny her mother had hired and often calls her “Mom” by accident. She has a touchy relationship with her mother and their time together has been severely limited by her occupation. Lizzy often makes their dinner and it’s rare that a goodnight hug is ever present.
Character background:
Elizabeth was born not knowing who her father was. Her mother rarely ever talked about him, and she didn’t care to ask. She was raised in a household where she was pushed to work hard in school and help with chores. She always tried to help out where she could to help her single, yet hard working mother. Lizzy was always good at reading emotions and the only thing she ever saw her mother as was stressed out.
In public school she excelled, hitting the top of her classes in grades one through six. She ended up skipping grade seven because of her flawless study skills and amazing memory, much to her mother’s pleasure. However, that was where the good parts of school ended for her. Grade eight was a nightmare. A constant stream of bullying and mockery at the middle school she was sent to left her crying herself to sleep on multiple occasions, often without the comfort of her mother’s arms.
There was hope to be found however. Her grade nine year at school was made better by tenfold by her participation in the school band as a percussionist, as well as her involvement in various activist groups run by the school board. Lizzy learned the drums very quickly and eventually pushed her mother to buy a drumset for her. This was quickly regretted by her mother as Lizzy’s bedroom walls were hardly soundproof, and on more than one occasion has her mother had to come in and tell her to stop.
High school was a breeze after that. There was the occasional fallout with a friend, or a stressful assignment that overwhelmed her, but it was otherwise a good time. Currently, she is about to start her Grade 12 year at school.
Equipment:
Backpack: Small sling tactical backpack
Supplies: Metal 20oz water bottle and a few granola bars.
Medical Supplies: A few bandaids, alcohol wipes and a roll of 2” gauze.
Miscellaneous Items: Google Nexus 5x with earbuds, drumsticks, wallet, soft shell jacket clipped to her bag, extra socks and a lighter.
Hiking boots
Weapons:
A small flip knife
A lightweight hatchet
**I’m the GM, I don’t have to agree to this!** |
47,459 | 1,288 | 23 | 2,705 | 9 | Xalo & SadieA wonder collaboration between and myself. Enjoy!
Outskirts of Toronto, Canada
August 29th, 2018 - 20:13 EST
"I-I’m -- I’m so sorry... I -- I-I tried to save her, I did! I tried - and it’s... It’s all my fault." -Francis
It had been several punishing minutes since Francis had taken the final, finishing round to Rebecca’s crown to prevent their undead afterlife from burdening the world - and his conscious. He had taken to riding down the fire escape with his duffel bags slung over each shoulder; his emotions were arised, his common sense blinded... He had to leave, he had to escape that blasphemous building, run for the outskirts of town to have somewhere quiet and natural to mourn. He had went on a slow, militaristic jog down the empty alleyways, avoiding the majority of the infected and ending the two he came into contact with via his knife embedding into their skulls.
After a solid half hour of powering through sleep-deprived, heavyweight-carrying, physically exhausting run, he finally collapses in a nearby plain field to gather what breath he could from the workout. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stand, couldn’t talk - not even enough to think about what had just happened... “Are- Are you Will?” A voice hesitantly rising from a voice unknown to Will... “Wi-....” He wheezed out from his coarse voice, having vigorously strained himself by carrying nearly his wait in ammunition and equipment. It was foolish of him to drain himself of his vitality by such a need to flee from the scene, forcing him to take a pair of minutes to gather the energy to even coherently speak; “Y... y-yeah. H-how did you...?” He tried to lean up his head to see the woman in question, but the weight of his fatigue outweighted his interest; the back of his cranium meeting with the rain-softened soil and caking with a thin puddle of mud. The droplets pitter-pattering on his face from the abyssal black night’s sky, teasing him with the movement he’d want - but couldn’t retrieve from his body. He laid there, temporarily helpless and left to listen to the woman in question.
Hearing the man’s voice, she cringed and slowly took another step towards him. She wasn’t blind; she could see all of his equipment that he had on hand. If this wasn’t the person she was looking for….she definitely did not want to irritate him more than needed. Chelle took a moment to look him over before his voice cut through her thoughts, confirming what she had previously questioned. She couldn’t describe the feeling that overcame her, knowing this man was another part of her sister. One who she never in this lifetime would think that she’d ever get to meet. As he succumbed to his fatigue, she quickly hurried over and dropped to her knees next to his head. She scrunched her nose slightly at his demeanor before carefully propping up his head to lay it back onto her lap. Looking down into his face, she took a shaky breath before the words started pouring from her mouth. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe I found you. What are you doing in Canada? You came at a really horrible time, you know.”
“Was here t-.. T-to visit her...” Francis muttered as the droplets upon his face collected and gathered; two streams gliding down from the sides of his sockets to spill onto her lap, tears hidden amongst downpour. The more he began to recognize the familiar woman that cradled his head, the more he began to face the reality of the moment; Rebecca was gone from his life, and there was nothing more he could do for her. The guilt and shame made itself overt upon every wrinkle and inch of his face, unable to be withdrawn as he had no safe retreat for his mind to be occupied by. Silently sobbing at the lost that not only he had felt, but Rachelle as well. He hiccuped now and again, a habitual mannerism that struck whenever he found himself trying to find reprieve from his body’s demand to mourn and tear. His eyes traversed to Rachelle’s face, beckoning an answer through a quivered breath; “W-who... w-who are you?”
The rain was pelting at the back of her neck as she continued to look down into the face of the man her sister had loved. She could feel the chill sinking into her back and hair as everything quickly grew more damp. Sniffling, she looked around at their surroundings. Nothing except a clear meadow. They needed shelter from the rain, from the infected...There had to be somewhere they could go. Chelle squinted her eyes to try to take in everything better. She could barely make out buildings a couple miles from them. They had to make it there. When the man shook, it brought her attention back to him. He looked so incredibly sad. Did he know? How did he know what happened? Rebecca had only just been killed. He couldn’t know. But- Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. She first saw him at the apartment. He knew. He most definitely knew about her sister. Tears filled her eyes once more as she searched his face, a sob racking her in her chest. “I’m Rachelle...Rebecca, she...She’s…”
Francis’ ocean-colured eyes widened as the revelation clicked in his mind. Who was this woman? How could she possibly have known who he was? Who Rebecca was? Her face seemed so familiar, as did her name - and that’s when it dawned on him who she truly was. The pained expression he wore heavily stuck on him to a point where nothing could further express his sorrow, other than the tears that now made themselves clear as her head shielded his from the droplets. His eyes averted to the side, trying to avoid her gaze that would overwhelm the dam; he couldn’t handle any more of the disappointment in himself, much less the mind in tact to handle Rebecca’s own blood mourning the loss with him. His face turned to nuzzle weakly and pathetically into her lap, admitting his self-loathing as he begged; “I-I’m -- I’m so sorry... I -- I-I tried to save her, I did! I tried - and it’s... It’s all my fault.” He couldn’t begin to understand the pain that Rechelle was suffering; this was just a girlfriend, but to her? This meant something significantly stronger. This was her sister, her family, her blood. How could he hope to think that she’d forgive him for his inability to save her. The anxiety, the fear, the self-hatred all piling in.
The pain this man was feeling was evident. She couldn’t remember the last time she had witnessed a man crying from complete despair- yet, here it was. He must have really cared for her sister. Her beautiful, loving, carefree sister. Thinking of her only brought on another flood of pain and sorrow. Why did it have to be her sister? Rebecca was the good one. She was the one with her head on her shoulders. Chelle was an idiot; she threw her life into some silly dream that seemed so miniscule now. Why couldn’t it have been her? She couldn’t afford to turn into a blubbering mess with this stranger. Yes, she knew a few details that Becca had shared with her, but he was still mostly a mystery to her. And yet she couldn’t help but to react to his pain. As he turned his head towards her lap, she sniffled and gently ran her fingertips over his jaw to comfort him. His words created suspicion, however. He tried to save her? What was his fault? She tried to remember back to when her sister had been bitten. A gunshot rang in her head. It was him. He was the one who shot her sister, her mentor, her role model, in the skull. Sucking in a quick breath, she quickly wanted to hate this man. Her brows furrowed and she shook her head violently, shaking some of the raindrops from her hair. “No...No...You killed her...You killed her! You killed her…” Her anger quickly gave way to more sobs as she hung her head, her entire body shaking.
The ire that drew from Rechelle only fueled the ire he held for himself; he knew no matter the explanation, no grave the matter, it fell onto his lackluster combat reflexes that ended in her sister’s death. He had no excuse, no moral rebound to defend himself. All he could do was suffer the guilt of his consequences and give in to shameful admittance; “S-she was bitten, I -- didn’t want her to suffer...” He gritted his teeth, begging any god there was to alleviate him from this world, this terrible fate that he put onto himself and his lover’s sister. How could he endure this? The whole reason he was here, the whole reason he left Ireland to visit, the whole reason he even bothered to break into the Outdoor Store for protection - to find her. And with that failed, he had nothing left that to accept his fate. “I -- d-didn’t want to become o-one of them.. S-she deserved better..”
Taking several breaths to calm herself, she continued to shake her head as she looked away from him. It wasn’t in her to pull away from him- Becca wouldn’t want that from her. She’d want to still help him, no matter what he had done to her. “I could have helped...Could have gotten to a doctor...I should have been able to find a doctor. Why aren’t there any people to fix this?!” In her heart, deep within her heart and mind, she knew he had done the right thing. He had shown her mercy instead of allowing her to suffer a fate worse than death. It still hurt, nonetheless. Who in their right mind could put a gun to their loved one’s head and pull the trigger? She looked back down into his face and she witnessed his torment. Her face scrunched as she forced back another tremble. He must have really loved her, to be able to do that for her. As he continued to speak, she shushed him and nodded, her fingertips once more trailing along his jaw and cheeks. “It’s o-okay...It’s okay. You did the right thing.”
The drowning man sinking in the ocean of sorrow took hold of her suggestions, silencing himself upon the request of her shushing. The drag of her finger along his jaw and cheeks soothing his racing heart to a gradual stead; it worked, and rather well at that. Every little sensation, every little tingle he could receive to quell the burden was more than appreciated to be received; her words bringing him the life ring he needed to stay afloat for just the moment. Again - unable to begin to comprehend how she’d cope with him of all people in this world. “T-thank you..” His tears came to a halt, finding himself more restful by the moment; he forgot about the world around them, the infection, the horror. His mind drew to a blank, opening itself to his senses more than his thought. He took any relief he could, in any form. In a calm, hoarse voice he’d speak on; “T-there’s a -- tent in my backpack. I-it can fit two, if w-we share. I -- can’t go much further, I’m sorry.”
Bringing her head up to look at the night sky, her face and eyes were stung by the continuous downpour. They couldn’t stay here- it was in the middle of nowhere. Their tent would be easily spotted by anyone who came near them. Chelle looked back down into his face and knew he was speaking the truth- he wouldn’t be able to make it to the next building. The longer they stayed in the rain, the longer the both of them would be susceptible of catching an illness. Nobody could afford to get sick at a time like this. With a quick nod, she eased his head down to the ground before moving to his pack. She quickly opened it and pulled out the tent before going about setting it up. It was a bit difficult to secure it in the wet dirt, but she had gone camping several times with her father to know her way around the spikes. The work was done in no time and she turned back to him. “Do you need help getting in?”
“N-no, I can -- do that much. T-thanks..” He grunted as he’d lift his shoulders with the duffel bags still resting upon the muddy ground; they were waterproof thanks to having practically robbed the outdoor store of its best survival equipment that he could manage to take. The coffin tent held enough room for the two to hold, though having to unfortunately share the same roomy sleeping bag; he did the best he could to remove the his outside articles to prevent the inside bag from becoming covered in mud and muck. Thankfully still adorning a tank-top and briefs to prevent any further awkwardness than he was already forced into. “S-sorry, I’ll try to -- give you as much room as you need.” The words leaving in a submissive, nearly broken tone, as he’d scoot as much as his ensemble allowed him to the edge of the tent’s tarp and faced away from her. He truly meant it, not wanted to make it any more unbearable than the situation had permitted; to be half-naked, sharing the tent with his deceased girlfriend’s sister? How much more of his pride and honour could be left after everything done tonight?
She watched as he slowly brought his body closer to the tent, then turned away when he started to shed clothing. Taking in a sharp breath, she looked down at her own mud-covered, soaked clothing and knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in them. Rachelle wasn’t a prude by any means, nor was she any kind of harlot. This was Rebecca’s boyfriend, for crying out loud. Yet it needed to be done. She needed to get warm, and the only way to do that would be to shed her outer clothing. Quickly ridding herself of the soaked t-shirt and denim jean, she was left in modest, black undergarments. At least they matched, she thought to herself. Her thoughts gave way to shivers as she quickly made her way under the sleeping bag. As she laid there, her body continuing to tremble, she glanced over at him. She could feel the body heat radiating off of him. Biting back a whimper, she grit her teeth to talk through her chill. “W-we need to be n-near each o-other. We n-need the w-warmth from our b-bodies.”
“I -- a-alright..” Without question, he obeyed Rachelle’s word to the letter and begun to turn around as he could. Scooting on his side closer to meet her in the middle of the sleeping back to weakly embrace her against her figure; the body radiating from his body was rather abundant, seeming to be not as affected from the weather from his weather-treated clothing. He remained silent, only exhaling a bloom of visible hot breath from his nostrils now and again. His hips were backed away from hers, not taking any chance of discomforting Rachelle by having such a part of their bodies meet; the last thing he needed to do was give any thought that he’d ever have lascivious incentive - now of all times. The faithful man kept true to his borderline sainthood innocence, closing his eyes after a few moments - and obeying any other suggestions that she would give.
As he neared her, she could feel the hesitation come from his body. The thought almost tugged a small grin at the corner of her lips. Even in her sister’s death, this man was loyal to her. It made Rachelle respect him immensely- if she had known nothing else about him, it would be enough to make it known that he was a good man. The heat from his body soon collided with hers and the shivers began to die down. Her eyelids drooped to a close as sleep overwhelmed her body and mind. Reaching out, she lightly placed her fingertips and the palms of her hands against his chest. She leaned her forehead close to his before allowing her body to give way to slumber.
“S-sorry....” The submissive, subservient husk of a man muttered as he’d lay there, silent and otherwise immobile to mitigate the moment; he was far too deep into the realm of regret and restlessness to bother moving, even if he had wanted to. Once his body took to rest, it would remain there. The only comfort he could find was within the warmth build between both their bodies, and the remembrance of the sensation of her finger that dragged along his cheek and jawline; it was a pathetic and silly memory to hold dearly to, but any comforting thought was enough - enough for now. | Name: William Francis Lyons
Nickname: Will, Francis
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Nationality: Irish
Appearance:
In-Depth Personality: William is your average as-expected man, with a love for exercise from boxing, unloading a few rounds at the shooting range, to crashing back at his home with his golden retriever Heidi. Due to his active and social lifestyle, he's a fairly in-shape and well-prepared man in terms of how to physically handle himself. Though he lacks any advanced knowledge on anything beyond basic first aid, any moderate understanding of sciences, or the patience to comprehend it; in a mad world, he doesn't have time for a college lesson or to bother humoring one. He's also never had to take a life, whether zombie or otherwise; seldom watching TV or having time for the movies between work and his extracurricular activities have left him the odd man out from most social media. When he will have to kill, it will remain with him as a horrid reminder of the new world, and he may even hesitate when met with children or infants to which are infected.
Character background: William Lyons was raised in Armagh, Ireland with a pair of loving middle-class parents, Alexandra and Thomas Lyons. A rather quiet but hands-on child, he grew to excel at physical activities whilst keeping his grades at an above average constant for the majority of his schooling. As a teenager, he was as mild as could be, unleashing any frustration he had upon the punching bag and relaxation at home with Heidi; his life only met diversity when he grew into his late teens and moved to his own nearby apartment upon Station Rd.
Working full time as a teacher and coach for the local Epicentre Youth Group, he'd spend the good majority of his days helping children come to quelling their quarrels with their guarding and allowing them to ventilate any pent-up emotions they had in a safe environment or through acceptable means - such as punching pillows, counting to ten, jogging, ec cetra ad infinitum. For a few years, he kept up his life to aid youths through their troubles until he met some trouble of his own. Once night whilst at the local pub, he met a woman who would tug at his heartstrings more than any other; her name was Rebecca Lavoie, the woman who seemed so mellow and relaxed on the surface, only to entice young William with hints of lascivious grandeur and more, should they decide to know greater of each other after a few drinks and an exchange of numbers. Their relationship took off - yet she soon had to find herself returning back home to Toronto due to a soon-to-be expired visa keeping her time short.
A year or so passed, with the two remaining in contact by basic social media - with William still quite new to it all, leaving him to be rather scatterbrained with anything new added onto his phone. Deciding that he had finally enough money saved to feel comfortable with a vacation, he had taken his flight for Toronto from Dublin and expected to see his lover once again. Unfortunately, this is when the local pandemic spread... William was staying at one of the local hotels before forced quarantines were established for all recipients of the building; one by one, they were led like cattle by what informal military personel could be afforded to handle the job before one of the infected residents had already turned on one of the higher floors and taken a few lives in their wake. While the military was busy fighting off the minor horde upon upper floors, William took the chance to escape from the chaos and leave the building as soon as he could; the streets were far less better off with cars piling into bumper-to-bumper traffic. Escaping by what street smarts he had by prowling about to his utmost extent, he snuck for one of the local closed gun stores to rob for a light yet simple firearm before sneaking out for shelter. He found himself to the bunker, taking the chance to seek refuge when he could.
Equipment:
• 10 MREs
• 20 Water Bottles
• Bedroll
• Dark-Green Coffin Tent
• Leather Wallet (ID/LTC/$75)
• Verizon Edge 7 Phone
• Weatherproof Boots, beige pants, dark-green waterproof hunting jacket and wool cap.
• Hunting Backpack
• Two Duffelbags
Weapons:
• SIG Sauer M400 Enhanced (10 STANAG Magines of 20 round capacity)
- 5 120-round boxes (559 rounds)
• H&K 45 (3 Magazines of 12 round capacity)
- 8 50-round boxes (376 rounds)
• Black Label Tomohawk
• Benchmade Fixed Black Knife
**By putting this CS up in the OOC for approval, you have read all of the rules and have agreed to have fun. Welcome to the RP, my friend :)** |
47,460 | 1,288 | 24 | 1,863 | 730 | Meanwhile...
The warehouse was dark, the power having been severed months before. It was cold, as was the water around the island. Ice floated up on the beach sometimes this time of year. The nearby town had closed up some six similar buildings in the past ten months, having discovered drug shipments hidden among the legitimate merchandise.
The investigation first hit the shipping company. Then, the warehouse workers. Then, the foreman. Eventually, the police had run such a ragged circle that the case was dropped and the buildings shut down.
A man in a dark brown leather jacket and jeans entered. A big red plastic keyfob swings from his jacket pocket, likely keys to a boat. He was a white man, foreign to this area. His hair was long, unkempt, as was his beard. He held in his hands a rifle of the M16 class. On his back was a large hiker's backpack, apparently packed to the seams. His eyes flitted back and forth. A nervous sweat formed on his forehead. A click echoed through the building as he hit the safety and raised his weapon.
CLANG!
Something in the darkness! Footsteps!
CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK!
In the gunfire he can see it. It looks like a person.
"RAAAAUGH!" CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK!
Shell casings flew. One hit his cheek. It burned. He didn't flinch.
CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKclick- click
"RAAAUGH!" It still charged. He responded,
"DIE!" and slung a savage kick forward into the dark, seemingly using the weight of his bag for extra momentum.
CRUNCH.
He screamed, and it gasped at him, still trying to roar. Its fingers wiggled feebly. His foot had gone right through its rotting chest, severing its spine. He raised his weapon, stock down, and dropped it onto his crippled assailant's head over and over and over.
Finally, the skull broke, and the jaw stopped moving. He pulled his leg out with a sickening sucking sound, and fought down vomit.
He managed to cough out three words: "They're here, too?" | Name:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier
Nickname:
"The Ferrier" (High School) "Joseph Finder" (Current)
Age:
35 years old
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
American born and bred
Appearance:
5'9", 160 (app.) lbs., military-style buzzcut, unkempt 5 o' clock shadow, white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket, dark jeans, dark brown combat boots over khaki socks. Caucasian, athletic build, former police officer, wears his gun in an over-the-shoulder holster, brown leather. Carries a second firearm in a black nylon ankle holster. Wears polypropylene kneeplates and shinguards under his jeans while on duty.
In-Depth Personality:
He is not a social person, despite how much he has been forced to fraternize. He is inquisitive, taking things apart, and studying passerby to learn about the workings of the world. He is a talented investigator. He has had trouble in the past with painkiller addiction, due to his subconscious need to "mimic the mind" of various perpetrators and victims in relation to his cases.
Character background:
Joseph Gaius Ferrier was born in Newport News, Virginia, United States, to an FBI agent mother and local Sherriff father. He lived his early life adhered strictly to a code of rules and regulations, and did little to stray from it. He showed a proficiency for baseball, though he had not the interest. What Joe really wanted to do was follow in his mother's footsteps. She came home every day with a briefcase, full to bursting with images of violent crimes and mugshots and police reports. His father, as he saw it, did little more than watch the city destroy itself.
During high school, Joseph started to stray, getting involved with a local gang. In a drug deal gone wrong, he was shot in the leg. He was sixteen. His knee still aches to this day, when signaling rain or snow. The bullet wound healed slowly, and Joseph was bedridden for the better part of eight months while his leg pieced itself back together with the aid of silicone and titanium, the bullet having shattered his kneecap. His delinquent friends visited him often, to the point where he suggested that they use his hospital room for drug deals. His parents worked often during this period, as a serial killer, having claimed the lives of two couples and six individuals with a pickaxe, was quite active in the town. He retained a strong hereditary sense of justice, and once paid to have a man shot, the individual in question was accused of assaulting one of Joseph's couriers. Joseph became known on the street as "The Ferrier", as in "One who operates a ferry", as he was the one individual through whom one was able to acquire cocaine, methamphetamine, heroin, cannabis, and prescription painkillers, and deliver them safely and reliably, as guns were unable to brought into the hospital due to the metal detectors at the door, and a constant security presence prevented people from getting out of hand. He paid his three regular nurses to ignore it. Joe enjoyed this for quite some time, amassing profits he'd never dreamed of. But, he was healing fast, on the "up and out" as they say.
When he was discharged, seventeen years old, he was at a crossroads. He'd lost his safe haven for trade, but found that he no longer felt the same enjoyment from the money. He wanted to do something, as teens often do. Despite his new lease on life, he passed his High School finals as the definition of average, and applied immediately to the FBI Academy in Quantico. He was notified that he needed a degree to qualify, and opted instead, for Langley's Police Academy, scoring high marks in Logic and Deductive Reasoning, low ones in Public Relations. He was twenty years old.
He served for four years as a beat cop in Newport News, before an argument with his father prompted him to leave his hometown in search of a career elsewhere. He found a job listing in Detroit, and found a place on the streets. After witnessing a murder of an unarmed civilian by one of his coworkers, and watching as Detroit PD ignored it, and protected the killer, he checked back through the department's record, revealing a long line of corruption. He fought for two years to have the cases reopened, but to no avail. Gradually, after receiving no help from DPD and IAF, he denounced federal policing altogether, and left the country after publicizing the information. At the time of leaving, he was twenty-nine.
He used his life savings to lease a building in Vancouver, Canada, hanging up a sign that read simply "Joseph G. Ferrier, Private Detective", and has used the rest of his life solving discount homicides, overindulging, and being a mean old bastard. At this point in his life, he finds himself in a six-year rut, temper growing shorter and shorter, bottles becoming emptier, baggies lighter. He finds it more and more difficult each day to keep his finger off the trigger, and his hand off his baton. His badge is no longer a shield in his mind, but a war banner. He is thirty-five years old.
Equipment:
- 5 oz. Stainless steel flask (Jim Beam, Devil's Cut)
- 5" Maglite, x2 AA batteries
- Detective Shield
-Polypropylene Kneeplates & shinguards
- Swiss Army Knife multitool, 4" blade, 13 tools total
Weapons:
-.45 Calibre Beretta M92fs, rechambered from 9mm (primary)
- 36" ASP Airweight titanium extending police baton
- Smith & Wesson .38 Calibre Detective Special (secondary)
- Cold Steel Kobun tanto-tip high-carbon stainless steel knife, kydex sheath |
47,461 | 1,289 | 0 | 394 | 793 | It was late noon, and the day’s sky had finally begun to darkle.
Precious hours robbed from twilight had made this the lengthiest day of spring yet, and those that followed would grow steadily longer still.
In times immemorial, man had waged war on the sun for such conspiracy: But Luxus had never seemed so powerful as he did now, reinforced by his scions, the false prophets of day.
The Dawn Star was sitting proudly upon the distant sierras, cresting the hoary peaks of the horizon, when the first of Noctua Company arrived.
Their orders had been clear: They were to make their way to the Darkling Domains, a land where the daylight skies were deep and purple, and the outsiders were regarded as eldritch.
Their goal was the small valley town of Vuoto, where they were to rendezvous at an unsuspecting café in the plaza and discuss their first venture together… a journey for knowledge, deep into The Nocturne.
Corvus Tenesilia found the café quite quaint, in its own way: The Dappled Haunt was, after all, very telling of Darkling architecture in general, a prison which had been vacated and remodelled following the installation of the Darkling Domain’s current, democratic government.
Once, political prisoners had been tortured here: now they made the best tea in Vuoto and served scones that were only a little stale.
It was made mostly from large slabs of grey stone and slate, but wooden beams supported much of the structure, all of which was standard for the kingdom.
He’d been seated at a table beneath a wooden gazebo out front, on which was a plaque which read “reserved.”
Corvus cocked his head as he read it. The Aurora Empire was most likely the most materially wealthy of all the kingdoms, so why was it they’d been given such a simple meeting space?
He placed two fingers to his temple, “What do you think, Li? A little cheap, isn’t it?”, his eyes darted to the shadow he threw across the table, having turned his back to the sun.
It was motionless, and deep like ink.
“You’re right,” Corvus nodded, “I suppose one doesn’t get rich without frugality, do they?”
A moment’s quiet.
“And it is a lovely café, I agree. Then again, we've always felt more at home in the Darkling Domains, haven’t we?”, he chuckled softly.
Then he lapsed into silence, and craned his head skywards.
His hair moved uncomfortably at the gesture, but he didn't seem to pay it much mind.
The sky was pregnant with a darkening boysenberry, and the first of its fledgling stars were beginning to twinkle distantly through the hastening eventide.
“I wonder what sort of people would want to block out the night, Li,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself, “I can’t imagine a world without those first dozen stars. Maybe I’m just a romantic.”
He met eyes with his unwavering shade.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” | Arcanist’s Name: Corvus Tenesilia
Arcanist’s Title: The Vagabond Prince
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Arcanist’s Magus: Umbramancy.
Description of Magus: Corvus' umbramancy allows him to manipulate tangible shadows. During the day this only manifests through his own shadow, but when night falls he can draw upon the shadows of other solid objects.
Amplifier: The phases of the moon. Corvus grows stronger at night, but only fractionally so. His umbramancy grows more powerful throughout the month, starting at the young moon and getting steadily more effective until it peaks at the new moon, and then resets once it's passed. In the event of a lunar eclipse, Corvus can function at full power for a few minutes during the day.
Nuller: Daylight. During the day, regardless of how vivid another shadow might be, Corvus can only manipulate his own.
Description of appearance: Standing at 5'11, Corvus is a narrow shouldered, svelte figure, with light olive skin and faintly freckled features. His hair is long and shaggy, and a shade of charcoal which borders on black. It moves almost imperceptibly, as though it were alive but trying to remain subtle. His eyes are honey brown.
Although he wears a light, boiled-leather suit- a must have when one visits The Nocturne- he wraps himself consistently in a long green cloak, joined together by a broach depicting the crescent moon. On the cloak's back, in silver, is the image of a lone oak tree.
A short biography: Corvus was born and raised in the small coastal village of Pittoresco, a quaint settlement on the very outskirts of The Crepuscular Kingdoms, into a long lineage of respected middle-classmen, distilled from generations of Auroramancers and Opacamancers.
The village was largely rural, and as such most of the children there grew up as fishermen and sailors, molded by the shimmering purple sea that flanked them. And, frankly, Corvus thought that seemed like a fun upbringing. He, like every child of The Crepuscular Kingdoms, dreamed of such things: To take to the sea, perhaps not as a fisherman, but as an explorer!
But such things, his mother told him, were not meant for the 'better half' of society. He would be an Arcanist like every Tenesilia before him. And, with his lineage, he would hopefully become a prodigious Luxomancer, too...
... well, she got her wish. And the attention of every gossip in Pittoresco, too.
Because as it happened, he did become a competent Luxomancer: But he was neither an opacamancer, nor an auroramancer.
He was an umbramancer, instead. And whilst there's no evidence that genetics have any real influence on what magus you develop, this was still enough for his mother to sobbingly reveal to the family that he, Corvus Tenesilia, was a bastard child. Born of adultery between herself and a noble of The Darkling Domain.
"His hair shifts, don't you see? Like a demon of The Nocturne's! So did his! So did his fathers!"
Disgraced, and having nearly torn apart the family indirectly, Corvus was packed up and sent out into Luxa alone at fifteen, with only his shadow to keep him company. But somehow, that sufficed: For, he reckons, it spoke to him. It joked with him, and grew with him.
They headed South, to The Darkling Domains, in search of the only salvation Corvus had: His alleged father, Hatrem Quies.
He walked across Luxa day and night (in fact he found the nights easier) with only that name and his seemingly noble status to guide him. And eventually, he succeeded, finding the Quies familial manner in the town of Somre, in valley somewhere between the night and the gloam.
But his father did not seem so keen to accept him.
In truth, Corvus may have been a bastard son, but he was also Hatrem's only son, and thus heir to his fortunes. But the two shared barely anything: Hatrem was an esteemed soldier and vessel umbramancer, which is likely why he and Corvus boasted hair which moved, and writhed. And yet, he did not send Corvus away empty handed.
"The world is at chaos, child. Heed the call of The Aurora Empire, and deliver it into peace again. Then, then you will be my heir."
And with that, Corvus departed for the Eastern territories, and took with him a title, given to him by the Darklings of Somre: The boy who would be rich, if he completed this dangerous task and walked the world to do it. Corvus Tenesilia, The Vagabond Prince.
Text Colour: I quite like this one!
Other bits and pieces: Corvus seems to think his shadow is alive, or at the very least speaks to it like it is. He calls it Li. |
47,462 | 1,289 | 1 | 1,039 | 22 | Neat.
The Darkling Domains gave Lumos a chill on his back. Eerie, and mysterious. Architecturally-wise, he liked the place. It differed completely from the extravagant and majestic buildings of the land he had known as a child. In comparison, it was utterly simplistic. But then again, it was something new.
He had never been there, and as far as he knew, neither had his father. Even though his profession meant a lot of traveling, he couldn't recall any stories about this unknown land, so he didn't know what to expect.
Although he fell in love with the architecture, he couldn't say the same about the region itself. It still was relatively early, but he could see the sky darkening already. And the fact that a dozen pair of eyes were looking at him as if he were some kind of strange specimen didn't help much either. He was a nervous, even shaking. He didn't blend in within the crowd, and this made him feel uncomfortable.
This isn't home for sure, he said to himself, as he saw the small café in which he would see his partners for the first time. It was cozy, the kind of establishment he enjoyed. It was in places like this where he had made his most close friends, where you could have some of the best discussions with some of the greatest minds he had encountered. Real, honest conversations with real, honest people.
When he saw the reserved spot already occupied by someone, he grinned. Great, now I don't have to wait!, but then realized, he had no idea of how was he supposed to approach him. He suddenly got nervous again, and started to walk a bit slower. By the time he got to the table, he sat carefully and, after awkwardly staring at the man in front of him for a few seconds, he finally said:
"Um... h-hello..." | My Archanist
Arcanist’s Name: Lumos Fawcett
Arcanist’s Title: The Optomancer
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Arcanist’s Magus: Luxomancy. More specifically, he's an Auroramancer
Description of Magus: He has the ability to bend environmental light, thus being able to create illusory effects. However, his lack of interest in the field of illusion makes this a weak skill. On the other hand, Lumos is a gifted physicist, and has learned how to use lenses to focus the light he controls, for different purposes. After many years of studying light and its behavior, he discovered that, theoretically, light can be transformed into usable energy, and therefore able to power mechanisms, although this is nothing more than a concept. He believes that, with the right technology, this discovery might be revolutionary.
Amplifier: The use of lenses and other mechanisms for different purposes helps him focus the energy his power provides.
Nuller: Without his lenses, and thanks to his lack of interest in other possible uses of his ability, his light-bending becomes nothing but a circus act.
Description of appearance: Lumos is a tall, Caucasian male. He's not particularly attractive, he has a wide nose, greenish brown eyes, short, dark hair and a few moles here and there. He's of thin complexion, but not necessarily a weakling. He's known to wear humble clothing. A threadbare white shirt, brown pants, and a pair of boots.
A short biography: Let's start with the beginning. His father is a renowned artisan, a Glassblower, from the Aurora Empire, and his mother, a Luxian Scholar. They met in one of the countless trade journeys of his father. They fell in love, and had a child. Both decided to live in Aurora, in order to avoid the hubbub of the Luxus Empire, but, eventually, she grew bored, and left both Lumos and his father to return to her native land. Lumos grew in Aurora, motherless, and learned the crafts of glassblowing. But soon enough, his mother's innate curiosity kicked in, and he started making questions about his mother's whereabouts. Being fifteen, he left his home in search of her, with his father's blessing and best wishes, of course.
He traveled, and learned about the land he crossed, the people he met and their cultures.
One day, he arrived to an inn, looking for a bed to spend the night. He found more than that. To his massive luck, his mother was there, discussing with other fellow scholars (and one or two bypassing drunks) when she immediately recognized Lumos' father's face in that young man's. She took him under her care, and taught him well. He soon earned his place within the scholar community.
Text Colour: This one seems pretty neat
Other bits and pieces: He has a puppy named Snuggles. |
47,463 | 1,289 | 2 | 747 | 615 | The sun burned almost too bright high above the streets of Vuoto – something that had become increasingly normal for the small town, yet within the regions of the Darkling Domains it was a change that was too drastic for the inhabitants not to notice. It was a change that had touched everyone from the richest merchants to the lowest beggars on the street – even what appeared to be a teenage boy, begging for food on the street had felt the impact of the sudden change.
Scarlet felt the stress on her body from not having had any substance for nearly two days: she felt weak and tired – her muscles ached as she slowly made her way through the streets of Vuoto, hoping that she could find something to eat, either through a kind stranger or, if she had to; steal a loaf of bread.
She hadn’t stayed at this particular town for long – in fact it was only her third day as a citizen of this strange town. She had been on the road for many years now, never stayed in one place more than a few weeks and through her travels she had somehow made her way into the Darkling Domains. She had mostly survived since her escape from the facility by stealing and begging on the streets, though as the social environments had slowly changed with the changes in daylight, so had the kindness of the inhabitants of the realms: She had found herself forced to steal more often, and through the hardships of life she had become rather good at it after having discovered the benefits of her different skills – mainly that of her physical appearance and lightness of her body that made her easily blend in with the environment and stay unnoticed for most parts, though her remarkably red hair had caused her a few problems over the years.
This walk down her stream of memories had drawn her attention away from her goal: she was on the hunt for something to eat. She switched direction so that her path led her down one of the narrower streets of the town that would ultimately lead unto the main road. Having only spend a few days in this strange town, she still found it easy to memorize the different pathways that existed within the jurisdiction of the city – having even discovered a few good hideouts and shortcuts that could definitely come in handy in a future time of need.
It didn’t take her long to make her way into the main road that was bathed in the burning light from the sun and when she stepped out of the shadow-filled alleyway she immediately felt the strange heat fill the air she breathed – and she was definitely not alone: On both sides of the main road the merchants were lazily surviving the heat, hardly caring much for making a profit in this strange weather. A grin formed on her face as she panned her vision around the scenery in front of her: there was definitely some possibilities for success, she reckoned.
You know, if you wanted to you could get by so much easier if you would just accept me… The voice inside of her mind spoke slowly, the wicked smile in the tone made it visible for Scarlet to imagine.
“Shut it” she growled out loud, something that had become more or less like a habit of hers since she had ‘it’ implanted in her: somehow a vocal expression helped her better than to get into a mental argument with the parasite inside of her head. “I don’t want you here, I don’t care about anything you say,” she added in a lower tone. “Why can’t you just disappear and leave me alone?”
If only I could… the voice responded, this time in a much lower tone than before.
“Yea, well at least leave me alone…”
She didn’t give Regere another chance to reply as she launched herself from the alleyway, using her small and light body to quickly make her way towards one of the bigger merchant-stands in the street: a stand owned by a big middle-aged man whose big grey beard almost seemed to melt together with his long hair. He was dressed in fine white clothes that barely covered his large stomach and his naturally brown skin was covered in sweat, yet he didn’t smell like the rest: he was clearly a wealthy man – someone who wouldn’t miss a few gold coins from his large pockets. It didn’t take her long to make her way into the shadow of the building the merchant was standing next to. Luckily for her he was busy with a pair of customers and this gave her enough time to sneak up behind him and lifting a few coins from his deep pocket – sometimes having such a small physique did have its benefits, if she was to be completely honest.
Scarlet disappeared from the main road before anyone had taken notice of her, the thrill of the ‘hunt’ still pulsing through her veins as she turned down another corner into one of the smaller, yet still a busy roads in the town. As she turned around the corner the grin was back Scarlet’s face from earlier, the weight of the coins in her hand told her that she for once wouldn’t go hungry to bed.
However many hours had passed and Scarlet was still wondering around the town of Vuoto, her confident walk that she had adopted after her afternoon success had now decayed into that of a vulnerable and uncertain child. While she had indeed been successful in stealing a few coins from the merchant, she had been less successful in actually spending them – after all if you haven’t had the luck of having any money to spend, would you really know how to spend them? For Scarlet this was very much the case: whenever she had found an inn that served food she would instantly feel a sense of unease and nervousness when she was about to enter – would she seem odd? Would she stand out too much?
Scarlet let out a deep sigh, she really shouldn’t let this worry her as there was undouble nothing to fear. She stopped in her tracks before she shook her head and ran her right hand through her stunningly red hair. “Get yourself together, Scarlet” she mumbled to herself before she scanned her surroundings: it was the normal Darkling-architecture that to Scarlet held and eerie feeling to it, almost as if it was meant to keep people inside than to make them feel at home. What caught her eyes, however, was a building that didn’t really say much and had a sign that said ‘The Dappled Haunt’ right across the road from her. It didn’t look to be a luxurious place, but nor did it look like a bad place. It just looked… welcoming, somehow.
The doorbell sang its short song as Scarlet slowly opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the interior that held the smell of food, liquor and sweat. She slowly made her way through the somewhat crowded room, noting the various different individuals that each went about their business at the different tables, but she didn’t hold anyone’s gaze. Instead she tried to seem as small as possible as she made her way up towards the bar, trying to keep her thoughts in line and preparing herself mentally to what she should say when she arrived at the counter. | I can post, yes?
Arcanist’s Name: Scarlet (a name she has received from the colour of her red hair). Her Surname is unknown even to Scarlet as her memories have long since faded of a time when it was known.
Arcanist’s Title: Arcanists being the highly regarded scientists they are, each is given their own title, unique to them, by which other Arcanists and story-telling peasantry will recognise them.
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Arcanist’s Magus: Vector Manipulation.
Description of Magus: The spirit Regere possesses quite the powerful Magus that allows it to control the vectors of that around it. This allows it - and as such also Scarlet - to manipulate the direction and magnitude of any object and/or force.
While this Magus holds a great deal of possibilities and power, in Scarlet it is severely limited: She has to be in close proximity with the object or force to manipulate it and she has barely any control over it. As such it works sporadically, usually only acting as a form of ‘shield’ around her body, protecting her from harm that would otherwise have killed her- often resulting in situations where she actually hadn’t wanted to use it. This has also resulted in most of the targets have so far been victims that merely touched her, often resulting in broken bones, ruptured blood vessels and so forth.
Amplifier: Interestingly enough this Magus seems to lie almost dormant inside of Scarlet as she has never used it willingly. Instead it seems to react on her emotional and mental stability at any given time - or rather how weak or strong it is. Being the unwilling host of the demon ‘Regere’, Scarlet and the demon have a rather complex and complicated relationship with each other: Regere is constantly trying to consume her in order to experience the life of a mortal - while Scarlet is desperately seeking for ways to nullify, or even better; completely remove Regere from her body. This means that the powers of her Magus is mostly dormant, only activating when she lacks the mental and emotional control, or if she is in danger. If such a situation appears Regere has will try and save his physical shell in order not to lose its possibility of a long life outside of The Nocturne.
Nuller: The mental stability of Scarlet severely affects the usability and power of her Magus: if she is more stable and controlled the abilities and effects of Regere within her is subsided - though it also becomes much more unstable: it is in times when Scarlet is calm and in control that the Magus could suddenly erupt and cause destruction. Interestingly enough: when she is more unstable and not in control the Magus becomes more stable, but also much more powerful. The reason for this is quite simple: the power-source for the Magus is the demon Regere and the more it is in control of her, the more naturally the Magus reacts to the commands of its master: Regere.
Another variable that plays severely into the power of the Magus is how exhausted Scarlet is: has she slept enough? Gotten enough food? Has she been running all day? All of these variables - and more - plays into how powerful and usable her Magus is.
Description of appearance: Scarlet stands at nearly 5’ and 6” with a body that holds little to no muscle and shows clear signs of malnutrition: her face is thin and angular, her bones are clearly visible through her dark colored skin that shows clear signs of abuse and her overall physique seems more fitting to that of a 15-16 year old boy than an 19 year old woman. Her hair holds an interesting scarlet color to it, something that makes it relatively easy to spot her in a crowd - and for this reason she has started to cut it relatively short: it stands in a wild fringe that reaches just past her eyes and grows longer as it reaches towards her thin brown neck. It is coarsely cut by something resembling a knife and clearly haven’t been cleaned in weeks - details that only adds to the wild and homeless look she has.
However her hair isn’t what attracts most attention, no it is her eyes. Scarlet was already born differently than others as she was born with heterochromia: her left eye holds the same, although darker, scarlet tint as her hair, while her right eye holds a dark midnight shade of blue.
Her usual clothing appears to be mostly made from various pieces of worn out material: she wears a pair of used dark brown baggy pants that appear to be just a size or two too big for her. Above this she covers her upper body in a worn out shirt that only adds to her tomboyish appearance. Above all of this she has stolen a warm cloak she uses to hide most of her features from the world.
A short biography: The girl now known as ‘Scarlet’ cannot remember much from her childhood: she cannot remember the place she was born in, her parents nor any possible friends. What she does remember was the all consuming darkness that enveloped her world and the men and women that cared for her and the other children. Of course these men and women were no ordinary humans, no they were all well regarded Arcanists that had been banished from their respective schools for their crimes against the world of Luxa. The crimes they underwent were on the very fringe of science: they wanted to create a world where everything was connected: all the different realms would be fused into one single realm where every single inhabitant of the different realms would then coexist together. However this was only the beginning of their plans: their true aim was to create ‘One People’; a new race that had the traits of both those that walked in the light and those that crept along in the darkness. They wanted to create beings that were of pure Magus - a being that had the energies of both Luxa, Nocturne, Duskthrough and Dawnstream.
Because of this they were banished from their respective countries, but when you cut off the head of a snake it can still bite. The members of the once spread out organization fled from what had been their lives up til then and grouped together and formed a single group. This group began to call themselves the ‘Reliquo’ and found themselves free from the restraints of any material government relocated to the outskirts of the ‘Darkling Domains’ where they found their beliefs to be less shunned.
At their new location they set up their research-facility and began to further improve their studies into their long-term goals. The problem for them was that their ideas had little to no empirical evidence supporting the possibilities of merging the realms and the beings into one - and as such they only had one possible way of advancing their research: one small step at the time. They pondered over this for a long time before they realised that just like the universe, their road was built up from the smallest building blocks: they needed to move at one step at a time - create the first block before moving to the next.
It didn’t take them long to realise that the first of these building-blocks had already been created: the bond between a spirit at its vessel created a being that, in theory, were of both ‘races’ - yet the problem was that it would still create a impure being with two personas and not one collective consciousness. What expired after this was a series of rapid experiments, each trying to figure out a way where you could merge the two consciousnesses together to form a single mind. Sadly most of these experiments failed because of incompatibilities between the host vessel and the foreign spirit. It simply wasn’t possible to completely merge the two together to create one.
Because of the high failure rate in their experiments the scientists naturally needed a large quantity of research subjects - and how they got these was at first through ‘liberation’ of those that were being suppressed by the society: the weak, the poor and the criminal. However this method of choosing quickly because too inefficient and as such the researchers decided to broaden their criteria for selecting subjects. Everyone was fair game: the rich, the poor, their families, their own children - after all: each subject benefitted the greater good in sacrificing themselves for an eternity of honor and giving - the only thing that was in common for every subject was that they were still prepubescent when they arrived at the facility.
It was at this point in time that the girl now known as ‘Scarlet’ became part of the research subjects, however how she became to be one of these unfortunate subjects is unknown as the collection of such details had become sloppy within the organization. As such it is unknown where she came from: was she the daughter of a scientist? A poor girl on the streets? The daughter of a rich royal family? Or just your average unlucky child of a farmer? It is unlikely that the truth will ever become known - and even if you ask her it doesn’t matter, she was, after all, abandoned to that place with no memories of her former life.
What occurred during her many years of her stay in ‘Reliquo’s’ research facility was an infinite number of mental and physical exercises and experiments that were all meant to prepare her as the most suitable host.
However little progress were being made as the years went by and as such their actions became more and more extreme. Finally 13 years after Scarlet first arrived at the facility the scientists had become so desperate for any advances in their research. This lead them to try another experiment: Why bother with the problematics of two entities in one body, when you can remove one of them from the equation beforehand? This idea spawned what would become a catalyst in Scarlet’s life. The scientists decided to try and erase her conscious before they would insert the spirit into her mortal shell - however it didn’t end as they predicted: she woke up soon after the insertion, and instead of having been removed from her own body she was trapped in it with a demon known as ‘Regere’.
The spirit called ‘Regere’ was one of the old spirits: it had experienced the many wars that had raged through the different realms and it had had its fair share of the blood spilled. It was a wicked spirit that feasted on the mortals - yet it also envied them: to be able to walk in the mortal realms, to feel what they feel and live how they live, it is something Regere craved after - and had been promised by the scientists, yet here it was: trapped inside Scarlet’s body and with her still inside! This wasn’t something it was happy with, but instead of leaving Scarlet’s body Regere decided to try and do the job itself: It had started to enjoy her body and through wicked mind-games it planned to push her aside in order to take her body. Yet Scarlet felt stronger than before, somehow Regere fuelled her, giving her a sense of strength she had never felt before and through this strength she manifested the Magus of Regere. This helped her escape the facility that had been her life since she was 5: she broke loose of her restraints, forced her way through the facility that had been left mostly unguarded during the night and tasted the taste of free air for the first time in over a decade.
Over the course of the next two years Scarlet suffered through the life with Regere inside of him. She mostly survived by stealing and running: living in the streets - or if she was lucky: in a kind man’s house. Since her escape she had used most of her energy on discovering ways to remove the spirit inside of her from her body: this has become her goal in life - and after 2 years of searching she has discovered one simple truth: she needs a powerful magic to remove Regere from her body.
Text Colour: Scarlet?
Other bits and pieces: Because of Scarlet’s life-experiences and her more or less sporadic Magus she has become extremely shy and scared of physical contact. The reason for this is because she is scared of hurting others accidentally.
At times Regere has been seen to take over her body entirely, changing her persona and characteristics entirely - however it has only been for brief moments up till now. |
47,464 | 1,289 | 3 | 1,936 | 1,025 | An impregnably darkened purple sky, characteristic of only one land, greeted Vuoto's visitors. Such immutable shade defined the Darkling Domains. Accordingly, the architecture was equally marked by gloom like nightshade; buildings were incredibly gray slabs for the most part. But that day, new feet walked the streets of Vuoto just as new wind blew through the town. A light gust heralded that day, and fittingly so.
A young man, filled with wanderlust and enchantment by the scene, paced quietly with a stiff and practiced gait to the innocuous affair of a café, where a shady fellow with shaggy hair sat with a lanky brunet. Ah, there they are. This young man who came was the Wind Caller, and his appearance did nothing to hide this fact, with hair that looked combed by gale, skin that appeared flushed and fair, and eyes that beheld a mighty storm, the blight of the gods. He could feel the winds pulse in his veins as his heartrate escalated with each step to the table.
Farrus, brushed his neat, medium-length gray hair to the side once more as he made his final approach. With decorum and reluctance, Farrus refused himself a seat until he could properly acquaint himself with the other two, so he stood by the table in the presence of the others and fixed himself with upright posture to speak.
Well, here goes nothing.
With more reluctance, he forced the words out of his mouth. Luckily, a facade of confident speech preceded him. He could shroud his real timidity in darkness with a natural voice, and like an aria, Farrus greeted the others at the table: "Good evening." | Arcanist’s Name: Farrus Luminus Venten
Arcanist’s Title: Farrus, the Wind Caller
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Arcanist’s Magus: Air elementalist
Description of Magus:
Farrus can control the currents of air within a medium-sized area around him. This entails closing doors behind him with harsh gusts, breezing (pun intended) through books, pushing against people with wind, sweeping leaves, and controlling the flow of smoke (provided the smoke was already present). He cannot lift heavy objects but he may impede or manipulate their movement against a surface—pushing people back with the wind, as said before, or rolling a ball along the floor.
Amplifier:
Strong force winds make a lot of tasks much easier. With gale-force or tornado-force winds, he can achieve the lifting of heavy objects into the air and control a larger area. Farrus, using these high winds, can float easily.
Nuller:
Still air, unmoving and calm, makes it easier for fine manipulation of current and difficult maneuvering but harder to control heavy objects. Being completely winded or asphyxiated or suffocating strains his abilities to cruel minimums.
Description of appearance:
Farrus, before he turned 16, had dark brown hair, but after his 16th birthday, it began to turn gray prematurely in the same manner that his mother's hair changed early in her life. Coupled with fair skin and dim cobalt eyes, Venten looks almost fit to bear the title "Wind Caller." Farrus is rather short, at around five and a half feet, and the structure of his face is sharp and angular. He has an average but thin build. Normally he wears a brown tunic, fastened around his waist, over a long-sleeved tan shirt with open wrists and over baggy pants made of cow's leather.
A short biography:
Farrus was raised in a diligent family of average income, characteristic of neither the wealthy nor the poor but of the class of merchants. He came of age under the guidance of a compassionate mother of many talks and a pragmatic father of few words, parents who prioritized education in respected studies before any lower work, opulence, or relaxation. "School first, then you can do what you want," they always told him. Nestled in Anthora, one of the bustling cities in a hilly, elevated part of the Crepuscular Kingdoms, this son of a water elementalist mother and a fire elementalist came to honor his ancestors as their stunning amalgamation, for the water thrown on fire erupted in smoke, wafting against the air he now commands. He could fan the fire and move the waters.
So he dazzled his peers with his element. He took to scholarship and sciences early in his educational career, and he became an air elementalist of a unique kind. Farrus, however, went largely unnoticed until the winds of change smiled on him, and he, on a terribly windy and stormy day, slowed the fall of a suicidal man with his magus enough to catch him. Farrus still fell as he caught the man, of course, but the tale of the man's rescue made conversations for weeks before the uproar died down, and Farrus was noted in public memory as the "Wind Caller." While not wildly popular after the incident, his reputation gave him many opportunities for work and study in the city as he enriched his knowledge. The humble boy had new grounds to lift his family to new prosperity. Farrus had begun studying higher academic courses—the philosophies, the sciences, the language. Very rich in knowledge, he now also works closely with scholars and librarians, and regularly Farrus does small jobs for townspeople in the neighborhood.
Text Colour: A deep sea blue. |
47,465 | 1,289 | 4 | 747 | 615 | The spicy flavor filled her mouth as Scarlet emptied another spoonful of the bowl’s content. The taste was heavenly to Scarlet who hadn’t had anything hot nor newly prepared for days: her usual diet consisted of old bread and whatever else she could get her hands on from other people’s trash. For someone like her who had lived on the streets for most of her free life to be able to have a hot meal was almost worth crying over.
Oh come on, the now all too familiar voice in her head commented, it’s only a meal – don’t be such a child
“Shut it” Scarlet mumbled in between a bite of the white bread she had bought with the meal and another spoon of the dish, “for someone who has never even eaten you got nothing to say”
Oh but I have eaten, though that was so long ago that your feeble mind probably cannot comprehend it.
Scarlet replied with rolling her eyes, how could she reply to that? She could feel that Regere wasn’t joking which left her only with one thing to think about. How old are you actually? She wondered with a childish craving to know: she really didn’t know anything of this… parasite within her, however only silence answered her.
Scarlet groaned under her own breath, she hated not getting replies to her questions – it reminded her of her time in the ‘facility’. However, instead of brooding over it she emptied another spoonful in her mind and shifted her attention to the room: it was filled with various different types, some appeared to be merchant, other warriors, however what drew her attention was a new arrival a fair skinned guy with an eye-catching grey hair color that you definitely wouldn't see each day.
As he strode across the floor Scarlet’s eyes followed him: there was something about his strange hair color that drew her attention to him like a moth to a flame. Scarlet had seen a few odd things in her relatively short lifetime, but never one with such an interesting hair color – yet she was in for a treat: as he approached one of the tables it was surrounded by two other people, both who had a… ‘different’ appearance to them than the other guests at this inn.
As she took another bite of her lump of bread her eyes kept with this strange group, her mind was ablaze with questions: Who were they? Clearly they weren't regular merchants, but they didn't seem like warriors or peasants either. As her questions piled up she kept her attention on them, only shifting it for the occasional bite of her food. | I can post, yes?
Arcanist’s Name: Scarlet (a name she has received from the colour of her red hair). Her Surname is unknown even to Scarlet as her memories have long since faded of a time when it was known.
Arcanist’s Title: Arcanists being the highly regarded scientists they are, each is given their own title, unique to them, by which other Arcanists and story-telling peasantry will recognise them.
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Arcanist’s Magus: Vector Manipulation.
Description of Magus: The spirit Regere possesses quite the powerful Magus that allows it to control the vectors of that around it. This allows it - and as such also Scarlet - to manipulate the direction and magnitude of any object and/or force.
While this Magus holds a great deal of possibilities and power, in Scarlet it is severely limited: She has to be in close proximity with the object or force to manipulate it and she has barely any control over it. As such it works sporadically, usually only acting as a form of ‘shield’ around her body, protecting her from harm that would otherwise have killed her- often resulting in situations where she actually hadn’t wanted to use it. This has also resulted in most of the targets have so far been victims that merely touched her, often resulting in broken bones, ruptured blood vessels and so forth.
Amplifier: Interestingly enough this Magus seems to lie almost dormant inside of Scarlet as she has never used it willingly. Instead it seems to react on her emotional and mental stability at any given time - or rather how weak or strong it is. Being the unwilling host of the demon ‘Regere’, Scarlet and the demon have a rather complex and complicated relationship with each other: Regere is constantly trying to consume her in order to experience the life of a mortal - while Scarlet is desperately seeking for ways to nullify, or even better; completely remove Regere from her body. This means that the powers of her Magus is mostly dormant, only activating when she lacks the mental and emotional control, or if she is in danger. If such a situation appears Regere has will try and save his physical shell in order not to lose its possibility of a long life outside of The Nocturne.
Nuller: The mental stability of Scarlet severely affects the usability and power of her Magus: if she is more stable and controlled the abilities and effects of Regere within her is subsided - though it also becomes much more unstable: it is in times when Scarlet is calm and in control that the Magus could suddenly erupt and cause destruction. Interestingly enough: when she is more unstable and not in control the Magus becomes more stable, but also much more powerful. The reason for this is quite simple: the power-source for the Magus is the demon Regere and the more it is in control of her, the more naturally the Magus reacts to the commands of its master: Regere.
Another variable that plays severely into the power of the Magus is how exhausted Scarlet is: has she slept enough? Gotten enough food? Has she been running all day? All of these variables - and more - plays into how powerful and usable her Magus is.
Description of appearance: Scarlet stands at nearly 5’ and 6” with a body that holds little to no muscle and shows clear signs of malnutrition: her face is thin and angular, her bones are clearly visible through her dark colored skin that shows clear signs of abuse and her overall physique seems more fitting to that of a 15-16 year old boy than an 19 year old woman. Her hair holds an interesting scarlet color to it, something that makes it relatively easy to spot her in a crowd - and for this reason she has started to cut it relatively short: it stands in a wild fringe that reaches just past her eyes and grows longer as it reaches towards her thin brown neck. It is coarsely cut by something resembling a knife and clearly haven’t been cleaned in weeks - details that only adds to the wild and homeless look she has.
However her hair isn’t what attracts most attention, no it is her eyes. Scarlet was already born differently than others as she was born with heterochromia: her left eye holds the same, although darker, scarlet tint as her hair, while her right eye holds a dark midnight shade of blue.
Her usual clothing appears to be mostly made from various pieces of worn out material: she wears a pair of used dark brown baggy pants that appear to be just a size or two too big for her. Above this she covers her upper body in a worn out shirt that only adds to her tomboyish appearance. Above all of this she has stolen a warm cloak she uses to hide most of her features from the world.
A short biography: The girl now known as ‘Scarlet’ cannot remember much from her childhood: she cannot remember the place she was born in, her parents nor any possible friends. What she does remember was the all consuming darkness that enveloped her world and the men and women that cared for her and the other children. Of course these men and women were no ordinary humans, no they were all well regarded Arcanists that had been banished from their respective schools for their crimes against the world of Luxa. The crimes they underwent were on the very fringe of science: they wanted to create a world where everything was connected: all the different realms would be fused into one single realm where every single inhabitant of the different realms would then coexist together. However this was only the beginning of their plans: their true aim was to create ‘One People’; a new race that had the traits of both those that walked in the light and those that crept along in the darkness. They wanted to create beings that were of pure Magus - a being that had the energies of both Luxa, Nocturne, Duskthrough and Dawnstream.
Because of this they were banished from their respective countries, but when you cut off the head of a snake it can still bite. The members of the once spread out organization fled from what had been their lives up til then and grouped together and formed a single group. This group began to call themselves the ‘Reliquo’ and found themselves free from the restraints of any material government relocated to the outskirts of the ‘Darkling Domains’ where they found their beliefs to be less shunned.
At their new location they set up their research-facility and began to further improve their studies into their long-term goals. The problem for them was that their ideas had little to no empirical evidence supporting the possibilities of merging the realms and the beings into one - and as such they only had one possible way of advancing their research: one small step at the time. They pondered over this for a long time before they realised that just like the universe, their road was built up from the smallest building blocks: they needed to move at one step at a time - create the first block before moving to the next.
It didn’t take them long to realise that the first of these building-blocks had already been created: the bond between a spirit at its vessel created a being that, in theory, were of both ‘races’ - yet the problem was that it would still create a impure being with two personas and not one collective consciousness. What expired after this was a series of rapid experiments, each trying to figure out a way where you could merge the two consciousnesses together to form a single mind. Sadly most of these experiments failed because of incompatibilities between the host vessel and the foreign spirit. It simply wasn’t possible to completely merge the two together to create one.
Because of the high failure rate in their experiments the scientists naturally needed a large quantity of research subjects - and how they got these was at first through ‘liberation’ of those that were being suppressed by the society: the weak, the poor and the criminal. However this method of choosing quickly because too inefficient and as such the researchers decided to broaden their criteria for selecting subjects. Everyone was fair game: the rich, the poor, their families, their own children - after all: each subject benefitted the greater good in sacrificing themselves for an eternity of honor and giving - the only thing that was in common for every subject was that they were still prepubescent when they arrived at the facility.
It was at this point in time that the girl now known as ‘Scarlet’ became part of the research subjects, however how she became to be one of these unfortunate subjects is unknown as the collection of such details had become sloppy within the organization. As such it is unknown where she came from: was she the daughter of a scientist? A poor girl on the streets? The daughter of a rich royal family? Or just your average unlucky child of a farmer? It is unlikely that the truth will ever become known - and even if you ask her it doesn’t matter, she was, after all, abandoned to that place with no memories of her former life.
What occurred during her many years of her stay in ‘Reliquo’s’ research facility was an infinite number of mental and physical exercises and experiments that were all meant to prepare her as the most suitable host.
However little progress were being made as the years went by and as such their actions became more and more extreme. Finally 13 years after Scarlet first arrived at the facility the scientists had become so desperate for any advances in their research. This lead them to try another experiment: Why bother with the problematics of two entities in one body, when you can remove one of them from the equation beforehand? This idea spawned what would become a catalyst in Scarlet’s life. The scientists decided to try and erase her conscious before they would insert the spirit into her mortal shell - however it didn’t end as they predicted: she woke up soon after the insertion, and instead of having been removed from her own body she was trapped in it with a demon known as ‘Regere’.
The spirit called ‘Regere’ was one of the old spirits: it had experienced the many wars that had raged through the different realms and it had had its fair share of the blood spilled. It was a wicked spirit that feasted on the mortals - yet it also envied them: to be able to walk in the mortal realms, to feel what they feel and live how they live, it is something Regere craved after - and had been promised by the scientists, yet here it was: trapped inside Scarlet’s body and with her still inside! This wasn’t something it was happy with, but instead of leaving Scarlet’s body Regere decided to try and do the job itself: It had started to enjoy her body and through wicked mind-games it planned to push her aside in order to take her body. Yet Scarlet felt stronger than before, somehow Regere fuelled her, giving her a sense of strength she had never felt before and through this strength she manifested the Magus of Regere. This helped her escape the facility that had been her life since she was 5: she broke loose of her restraints, forced her way through the facility that had been left mostly unguarded during the night and tasted the taste of free air for the first time in over a decade.
Over the course of the next two years Scarlet suffered through the life with Regere inside of him. She mostly survived by stealing and running: living in the streets - or if she was lucky: in a kind man’s house. Since her escape she had used most of her energy on discovering ways to remove the spirit inside of her from her body: this has become her goal in life - and after 2 years of searching she has discovered one simple truth: she needs a powerful magic to remove Regere from her body.
Text Colour: Scarlet?
Other bits and pieces: Because of Scarlet’s life-experiences and her more or less sporadic Magus she has become extremely shy and scared of physical contact. The reason for this is because she is scared of hurting others accidentally.
At times Regere has been seen to take over her body entirely, changing her persona and characteristics entirely - however it has only been for brief moments up till now. |
47,466 | 1,289 | 5 | 394 | 793 | Scrawled formulae in an untamed hand, smudged not in lieu of work ethic but in lieu of patience: archaic symbols and eldritch numbers, magic operationalised into a series of winding sums like the machinations of an unhinged spider.
Corvus had lost himself in these, putting ink pen to napkin paper, when Lumos took his respective seat at their table of would-be crusaders. And he did not stir until addressed. He didn’t even realise Farrus had arrived.
"Um... h-hello..."
“Good evening.”
His inking hand seized suddenly, and his honey eyes wandered upwards slowly, cautiously. His hair shifted back ever so subtly, too, drawing away from potential threats.
Then his mannerisms changed, totally: his countenance became softer and he beamed warmly as he dropped his pen aside. His shadow, which had been laid carelessly across the table, retreated to his flank.
“Ah, good afternoon! I’m so sorry, how impolite of me! I was just absentmindedly scribbling something I’d been working on and…" he trailed off, and for a moment his expression became vacant, “… lost myself…”
He stared at Lumos in perfect, thoughtful coldness for a few instants, and then resumed smiling.
“My deepest apologies. My name is Corvus Tenesilia, I’ll be our outfits Umbramancer: perhaps not even the only one!”
He extended one hand across the table, and the other to his right: his skin was olive and warmly toned, but still just vaguely cool to the touch, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance! Who, and what, might you two be?” | Arcanist’s Name: Corvus Tenesilia
Arcanist’s Title: The Vagabond Prince
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Arcanist’s Magus: Umbramancy.
Description of Magus: Corvus' umbramancy allows him to manipulate tangible shadows. During the day this only manifests through his own shadow, but when night falls he can draw upon the shadows of other solid objects.
Amplifier: The phases of the moon. Corvus grows stronger at night, but only fractionally so. His umbramancy grows more powerful throughout the month, starting at the young moon and getting steadily more effective until it peaks at the new moon, and then resets once it's passed. In the event of a lunar eclipse, Corvus can function at full power for a few minutes during the day.
Nuller: Daylight. During the day, regardless of how vivid another shadow might be, Corvus can only manipulate his own.
Description of appearance: Standing at 5'11, Corvus is a narrow shouldered, svelte figure, with light olive skin and faintly freckled features. His hair is long and shaggy, and a shade of charcoal which borders on black. It moves almost imperceptibly, as though it were alive but trying to remain subtle. His eyes are honey brown.
Although he wears a light, boiled-leather suit- a must have when one visits The Nocturne- he wraps himself consistently in a long green cloak, joined together by a broach depicting the crescent moon. On the cloak's back, in silver, is the image of a lone oak tree.
A short biography: Corvus was born and raised in the small coastal village of Pittoresco, a quaint settlement on the very outskirts of The Crepuscular Kingdoms, into a long lineage of respected middle-classmen, distilled from generations of Auroramancers and Opacamancers.
The village was largely rural, and as such most of the children there grew up as fishermen and sailors, molded by the shimmering purple sea that flanked them. And, frankly, Corvus thought that seemed like a fun upbringing. He, like every child of The Crepuscular Kingdoms, dreamed of such things: To take to the sea, perhaps not as a fisherman, but as an explorer!
But such things, his mother told him, were not meant for the 'better half' of society. He would be an Arcanist like every Tenesilia before him. And, with his lineage, he would hopefully become a prodigious Luxomancer, too...
... well, she got her wish. And the attention of every gossip in Pittoresco, too.
Because as it happened, he did become a competent Luxomancer: But he was neither an opacamancer, nor an auroramancer.
He was an umbramancer, instead. And whilst there's no evidence that genetics have any real influence on what magus you develop, this was still enough for his mother to sobbingly reveal to the family that he, Corvus Tenesilia, was a bastard child. Born of adultery between herself and a noble of The Darkling Domain.
"His hair shifts, don't you see? Like a demon of The Nocturne's! So did his! So did his fathers!"
Disgraced, and having nearly torn apart the family indirectly, Corvus was packed up and sent out into Luxa alone at fifteen, with only his shadow to keep him company. But somehow, that sufficed: For, he reckons, it spoke to him. It joked with him, and grew with him.
They headed South, to The Darkling Domains, in search of the only salvation Corvus had: His alleged father, Hatrem Quies.
He walked across Luxa day and night (in fact he found the nights easier) with only that name and his seemingly noble status to guide him. And eventually, he succeeded, finding the Quies familial manner in the town of Somre, in valley somewhere between the night and the gloam.
But his father did not seem so keen to accept him.
In truth, Corvus may have been a bastard son, but he was also Hatrem's only son, and thus heir to his fortunes. But the two shared barely anything: Hatrem was an esteemed soldier and vessel umbramancer, which is likely why he and Corvus boasted hair which moved, and writhed. And yet, he did not send Corvus away empty handed.
"The world is at chaos, child. Heed the call of The Aurora Empire, and deliver it into peace again. Then, then you will be my heir."
And with that, Corvus departed for the Eastern territories, and took with him a title, given to him by the Darklings of Somre: The boy who would be rich, if he completed this dangerous task and walked the world to do it. Corvus Tenesilia, The Vagabond Prince.
Text Colour: I quite like this one!
Other bits and pieces: Corvus seems to think his shadow is alive, or at the very least speaks to it like it is. He calls it Li. |
47,467 | 1,289 | 6 | 1,039 | 22 | Lumos Fawcett, at your service.
Lumos had been practicing what he would say a few hours before arriving to the said location, but panic overcame him. When Corvus addressed him, instead of repeating the line he had methodically learned at a normal speed, he ended up mumbling quickly, "LumosFawcettatyourservice.". You could see the blood traveling through his veins towards his cheeks.
And then he realized they weren't the only ones sitting at the table. As Lumos shook Corvus' hand at an awkwardly quick rate and saw his other arm extend to the man sitting beside him, he actually jumped a little bit, successfully hitting his knee on the table. "Ouch! Sonofa...", he said as he rubbed his leg in an attempt to make it hurt less.
Well, there's no way this could get worse. Might as well play it cool. He thought.
"I'm awfully sorry. Nice meeting both of you." he said, more comfortably now, as he stretched his arm to properly greet Farrus. "Lumos Fawcett. They call me the Optomancer, because I can make pretty lights!" He pulled a small prismatic lens, and started to create a light show, as promised. He had in mind the countless times he had performed his trick before, and the also countless times he was told it would be more fit for a child's birthday than a formal meeting, but he still didn't care. He was proud of his "pretty lights". | My Archanist
Arcanist’s Name: Lumos Fawcett
Arcanist’s Title: The Optomancer
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Arcanist’s Magus: Luxomancy. More specifically, he's an Auroramancer
Description of Magus: He has the ability to bend environmental light, thus being able to create illusory effects. However, his lack of interest in the field of illusion makes this a weak skill. On the other hand, Lumos is a gifted physicist, and has learned how to use lenses to focus the light he controls, for different purposes. After many years of studying light and its behavior, he discovered that, theoretically, light can be transformed into usable energy, and therefore able to power mechanisms, although this is nothing more than a concept. He believes that, with the right technology, this discovery might be revolutionary.
Amplifier: The use of lenses and other mechanisms for different purposes helps him focus the energy his power provides.
Nuller: Without his lenses, and thanks to his lack of interest in other possible uses of his ability, his light-bending becomes nothing but a circus act.
Description of appearance: Lumos is a tall, Caucasian male. He's not particularly attractive, he has a wide nose, greenish brown eyes, short, dark hair and a few moles here and there. He's of thin complexion, but not necessarily a weakling. He's known to wear humble clothing. A threadbare white shirt, brown pants, and a pair of boots.
A short biography: Let's start with the beginning. His father is a renowned artisan, a Glassblower, from the Aurora Empire, and his mother, a Luxian Scholar. They met in one of the countless trade journeys of his father. They fell in love, and had a child. Both decided to live in Aurora, in order to avoid the hubbub of the Luxus Empire, but, eventually, she grew bored, and left both Lumos and his father to return to her native land. Lumos grew in Aurora, motherless, and learned the crafts of glassblowing. But soon enough, his mother's innate curiosity kicked in, and he started making questions about his mother's whereabouts. Being fifteen, he left his home in search of her, with his father's blessing and best wishes, of course.
He traveled, and learned about the land he crossed, the people he met and their cultures.
One day, he arrived to an inn, looking for a bed to spend the night. He found more than that. To his massive luck, his mother was there, discussing with other fellow scholars (and one or two bypassing drunks) when she immediately recognized Lumos' father's face in that young man's. She took him under her care, and taught him well. He soon earned his place within the scholar community.
Text Colour: This one seems pretty neat
Other bits and pieces: He has a puppy named Snuggles. |
47,468 | 1,289 | 7 | 1,936 | 1,025 | The pleasure is mine, sir. Farrus politely replied as he shook Corvus's hand, their eyes meeting. Even as the youngest of the three shook that hand, he studied his fellow gentlemen with a masked distrust, a distrust tempered by years of witnessing the folly of men and the depravity of people and a distrust yet that was normal among men of reasonable wit. Venten knew the other two meant well by their demeanor, but one could never help but register the minutiae of others to spy some ugly trait that he was only privy to. A safety measure, not a form of spite.
A bump of the table interrupted Farrus's inner dialogue, and he immediately looked at the source with a briefly startled gawk that passed into a face of understanding. Venten, however, didn't say anything.
Lumos's hand also extended Farrus's way, and the gray-haired accordingly shook it. "Nay, no offense taken. It is nice meeting you, as well." he absolved Lumos of whatever mistake it was that impelled the older man to the apology. And then the display of lights, a curiosity in a formal meeting but nonetheless childishly enchanting. Farrus watched with delight. "How pretty! My name is Farrus Luminus Venten. I am an elementalist of the air. If it concerns the 9 winds, it concerns me as well." | Arcanist’s Name: Farrus Luminus Venten
Arcanist’s Title: Farrus, the Wind Caller
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Arcanist’s Magus: Air elementalist
Description of Magus:
Farrus can control the currents of air within a medium-sized area around him. This entails closing doors behind him with harsh gusts, breezing (pun intended) through books, pushing against people with wind, sweeping leaves, and controlling the flow of smoke (provided the smoke was already present). He cannot lift heavy objects but he may impede or manipulate their movement against a surface—pushing people back with the wind, as said before, or rolling a ball along the floor.
Amplifier:
Strong force winds make a lot of tasks much easier. With gale-force or tornado-force winds, he can achieve the lifting of heavy objects into the air and control a larger area. Farrus, using these high winds, can float easily.
Nuller:
Still air, unmoving and calm, makes it easier for fine manipulation of current and difficult maneuvering but harder to control heavy objects. Being completely winded or asphyxiated or suffocating strains his abilities to cruel minimums.
Description of appearance:
Farrus, before he turned 16, had dark brown hair, but after his 16th birthday, it began to turn gray prematurely in the same manner that his mother's hair changed early in her life. Coupled with fair skin and dim cobalt eyes, Venten looks almost fit to bear the title "Wind Caller." Farrus is rather short, at around five and a half feet, and the structure of his face is sharp and angular. He has an average but thin build. Normally he wears a brown tunic, fastened around his waist, over a long-sleeved tan shirt with open wrists and over baggy pants made of cow's leather.
A short biography:
Farrus was raised in a diligent family of average income, characteristic of neither the wealthy nor the poor but of the class of merchants. He came of age under the guidance of a compassionate mother of many talks and a pragmatic father of few words, parents who prioritized education in respected studies before any lower work, opulence, or relaxation. "School first, then you can do what you want," they always told him. Nestled in Anthora, one of the bustling cities in a hilly, elevated part of the Crepuscular Kingdoms, this son of a water elementalist mother and a fire elementalist came to honor his ancestors as their stunning amalgamation, for the water thrown on fire erupted in smoke, wafting against the air he now commands. He could fan the fire and move the waters.
So he dazzled his peers with his element. He took to scholarship and sciences early in his educational career, and he became an air elementalist of a unique kind. Farrus, however, went largely unnoticed until the winds of change smiled on him, and he, on a terribly windy and stormy day, slowed the fall of a suicidal man with his magus enough to catch him. Farrus still fell as he caught the man, of course, but the tale of the man's rescue made conversations for weeks before the uproar died down, and Farrus was noted in public memory as the "Wind Caller." While not wildly popular after the incident, his reputation gave him many opportunities for work and study in the city as he enriched his knowledge. The humble boy had new grounds to lift his family to new prosperity. Farrus had begun studying higher academic courses—the philosophies, the sciences, the language. Very rich in knowledge, he now also works closely with scholars and librarians, and regularly Farrus does small jobs for townspeople in the neighborhood.
Text Colour: A deep sea blue. |
47,469 | 1,289 | 8 | 747 | 615 | Scarlet had long since finished the food she had, for once, acquired legally: the only thing left now was the small piece of bread she was slowly nibbling at without much thought of what she was doing. No, instead of focusing on her food as she would usually do, her focus was solely on the table across from her where the three men appeared to be greeting each other. She had been following their every move with her eyes since she had noticed them among the otherwise rather bland environment surrounding her in this tavern.
To be honest she wasn’t quite sure as to why they garnered such high interest for her, they just seemed… odd: like they didn’t actually know each other and that this was their first time they had ever met - which only fuelled her interest as to what sort of people they were.
Just go over there, I am sure they got a coin or two - they look like they can spare a few. The voice in her head commented with a tone that barely scratched interest.
“Shut it” Scarlet commented for a second time that day, though this time it was a mere mumble instead of a growl. While the small group did appear to be more financially endowed than her, it wasn’t that part that had caught her interest. They seemed to be different than the other parties around them, somehow the aura that the little group radiated something she couldn't quite put her finger on: somehow she just knew that she should follow them
Perhaps that is what people call ‘destiny’? she pondered for herself as she took another bite of the bread she had toyed with in her hands, either that, or I can just help them lose a bit of the cash in their pockets, she added with a mischievous smile painted on her thin face.
Nonetheless she wasn’t going to let them out of her sight. | I can post, yes?
Arcanist’s Name: Scarlet (a name she has received from the colour of her red hair). Her Surname is unknown even to Scarlet as her memories have long since faded of a time when it was known.
Arcanist’s Title: Arcanists being the highly regarded scientists they are, each is given their own title, unique to them, by which other Arcanists and story-telling peasantry will recognise them.
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Arcanist’s Magus: Vector Manipulation.
Description of Magus: The spirit Regere possesses quite the powerful Magus that allows it to control the vectors of that around it. This allows it - and as such also Scarlet - to manipulate the direction and magnitude of any object and/or force.
While this Magus holds a great deal of possibilities and power, in Scarlet it is severely limited: She has to be in close proximity with the object or force to manipulate it and she has barely any control over it. As such it works sporadically, usually only acting as a form of ‘shield’ around her body, protecting her from harm that would otherwise have killed her- often resulting in situations where she actually hadn’t wanted to use it. This has also resulted in most of the targets have so far been victims that merely touched her, often resulting in broken bones, ruptured blood vessels and so forth.
Amplifier: Interestingly enough this Magus seems to lie almost dormant inside of Scarlet as she has never used it willingly. Instead it seems to react on her emotional and mental stability at any given time - or rather how weak or strong it is. Being the unwilling host of the demon ‘Regere’, Scarlet and the demon have a rather complex and complicated relationship with each other: Regere is constantly trying to consume her in order to experience the life of a mortal - while Scarlet is desperately seeking for ways to nullify, or even better; completely remove Regere from her body. This means that the powers of her Magus is mostly dormant, only activating when she lacks the mental and emotional control, or if she is in danger. If such a situation appears Regere has will try and save his physical shell in order not to lose its possibility of a long life outside of The Nocturne.
Nuller: The mental stability of Scarlet severely affects the usability and power of her Magus: if she is more stable and controlled the abilities and effects of Regere within her is subsided - though it also becomes much more unstable: it is in times when Scarlet is calm and in control that the Magus could suddenly erupt and cause destruction. Interestingly enough: when she is more unstable and not in control the Magus becomes more stable, but also much more powerful. The reason for this is quite simple: the power-source for the Magus is the demon Regere and the more it is in control of her, the more naturally the Magus reacts to the commands of its master: Regere.
Another variable that plays severely into the power of the Magus is how exhausted Scarlet is: has she slept enough? Gotten enough food? Has she been running all day? All of these variables - and more - plays into how powerful and usable her Magus is.
Description of appearance: Scarlet stands at nearly 5’ and 6” with a body that holds little to no muscle and shows clear signs of malnutrition: her face is thin and angular, her bones are clearly visible through her dark colored skin that shows clear signs of abuse and her overall physique seems more fitting to that of a 15-16 year old boy than an 19 year old woman. Her hair holds an interesting scarlet color to it, something that makes it relatively easy to spot her in a crowd - and for this reason she has started to cut it relatively short: it stands in a wild fringe that reaches just past her eyes and grows longer as it reaches towards her thin brown neck. It is coarsely cut by something resembling a knife and clearly haven’t been cleaned in weeks - details that only adds to the wild and homeless look she has.
However her hair isn’t what attracts most attention, no it is her eyes. Scarlet was already born differently than others as she was born with heterochromia: her left eye holds the same, although darker, scarlet tint as her hair, while her right eye holds a dark midnight shade of blue.
Her usual clothing appears to be mostly made from various pieces of worn out material: she wears a pair of used dark brown baggy pants that appear to be just a size or two too big for her. Above this she covers her upper body in a worn out shirt that only adds to her tomboyish appearance. Above all of this she has stolen a warm cloak she uses to hide most of her features from the world.
A short biography: The girl now known as ‘Scarlet’ cannot remember much from her childhood: she cannot remember the place she was born in, her parents nor any possible friends. What she does remember was the all consuming darkness that enveloped her world and the men and women that cared for her and the other children. Of course these men and women were no ordinary humans, no they were all well regarded Arcanists that had been banished from their respective schools for their crimes against the world of Luxa. The crimes they underwent were on the very fringe of science: they wanted to create a world where everything was connected: all the different realms would be fused into one single realm where every single inhabitant of the different realms would then coexist together. However this was only the beginning of their plans: their true aim was to create ‘One People’; a new race that had the traits of both those that walked in the light and those that crept along in the darkness. They wanted to create beings that were of pure Magus - a being that had the energies of both Luxa, Nocturne, Duskthrough and Dawnstream.
Because of this they were banished from their respective countries, but when you cut off the head of a snake it can still bite. The members of the once spread out organization fled from what had been their lives up til then and grouped together and formed a single group. This group began to call themselves the ‘Reliquo’ and found themselves free from the restraints of any material government relocated to the outskirts of the ‘Darkling Domains’ where they found their beliefs to be less shunned.
At their new location they set up their research-facility and began to further improve their studies into their long-term goals. The problem for them was that their ideas had little to no empirical evidence supporting the possibilities of merging the realms and the beings into one - and as such they only had one possible way of advancing their research: one small step at the time. They pondered over this for a long time before they realised that just like the universe, their road was built up from the smallest building blocks: they needed to move at one step at a time - create the first block before moving to the next.
It didn’t take them long to realise that the first of these building-blocks had already been created: the bond between a spirit at its vessel created a being that, in theory, were of both ‘races’ - yet the problem was that it would still create a impure being with two personas and not one collective consciousness. What expired after this was a series of rapid experiments, each trying to figure out a way where you could merge the two consciousnesses together to form a single mind. Sadly most of these experiments failed because of incompatibilities between the host vessel and the foreign spirit. It simply wasn’t possible to completely merge the two together to create one.
Because of the high failure rate in their experiments the scientists naturally needed a large quantity of research subjects - and how they got these was at first through ‘liberation’ of those that were being suppressed by the society: the weak, the poor and the criminal. However this method of choosing quickly because too inefficient and as such the researchers decided to broaden their criteria for selecting subjects. Everyone was fair game: the rich, the poor, their families, their own children - after all: each subject benefitted the greater good in sacrificing themselves for an eternity of honor and giving - the only thing that was in common for every subject was that they were still prepubescent when they arrived at the facility.
It was at this point in time that the girl now known as ‘Scarlet’ became part of the research subjects, however how she became to be one of these unfortunate subjects is unknown as the collection of such details had become sloppy within the organization. As such it is unknown where she came from: was she the daughter of a scientist? A poor girl on the streets? The daughter of a rich royal family? Or just your average unlucky child of a farmer? It is unlikely that the truth will ever become known - and even if you ask her it doesn’t matter, she was, after all, abandoned to that place with no memories of her former life.
What occurred during her many years of her stay in ‘Reliquo’s’ research facility was an infinite number of mental and physical exercises and experiments that were all meant to prepare her as the most suitable host.
However little progress were being made as the years went by and as such their actions became more and more extreme. Finally 13 years after Scarlet first arrived at the facility the scientists had become so desperate for any advances in their research. This lead them to try another experiment: Why bother with the problematics of two entities in one body, when you can remove one of them from the equation beforehand? This idea spawned what would become a catalyst in Scarlet’s life. The scientists decided to try and erase her conscious before they would insert the spirit into her mortal shell - however it didn’t end as they predicted: she woke up soon after the insertion, and instead of having been removed from her own body she was trapped in it with a demon known as ‘Regere’.
The spirit called ‘Regere’ was one of the old spirits: it had experienced the many wars that had raged through the different realms and it had had its fair share of the blood spilled. It was a wicked spirit that feasted on the mortals - yet it also envied them: to be able to walk in the mortal realms, to feel what they feel and live how they live, it is something Regere craved after - and had been promised by the scientists, yet here it was: trapped inside Scarlet’s body and with her still inside! This wasn’t something it was happy with, but instead of leaving Scarlet’s body Regere decided to try and do the job itself: It had started to enjoy her body and through wicked mind-games it planned to push her aside in order to take her body. Yet Scarlet felt stronger than before, somehow Regere fuelled her, giving her a sense of strength she had never felt before and through this strength she manifested the Magus of Regere. This helped her escape the facility that had been her life since she was 5: she broke loose of her restraints, forced her way through the facility that had been left mostly unguarded during the night and tasted the taste of free air for the first time in over a decade.
Over the course of the next two years Scarlet suffered through the life with Regere inside of him. She mostly survived by stealing and running: living in the streets - or if she was lucky: in a kind man’s house. Since her escape she had used most of her energy on discovering ways to remove the spirit inside of her from her body: this has become her goal in life - and after 2 years of searching she has discovered one simple truth: she needs a powerful magic to remove Regere from her body.
Text Colour: Scarlet?
Other bits and pieces: Because of Scarlet’s life-experiences and her more or less sporadic Magus she has become extremely shy and scared of physical contact. The reason for this is because she is scared of hurting others accidentally.
At times Regere has been seen to take over her body entirely, changing her persona and characteristics entirely - however it has only been for brief moments up till now. |
47,470 | 1,290 | 0 | 911 | 1,306 | MeetThe Greater Jak-JakAn armored behemoth that sets a grim precedent for what this new world has to offer.
<><><><>
The Greater Jak-Jak
You and your companions have traveled to the dry, bitterly cold tundra of Rineyu in order to hunt the Greater Jak-Jak, an armored behemoth that dwells in the frozen crevices and caves beneath the snowy terrain.
<><><><>
||Combat Tactics||
The Greater Jak-Jak is a plated force of sheer willpower. Usually nesting only near its young or the rare company of other Jak-Jaks, this monster has a strong urge to stand it's ground and assert it's dominance. It uses intimidation to its advantage, scaring off predators with its massive bulk and menacing exterior. Where other species of prey would flaunt a body of food, the Greater Jak-Jak flaunts a body of pure muscle and scale. Furthermore, though a herbivore, the Greater Jak-Jak possesses blunt claws and a forward-set of razor teeth for self-protection.
One of the Greater Jak-Jak's most defining features is it's shield-like wings, that of which are too heavy and bulky to provide the beast with any movement off the ground. Instead, the Greater Jak-Jak harnesses the hardness of it's wings into smashing weapons or even bodily shields, creatively morphing the appendages' purpose into a unique combat trick and defense.
||Special Attacks||
+ Wing Bash: The Greater Jak-Jak raises its armored wings as it prepares to bashes the nearest enemy, throwing them off their feet and dealing Impact damage on a successful swing.
+ Armored Tail Thrash: The Greater Jak-Jak swings its heavy tail upwards into the air, only to bring it down onto an enemy with its thick and armored tip, dealing Impact damage. It will try to keep the target pinned to the ground under the weight of its tail for as long as possible.
+ Charge and Gore: The Greater Jak-Jak riles up its back spines and charges into an enemy. If the enemy is hit, it can be caught in the Greater Jak-Jak's horns and thrown about, dealing extra Impact damage. If the Greater Jak-Jak hits anything other than an enemy, it is stunned for a brief period of time.
+ Headbutt: The Greater Jak-Jak lifts an enemy off the ground with the force of its horns and snout as the monster throws them into the air, dealing impact damage on contact with both the ground and the Jak-Jak's horns.
||Resistant Against||
+ Cutting Damage
+ Water Element
||Weak Against||
+ Dragon Element
+ Fire Element
||Miscellaneous||
The Greater Jak-Jak's most prominent breaking points are its horns, snout scales, wing scales, and tail. Those of which usually drop its thick hide and some other, ice-resistant materials.
Battle Theme:
<><><><>
You have descended from rocky, brisk heights down into the underbelly of this arctic ecosystem, your already ragged boots dredging through tough packs of dirty ice and caked mud. Your scouts have told you that your target Jak-Jak is an older mother, with her young just now starting to thicken their scaley hides and grow their black claws. She is still a ferocious one, however, especially around her babies; you were told to approach with caution.
You and your team keep descending, the smell of resting snow and compacted dirt surrounding you as you attempt to find your way to the Greater Jak-Jak's nesting area. The once tall trees above have now devolved into warped pines and stubby cypruses, the sub-species cluttering the frosty floor like overgrown shrubbery. Small, rodent-like mammals dart in and out of the diminutive foliage around you, little representations of rats and possums finding their way to their own nests in this icy labyrinth. Goodness, this place really is like a labyrinth; cold, unmerciful, and confusing.
A strong gust of wind surprises you, and you shiver.
<><><><>
The Greater Jak-Jak starts to rise herself up from her young, up and away from a snowy bed of dirt and under-brush providing any amount of warmth her babies need outside of her embrace. Bringing herself to full stature, a wiggle of her tail and abdomen throws off the crushed ice and snow that slowly covered her backside throughout her slumber. This female Jak-Jak was not as big as the sex got, but it was large indeed. Scars laid across her face from battles against predatory beasts that dare threaten its domain, settling in the skin as testaments to the monster's fortitude. Though she was a mother, she was fierce, and this was not her first batch; at the age of 67, this Jak-Jak had fostered 2 lineages other of her kind already. Successfully.
Nothing got past mama Jak-Jak.
The beast strolled outside, its great muscles creaking and shifting under the thick hide of old scales she wore proudly. Jak-Jaks lived into their early sixties most of the time, but this one had grown even stronger with age. She had the will to carry her kind's ferocity well over her own lifespan. After this host of children, however, she may lay down her supremacy and drift to a world beyond that. Yet, her job was still the same as long as she stood; protect, intimidate, dominate. She had fought off settlers last week, in fact, the puny human's spears bouncing off her skin like pencils thrown at a sheet metal. They ran off hurriedly, and mother Jak-Jak found it pleasing to see such a thing be so.
But here she was, another day of feeding her young, and another day of territorial struggles. As she exited her cold, shallow cave, the Greater Jak-Jak gave a mighty bellow that rang throughout the undergrowth. Mammals scurried into their trees, herbivores ran away from their frozen-over watering holes, and the trees swayed with silent tension. Jak-Jaks were no match for the beasts that trodded up above this labyrinth of caves and stubby plants. But, inside the Labyrinth, they could happily play their part as powerful, egotistical knights. The Greater Jak-Jak gave another final roar, tearing through the cold air with a vocal shout of caution and challenge to those who dare approach her domain. She made it extra loud, for good measure.
The Greater Jak-Jak wandered off to find some food for her young ones. | 鉄の拳
(Tetsu Ken)
Age: 68
Gender: Male
Gear:
(The following set of armor was harvested from a group of Ceanataurs that had been nesting in a volcano not far from Tetsu Ken's village. They were slain by the hunter's late father, Hetetsu Ken.)
Ceanataur Helm
Ceanataur Mail
Ceanataur Braces
Ceanataur Tassets
Ceanataur Greaves
+ Ludroth Bonesword
+ A set of three Pitfall-Traps.
Fighting Style/Tactics: Tetsu Ken provides a rather tanky role to any team he contributes to, his stature and equipment always reflecting his tactics of stay put and stay fighting. He believes creating scenarios that keep a monster in place and grounded are one of the key strategies to completing a hunt successfully. He also believes he is an essential part of that strategy; his core strengths lying in his expertise of keeping a monster interested in him, and keeping himself standing. To take on a monster with your own great power, is to take on a hunt with certainty; this is a motto Tetsu Ken always hunts by.
Useful Skills: Tetsu Ken is proficient in the setting of traps, particularly those that impede the movements and attacks of monsters. Furthermore, Tetsu has a helpful background in the maintenance of melee weaponry, particularly the designs of katakanas, bows, and greatswords.
Personality Buffs: Tetsu Ken is an older, wanderlusting adventurer; the practical avatar of a grizzled hunter. his body is coarse and worn, ancient muscles rippling across his back from his lifetime as a dockworker. Thus, he finds himself taking the head-on confrontation against a gigantic beast more often than not, put there by his own wishes and want for battle prowess.
Whenever Tetsu Ken is engaged in Melee fighting with a monster, he has a better chance to execute successful mounts and keep himself mounted on a monster. Furthermore, Tetsu takes a lesser amount of time to get back on his feet after being thrown down by a monster.
Miscellaneous:
Tetsu Ken was once a strong dockyard hand, passing his days by loading and unloading cargo as he looked out at the exciting seas ahead. Seas he would never be able to sail or reach. With a family of seven children and a stay-at-home wife, Tetsu Ken spent many of his years merely trying to support his wealth of children. They were his pride and joy, of course, but something nagged at the working giant. He had never possessed adventure, nothing had ever excited him. He had thrown his young adult freedom to the wind in order to settle down into a family. Now, here he was, stuck as a Dockyard worker.
Slowly, Tetsu's children left home and struck out into the great green yonder, finding careers and families of their own. One by one Tetsu's household became smaller, and one by one he started to lose purpose. His children, the reason he worked and thrived, had now left him for their own adventures. Where was his?
Three months after his last child went to live with his own, new family, the continental impact happened. It sent gigantic tremors through Tetsu's village, his family, but most importantly; his sense of purpose. Scouts soon came back to the giant's dock town saying that a grand new land had been discovered, and that monster hunters were desperately needed to help clear out and set villages into the new frontier. Here was Tetsu's chance to find adventure and excitement; he had never lost his chance, he had just been waiting for it. So out the man strode, ripe with newly found vigor and a will to gather the trophies of great beasts.
Theme: |
47,471 | 1,290 | 1 | 1,211 | 352 | Kaze tromped through the snow, busting the frozen top layer and mashing down the softer powder underneath. He was breaking the way for the others who had accepted this job from the Guild. Every so often he would slow so they could catch up in the difficult terrain. The large man was pretty relentless, constantly moving forward towards the scouted destination. "Lets hope the snow isn't as deep..." He muttered as he brushed from snow from his beard. While he moved he observed their surroundings, taking in the dead trees and small pines. The falling of snow clumps echoed in the distance while rodents and small animals fled from the humans invading their home.
He was straining his ears for the sounds of something large moving, but nothing had echoed yet. Just the sounds of the people walking and breathing behind him. Soon the shrubbery started to close in and was proceeded to be stomped flat by him. The snow underfoot dampened any crunch of wood into that of a muffled pop. Every so often Kaze would reach out and brush his hand along the compacted dirt walls, leaving marks with his armored fingers. A labyrinth always needed a trail out and just following broken up snow and crushed plants wouldn't cut it.
A sudden wind picked up, making him narrow his eyes while resting his hand on the haft of his hammer. The wind was followed up by the bellow of a larger beast. "Think that's our target?" He asked the others as a second blast of sound rang out. Echoing down the labyrinthine halls. He slowed his pace so they could be more of a group instead of him possibly getting blind-sided while away from the others. | Name: Kaze
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Gear:
Weapon:
Mace: An Iron Hammer with a sharp tip to increase deadliness. An easy weapon to obtain.
Helm: Giaprey Helm: White helm made from Giaprey materials. The hallmark item of a snow-lands hunter.
Torso: Giaprey Mail: Made of Giaprey materials, this practical armor is a northern hunter's trademark.
Gauntlets: Giaprey Vambraces: The snow white Giaprey material of these vambraces make a tenacious armor.
Faulds: Giaprey Tasset: Tasset made from Giaprey material. Superior item that matches ability with beauty.
Leggings: Giaprey Greaves: Greaves made from Giaprey material. Beautiful design optimized for hunting.
Talisman: N/A
Fighting Style/Tactics: Throwing full force into everything is how Kaze fights. Every swing should be made to cripple a monster, every smash made to destroy it's life. Using the momentum of his heavy weapons to amplify the force of his own strength. While others keep a monsters attention he comes in from the side or behind to smash their legs into uselessness. Destroying the core of a monsters strength tends to be where he is, crushing their limbs. Or sometimes even assaulting the head from below with powerful uppercuts with his hammer to shut their mouths, denying them their breath attacks.
Useful Skills:
Kaze is particularly skilled at moving through whatever environment he's in. Snow, vines, mud, or shallow water doesn't slow him down. With the strength in his legs it's difficult to knock him on his ass as well once he plants himself. Given the strength in his legs he can lunge in and out of combat, moving several feet at a time. This allows him to be highly mobile when dodging in and out of a monsters attack pattern.
Kaze is also fairly skilled in tracking. He's tracked monsters through snow and mud, some of the more difficult terrains to go through. He's not perfect but he can give a general idea in direction if all they have to go by are footprints.
Personality Buff(s):
Kaze is naturally aware of his surroundings and wary of his foes. He's always moving around, keeping things in sight and shifting away from parts of his surroundings he deems dangerous. Given his wary nature he's always hovering on the flanks or behind a monster, waiting for a proper opening before moving in. This makes him rely heavily on other hunters to create openings or distractions for him to move in and capitalize on.When attacking from behind or from the flanks Kaze deals bonus damage to monsters.
Out of hunting he enjoys cooking quite a bit as well. He grew up in the north where food tended to be bland but nutritious. So he learned how to make good tasting food that was just as nutritious. During his travels he learned from the various Felyne chefs that had their little eateries in the villages. He's not a master but he does alright when he has the ingredients.
Miscellaneous: Got nothin just yet... |
47,472 | 1,290 | 2 | 2,068 | 714 | Serra
A cold chill made its way down Serra’s back as she trudged along through the snow. She had never really liked the cold too much, it made her feel like she couldn’t move as freely as usual. At least the hot drinks made it a little more bearable. She was glad that she didn’t have to be the trail blazer though, one of the others in the group had taken on that role for himself.
“He must be pretty used to this kind of place” Serra said to the group as she pulled her cloak tighter around her. She really wasn’t too familiar with any of the other members of the group yet, but it was always good to make small talk in situations like this. It was a lot easier to work together if you broke the ice a little bit before a hunt. Especially when you were coming up against something you haven’t fought before. Serra shifted her weight as she walked, moving her horn from one shoulder to the other. She usually left it on her back, but the large hunk of metal got cold quickly and having it on her back just made her even colder. Suddenly a loud roar rang out in the air, and she saw the man at the front of the group slow down in front of them. She hurried to catch up with him as the second roar sounded.
“I hope so, it sounds big” Serra said as a smile spread its way across her face. Her grip on her horn tightened as she peered further into the caves ahead. “Sounds like we are getting pretty close, so keep an eye out everyone” She said, turning to face the group for a moment before returning her gaze to the path ahead. She may have been stating the obvious, but she liked to make sure they were all on the same page just in case. | Serra
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Armor:
Arzuros Helm
Arzuros Mail
Arzuros Vambraces
Arzuros Faulds
Arzuros Greaves
Weapon:
Metal Bagpipe
2 x Pitfall Traps
2 x Shock Traps
Fighting Style/Tactics: Serra’s strength comes from her ability to play to her ally’s strengths and creating opportunities for them to shine. Her main goal though, as she would put it, is to be as irritating as possible. She draws attention while playing her songs and carefully preparing for the opportunity to let her allies shine, using traps or a well placed hit to stun a monster. Solo hunts have always been far more difficult for her, but she can handle herself well enough.
Useful Skills: Serra’s unwavering sense of confidence in herself and her choices might make her seem a little arrogant, but in a fight, it allows her to keep her cool in almost any situation. She also prides herself on being a good judge of character when it comes to meeting people and after one or two hunts, is able to start thinking about how to better utilise someone’s more unique abilities.
Personality Buff(s): Serra has always had a rather abrasive personality, but it can serve her well in a fight. She uses this confidence to her benefit, distracting and luring the attention of monsters by making herself appear to be a better target. This strategy can be incredibly dangerous though, as she often wears armour that is more utility than protection. One wrong more, one missed thought and she can be taken out of the fight in an instant. Despite the risk though, she revels in the opportunity to draw the monster’s focus. After all, hiding in the back lines wouldn’t be fun at all.
(I would think of this like the Taunt skill in game, they have a slightly higher chance of hitting her, but only if she is actively drawing attention)
Miscellaneous:
Serra’s hobbies include playing her much smaller instrument, a lyre, and learning to cook. Her attempts at cooking haven’t ended very well, but she is determined to master the skill one day.
While her ability as a tactician is quite good, her overconfidence often gets the better of her. This can result in her rushing in without thinking things through, especially when her enemy seems like it would be a simple fight. |
47,473 | 1,290 | 3 | 1,399 | 8,773 | Lyra Steppon
Despite the near sub-zero temperatures that formed in the bleak icy tundra, Lyra continues tromping along the frozen caked dirt confidently with a smile. While everyone else was holding onto their thick wooly coats, she was tromping along in her regular Wroggi attire, one that was painfully more suited to warmer climates, humming to a song. It's almost looks as if the cold never really bothered her that much. Is it because she took a hot drink or meat before heading out? Perhaps her bundle of raw energy alone keeps her warm? Whatever the case, it looks as if the cold won't be stopping her anytime soon.
As her partner Serra breaks the ice on the conversation with some small talk, Lyra couldn't help but to join in. "Of course, silly!" she replies in a friendly joking manner, "If you have Khezus, Barioths, and Popos living in these icy habitats, surely this creature is no different! I mean, the first two don't even have fur anyways. Oooh, I still wonder what our Jack-Jack friend looks like? Maybe a nice roar will suffice~?" Yet just as she finishes, a large bellow echoed throughout the ecosystem. It was an unfamiliar roar, nothing like any creature Lyra heard up to this point. Her eyes seem to sparkle, gasping as she looks in the direction of where the noise came from. "Oooooooh, is that her?" she asks aloud as she listens for the sound again.
Once again, another icy howl echoes through the land, this one being much louder than the previous one. Lyra makes a stupidly large grin as she giggles in glee. "Yup! That must be her!" she clarifies as she begins to trot faster, "This way everyone! C'mon!" With that she begins running ahead towards the direction of the snow, almost as if she has no care in being seen or heard by the creature. Of course she knows better than to simply walk in blind on a mother monster's cave right?
Riiiiiiiiiight? | Name:
Lyra Steppson
Appearance:
Lyra is a fit female with aqua-blue to white fading hair and green eyes. She's 5'9" feet tall and weighs 124 Pounds, sporting a nice fit body, balanced curves, and a nice tan. Her attire is rather skimpy but light enough as not to bog her down compared to thick heavy armor.
Age:
24
Gender:
Female
Gear:
Reckless Switch Axe MK III: A Tetsucabra Switch Axe that summons forth the waves, and leaves beautiful trails of water.
Wroggi Hat: Headgear of a design never seen before. Crafted by a smith who trained in a foreign land.
Wroggi Mail: Chest armor marked by the unique cloak that covers its back. An import from foreign lands.
Wroggi Vambraces: Armguards crafted by a smith who was inspired by his travels to a foreign land.
Wroggi Faulds: Waist armor worn by foreign hunters. Though customized, it retains aspects of the original.
Wroggi Greaves: Leg armor of a peculiar design that made waves among hunters. They work as good as they look!
Hunting Knife: A simple knife to slice open the guts of monsters.
Fighting Style/Tactics:
When in battle, Lyra often goes for a "Hit and Run" tactic, mostly due to how relatively weak her armor is compared to most of the other hunters. Basically she goes into the fray quickly, deals as much damage as she can, and backs away once the monster is back on its feet. She's much more of an opportunistic hunter, often seeing and exploiting the monster's weakness with significant elegancy, only backing out when things get too heated.
Useful Skills:
Lyra is actually rather quick on her feet, making her an excellent scouting unit to have on your team. She's extremely accurate when throwing paint balls onto monsters, while having relatively good tracking abilities, and is an excellent runner even while carrying the rather heavy-looking switch axe. She's also surprising well in identifying and applying medicine and antidotes, as well as having good taste when it comes to food, being able to identify almost any animal she eats and smells. This is made possible as she was born in a hunting village herself, where she often tasted various meats from different animals, including during her travels around the world.
Personality & Buff(s):
Lyra is usually seen as an up-beat and extremely friendly person. She usually walks with a nice big smile or grin on her face and loves to make friends towards literally anyone really. Growing up in a nomadic hunting village, she also has a roaring passion for hunting, just like her farther used to, as well as a tendency to travel a lot. She's also very opportunistic hunter, often waiting for the right time to strike at the unsuspecting monster and attack it furiously before waiting for the next time it looses its guard. She also loves to eat food and has been taught by her mother over-basic training in regards to medicine and antidotes, as she was an apothecary. Overall, Lyra's always prepared to go on a hunt, no matter the weather or conditions she'll have to endure.
Due to her good tastes in food, she's capable in creating certain specific meals that have a high dose of positive effects on the user and is also skilled in located various plant matter that's fit for being used as medicine or bandages.
Theme:
TBA |
47,474 | 1,290 | 4 | 1,109 | 118 | Ailbe
Ailbe kept her head down, following the foot prints of the few hunters ahead of her. The snow made her movement even mores slow compared to usual. Her armor was freezing and it clearly was begging to effect Ailbe. Her weapons were heavy especially since she decided that the shield was more valuable than the sword, now she lugged around a giant metal plate on her back at all times.
Ailbe looked around at the others and began to feel out of place. The others were all a few years younger than her and the other females had much smaller figures than her larger stature. She felt a little uncomfortable from the differences but shrugged them off as nerves for her first hunt.
After the first roar, it seemed everyone in the group came to a halt. The man that was leading the group seemed to pull back a bit allowing everyone else to group up. The group finally began to talk and it seemed like a good time to create a strategy for the beast, and a bit of a rest for the heavy armored woman. But of course, there never is a break.
An oddly excited girl decided that it was time to charge into combat leaving the rest of the group behind. Ailbe looked mildly confused as she saw the girl running towards the sound of the beast. But she quickly realized that it was time for action. Following the blue haired girl in a labored jog, Ailbe quickly pulled the shield off her back and placed it on her forearm. “Wait up!” She called out trying to catch up to the younger and sprier hunter. | Name: Ailbe Whelan
Appearance:
Age: 35
Gender: Female
Gear:
Chain Armor Helm
Chain Armor Mail
Chain Armor Braces
Chain Armor Tassets
Chain Armor Greaves
Fighting Style/Tactics: Ailbe once was a great warrior but has shifted into a more protective role for what ever group she may be paired up with. She is very stable and nearly impossible to knock off her feet once in a defensible position, though her heavy defense comes at a cost of speed. Not being able to run on the target leaves Ailbe as a stationary front line keeping the target separated from the back line. Ailbe does not create plans but instead focuses on the unpredictable situations. Killing the monster is a secondary target while making sure all of her group stays safe is the primary.
Useful Skills: Ailbe may be hard on the battle field but once out of combat she is as soft as warm butter. The woman is extremely friendly and well liked by most people she meets, which allows for some special treatment in some villages. Also as a retired Guild Knight Ailbe still has some sway with the Guild and is allowed some special treatment.
Because of her history in the Guild Knights, Ailbe is well versed in the lands and is able to help direct the group to the nearest land marks or villages.
Personality Buff(s): Ailbe has very caring nature to her, she is almost like a mother bear protecting her cubs in combat. She has seen many lose their lives to monsters, so she will do everything she can to protect others from harm. When ever she is blocking for someone besides herself she gains extra defense against the attack. Her slow speed also allows for stronger fortification techniques.
Outside of combat, she is a jolly person with hundreds of tales to tell around a campfire. Her kind and fun personality always creates good relationships and brings good people together. Though when pushed to the edge she can snap and go into a berserkers rage, very rarely though.
Miscellaneous: Ailbe from a child always wanted to be a monster hunter, dreams of killing the biggest beasts always raced through her head. She trained in armed combat and prepared to fight the beasts as she grew older in age. Unfortunately, she grew up in a family of Guild Knights and that was the expectation that would lead her into that career path. Ailbe did not complain though she was still grateful to be apart of the monster hunting life.
It came as part of the job to take the laws of monster hunting to heart, she knew the price that those paid for not following them. Many eager hunters made the mistake of killing monsters that were not permitted, so Ailbe and her fellow Guild Knights took care of them. It was a difficult job but someone needed to do it, and Ailbe was good at it. As she grew older the job became sickening, she grew tired of the simple combat with the poachers. Always ending in a victory for the Guild and death for the poachers.
Eventually, Ailbe decided enough was enough and at the age of 35 she laid down her uniform and picked up a beginners suit of armor. She wanted to become a Monster Hunter. She retired young for the job, but it was no longer a life she wanted to live. Her fellow knights understood and respected her desition to live her childhood dream. Ailbe was finally going to be a Monster Hunter.
Theme: |
47,475 | 1,290 | 5 | 2,786 | 796 | Gaki
A dream. A nightmare, always the same. Awakening, the sun beating down on him--but then the world shook, a deep tremor shaking the foundations of everything. The instinct to move driving him, many suns and moons, through jungle and over plains and into the depths of the earth. All the others were moving too; further and further, in search of food, in search of shelter, he went on and on. He could no longer see the sun. Cold...numb...now more than ever, he had to keep moving...
Somewhere in the Labyrinth, deeper than the Hunters, deeper than the Jak-Jak's nest, where packed snow and frozen mud had given way to walls of ice...deeper still, where there was no water left to freeze, sheer rock stretched into the distance and branched in serpentine paths. Luminous moss and mushrooms, their soft fluorescence a sign for creatures that would eat them and pass the spores somewhere else, were the only sources of light. The cold was only slightly more bearable here, the layers of earth providing some form of insulation. Things moved in the shadows, things with sharp eyes or sometimes no eyes at all, things with thick hides or things with blubber or fur. Things with claws and fangs.
He had no claws, nor fangs. His teeth were small, his jaws were weak. His hands were strong, but the nails were flat and too thin. He had a sharp knife, though, made from a fragment of rock with a vine wrapped around its bottom half. He had his weapons, made from thicker vines that had been braided and cured into ropes, glued with insect secretions to keep them from unraveling. He wore them now, as much to help his hands keep warm as to protect them from the rough cave floor. And he also wore the hide of an Anteka he had come across, out there in the snow--it made him look like a wooly, moving lump with a pair of antlers at the top. But his breath still steamed in the air, and he had to stop every so often and rub feeling back into his bare feet. The leaves that he normally wore for camouflage had shriveled in the dry tundra air, and were beginning to brown even though he'd only picked them recently.
The Jak Jak's roar echoed, even down here. He looked up at the sound, his eyes watching where the dust fell from the ceiling. Monsters...they needed to eat, too. Their nest had to have a way out, into the places where game roamed. If he found the Monster that roared, he would find his way out of these caves, back to the light and warmth of the sun, back to wood that he could use to make fire!
"GAH-KIIIIIIIIIIII!!"
A shrill cry, but the enclosed space amplified it and sent it rolling down the tunnels. In the wild, the cry was a statement. I am here. Be aware of me! or This is my territory! or a message to one's own kind...but Gaki had never seen any other creature like him, except for...He shook his head.
Listening for a response, he ran through the Labyrinth on all fours. When the echoes died away he roared out again.
"GAH! KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!" | G A K I
"GAH-KIIIIIIIIIIIII!!"
Age:
Not known for certain, but looks to be in the 16-18 range.
Gender:
Male
Backstory
A man in white armor stands atop a rocky cliff, looking out over the thick jungle below him. The silvery longsword sits silently upon his back. The child he holds in one hand, however, kicks and screams and cries incessantly.
"I never wanted, or needed, a family." His voice is deeper, and colder, than the frozen wastes he prowled to forge that armor. He holds the boy by the scruff of the neck out over the cliff's edge. The screaming stops as eyes go wide with terror, tears falling who knows how many feet into the canopy below.
"All I need is the Hunt."
The Hunter lets go, turns his back and walks away, disappearing into the wind. The child falls, and once again begins to scream...
Gaki awakens from the nightmare, bolting up from his nest of leaves on the cold cave floor. He shakes his head, not understanding why the water drops roll down his cheeks. He needs to keep moving--all the other Monsters are moving, the territories are shifting. Something has changed in this world, and the boy feels instinct pulling him in a new direction...
Gear
Head:
None, currently.
Torso:
Leafy Mantle - It's a bunch of leaves and other material strung on a vine and draped over the shoulders. Useless as armor, but better as camoflauge.
Waist:
Kelbi Skirt - A simple covering from the waist to just above the knees, made by skinning Kelbi and using vines and sharp wooden pins to bind them together. Nice and warm, but not very protective.
Arms:
None, currently.
Legs:
None, currently.
Item Name:
Hand Wraps
Appearance:
Thick, heavy wraps made by stripping and braiding plant fiber into sturdy ropes. These ropes aren't just cordage or single braids either--this is the kind of stuff that's almost as thick as your arm. They're wrapped and tied around the arms in a particular fashion, like a huge variant of a boxer or muay thai fighter's hand wraps, but they completely cover the hand and fingers with an end that's just a bunch of knots thickly compressed together.
"Ingredients":
Ivy - To make the cordage.
Carpenterbug - To coat the ropes for weatherproofing and strength.
Gluehopper - To use on the ends to keep them from fraying, and to soak the knots in so they won't come undone.
Type:
Gauntlets
Description:
A pair of gauntlets made by scrapping together materials in the wild; an odd weapon that doesn't even need smithing. However, it's obviously weak compared to "properly made" Gauntlets...then again, up until now, has any Hunter even used gauntlets as a weapon?
Type of Damage:
Impact
Details
Fighting Style/Tactics:
Gaki had to be a vicious opportunist in order to survive. His favored tactic is to stalk prey unseen, then ambush them when they show an opening and go straight for the kill. Due to his lack of technological understanding, he's not comfortable with traps, bombs, or other tools, but if it gives him a leg up he's more than willing to use it. He is also relentless--once he is sure he's wounded his prey, he won't let them get away. No matter if he has to follow them for days and wait for them to sleep or bleed out, he won't give up until he's brought them down--because otherwise he goes empty-handed, and when it comes to survival that can mean death. In the thick of the fight, he's like an angry animal, and will shrug off scratches and bruises while avoiding heavier blows that would break bone or cut him too deeply.
Useful Skills:
Gaki has finely developed senses, so much so that they can seem superhuman at times. He is an excellent tracker, using his knowledge of the wild in addition to those senses. He is also very quick to pick up on "danger signals," even when there's little evidence of such.
Despite knowing little to nothing of technology, his "figure it out or die" lifestyle has made him very creative--he can craft things with natural materials swiftly and with a high degree of skill.
Personality Buff(s):
Gaki's personality isn't well developed, because until now he hasn't interacted with others much. However, he can be summed up very simply: He will do anything to live another day, and anything to find food. This had led to him developing a couple of skills:
Gaki has lived on and traversed many kinds of terrain with nothing but his bare body to protect and support him; thus, he can climb surfaces others wouldn't be able to get a handhold on and find paths where others might be blocked off. He can also find shelter in places others might not think to look, along with hiding spots.
He's fast, extremely fast, because a single blow from something bigger than him would have meant death, and being too slow to chase prey would mean starving. Sometimes he'll even drop onto all fours, moving in a way that should be unnatural to a human with the skill one would expect from an ape.
Miscellaneous:
Gaki will eat nearly anything, as long as it isn't poisonous, and often won't even bother to cook it.
Gaki can't really speak, but could possibly learn over the course of interacting with others.
He's starting off with very little, befitting his life up until now; once the RP is underway and he's made those first connections, gathering materials for armor and weaponry will be one of his biggest driving goals.
Finally, he has a habit of licking his hands when he gets excited. The gesture is reminiscent of a certain dangerous monster... |
47,476 | 1,290 | 6 | 1,761 | 2,977 | Rex
The young man had been hesitant at best to hunt in a group as large as this. A four-man team, plus Palicoes, he was alright with. But in a group this big it meant that the spoils-- anything carved off the dead monster, any kind of secretions they gave off-- as well as everything that came from the employer, would have to be divvied up.
And it certainly didn't help that two of his party members were very attractive young women.
Rex had never been good with girls (even more so than most people), especially when they were attractive as the girl in Arzuros armor and the girl in Wroggi gear. Now that he thought about it, why the hell were they so scantily-clad (relatively speaking) when the weather was this horribly cold? Okay, so he would often wear shorts in winter when he was a kid, but showing off that much skin in these temperatures was dangerous. But what a view...! thought Rex. Blood abruptly trickled from one of his nostrils, and he took a handkerchief from his pocket to stop the bleeding. | Name: Rex Drake
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Gear: Armor is full Derring gear, dyed black. Currently utilizes a Hunter's Rifle (equipped with Long Barrel and Variable Zoom Scope attachments). Rex has a bone dagger that his father gave to him before he died, which he is extremely attached to (sometimes even violently so).
Fighting Style/Tactics: Rex is very much used to solo hunting, which often shows itself when in the field; examples of this include following a monster into another area without another thought, planting traps/barrel bombs and throwing flash/sonic bombs without notifying others, and (if he has them) firing Crag and Cluster Shot with reckless abandon. Despite this, he is surprisingly good support, in terms of utilizing Demon, Armor, and Health Shot... however, he's been known to accidentally shoot a monster with the last of those three. Because of his actions he finds himself targeted by monsters quite a bit, so he's gotten quite good at dodging and evading.
Useful Skills: While more of a Jack-of-all-trades than most, Rex excels in long-range sniping, and has learned to read monsters' behavior and body language to judge a target's health.
Personality Buff(s): Rex tends to have a difficult time communicating with others (even those he's known for years), which means that his comrades have been known to be jumped by smaller monsters out in the field. So far, nobody has been killed, but because it hasn't happened yet, that doesn't mean it won't happen. Due to what can only be described as ADD he tends to notice things that others wouldn't (a monster stalking the group, a rare/valuable item, etc.).
Miscellaneous: - Rex has weak Psychic abilities; in-game, this would be equal to +5 Skill Points (where +10 is Detect, and +15 is Autotracker).
- Has an extremely odd habit of shooting targets in the knee, even if he isn't using a Bow. |
47,477 | 1,290 | 7 | 15 | 3,140 | SIR SPUD
The laybrinth of the Yak-Yak was a twisted maze of icy cliffs and frozen death traps. Standing at the entrance of this horrifying place, one could not help but feel like their legs grew roots from fear. In the case of monster/farmer/potao morphs, this was a legitimate issue they had to deal with. Spud sat down in the snow, his leg stool rooted to the ground, and used his pitchfork as a makeshift crowbar to pry his boots off the frozen dirt. It wasn't an easy job, as his tender roots instantly froze to the ice, and he had to put all his force into freeing his legs. He waved for the rest of the party so they won't forget him. "Go on then! The beast be in there sumwhere. Leave me and me good 'ol fork to free meself, and I be with you in a heartbeat."
The opening to the maze was several times larger than Spud imagined, and he only realised that the actual entrance was way further away when he finally catchged up to the rest of the party after a 15 minutes trekking on the snow and ice. But this time he was 99.9% sure that it was the entrance of the actual labyrinth, and he made sure to let the rest of the party know his expert opinion. "Well butter my ass and call me peanut, I betcha dis is the cave of da beast." He used his empty hand to scratch his chin and nodded a few times with a serious expression. Now it was time to finally face the beast, and stop the ol girl from eating half the annual crop production. Spud readied his pitchfork, grabbing the handle with both hands and getting a good grip on the creaking wooden handle. Despite the rust and indents on the weapon, it still shined in the bright light reflected by all the ice around them. Without much else to ready or care about, Spud pushed into the maze along with the others, his fork pointed forward like the weapon of the legionaries. | Name: Sir Spud, the Potato Knight
Appearance: <TBA>
Age: 20
Gender: Male/Potato
Gear:
-Worn farmer overalls: Good ol' potato bustin jeans, from the best of all them farmers outta there. Hamd sewn, with some added cow learher straps for added protection around joints.
-Red checked shirt: The trusty friend of any farmer who wants to look casual and professional at the same time whilst farming 'tatos. The red color is narely visible frim years of hard work, and there are many extra cloth pieces sewn into the material.
-Busted steel helmet without visor: Nice and rusty, like the rest of the tools on the farmlands. This helmet has been "repaired" with a large hammer not fit for such delicate jobs, during which process the helmet's vusor part broke off, and now hangs as a cosmetical piece on the top of the helmet.
-Trusty Pitchfork: Bring the mob, because this trusty pitchfork will vandalise any monster with it's rusted steel tips. Numbers show that this pitchfork has 280% better effiency than swords if a large enough mob wields them against a monster.
Fighting Style/Tactics:
Spude doesn't need no tactic, a farmer boy gotta swing the trusty 'fork, and all th baddies be gone in an instant. Just stab and jab and swing this baby around, and you are guarenteed to inflict some PAIN.PAIN infloction not guaranteed and may result in permanent damage in the user or teammates
Useful Skills:
-Spudness (Infection Lv.1): Sir Spud is no ordinary farmboy. His innate love for potatoes and close encounter with a few nasty 'tato monsters ,that may or may not have infected him with a disease, gave him a set of unnatural abilities he can utilise in combat.
Pros:
-Weak Regeneration: As the muscles turn steadely into monster/plant tissues, Spud gains the ability to regenarate. At this point he can recover from serious wounds over time, or rejuvinate quickly after combat.
-GROW: Spud grows in size overtime like a potato would during the plant's season. Neat.
-Funky Smell: Spud releases hormones that act as a weak concealment. From far away, he smells like another plant or plant monster.
Cons:
-Tatos for cooking: Spud's akin has become quite flammabe and cannot resist heat for long. Side effect of his plant genes.
-Tatos for peeling: Spud's skin has bevome very much like a 'tato and it can be easely bruised, pierced, cut or peeled.
Personality Buff(s): Tho little Spud (formerly known as Joe) has been a potato farmer his whoooole life, he been fighting off tato monsters for a long time. His innate love for these delicious treats affects him in his daily life, becoming obsessed with tatos and their ideas. He sees the inner spud in everything, and even treats monsters like 'tatos. Put em on a fork, cook em, and then have a nice feast.
Now Spud ain't the sharpest tool in the shed (not like the shed has a fine collection of tools), so he be not the most knowledgable around, so he uses his farmer guts and worker wisdom to get around obstacles. He probably be the first one to spot the obvious answer to an obvious question, and he knows a lot about hard work and fixing up busted gear.
Comical Relief: He be making lotsa farmer jokes along the way. |
47,478 | 1,290 | 8 | 911 | 1,306 | The Greater Jak-Jak
<><><><>
The beast shuffled through the thick snow, its pale blue scales reflecting slightly in the grim winter sun. The Jak-Jak uprooted vines and shrubbery from the forest floor, foraging the remaining greens from the hard, frozen ground. The monster brought it's head up from its grazing, vines and bushes hanging from its tusks like racks holding food. It sniffed around its area. Something in the air was musky, metallic, and all around... warm. It was as if a new kind of creature had encroached into the Jak-Jak's territory, something the beast would not like one bit...
"GGGGAAAHHHKKKIIIIII"
As if to justify it's concerns, a territorial cry rang out from the very heart of the arctic labyrinth. The Jak-Jak, features perked and disposition deadly, cried it's own war call out into the grand, icey bowl it called it's home. And that's what it was going to be; it's home.
The Jak-Jak's back arched as it charged towards it's den, ripping through packed snow and small trees alike. The vegetation that the monster had placidly put onto its horns was flung away with the power of the Jak-Jak's movements. The skeletal crunch of the cold ground gave an intimidating sound to the Jak-Jak's presence, the sounding becoming louder and louder as it approached the group of monster hunters.
Whoosh would be a correct way to explain the Greater Jak-Jak's entrance, the limbs of trees flinging through the air as the beast brought itself into the front of the adventurer's party. Thick snow made a hazy mist around the monster, it's gleaming eyes and horns the only thing visible in the aftermatch of the charge.
The villagers from a week-ago had obviously come back. They had trudged themselves back into the Jak-Jak's realm, and now they came with the smell and sounds of dangerous intruders. An angry mother Jak-Jak would never allow such an offense to stand.
Flaring its hunky, scaled wings into the air, the Jak-Jak brought it's battering utensils down onto the party, creating yet another screen of white, snowy smoke erupt from the frozen ground. Brining its snout up into another charging posture, the Jak-Jak barreled into the party's past, lined-up positions. Move or be squashed, puny hunters. | 鉄の拳
(Tetsu Ken)
Age: 68
Gender: Male
Gear:
(The following set of armor was harvested from a group of Ceanataurs that had been nesting in a volcano not far from Tetsu Ken's village. They were slain by the hunter's late father, Hetetsu Ken.)
Ceanataur Helm
Ceanataur Mail
Ceanataur Braces
Ceanataur Tassets
Ceanataur Greaves
+ Ludroth Bonesword
+ A set of three Pitfall-Traps.
Fighting Style/Tactics: Tetsu Ken provides a rather tanky role to any team he contributes to, his stature and equipment always reflecting his tactics of stay put and stay fighting. He believes creating scenarios that keep a monster in place and grounded are one of the key strategies to completing a hunt successfully. He also believes he is an essential part of that strategy; his core strengths lying in his expertise of keeping a monster interested in him, and keeping himself standing. To take on a monster with your own great power, is to take on a hunt with certainty; this is a motto Tetsu Ken always hunts by.
Useful Skills: Tetsu Ken is proficient in the setting of traps, particularly those that impede the movements and attacks of monsters. Furthermore, Tetsu has a helpful background in the maintenance of melee weaponry, particularly the designs of katakanas, bows, and greatswords.
Personality Buffs: Tetsu Ken is an older, wanderlusting adventurer; the practical avatar of a grizzled hunter. his body is coarse and worn, ancient muscles rippling across his back from his lifetime as a dockworker. Thus, he finds himself taking the head-on confrontation against a gigantic beast more often than not, put there by his own wishes and want for battle prowess.
Whenever Tetsu Ken is engaged in Melee fighting with a monster, he has a better chance to execute successful mounts and keep himself mounted on a monster. Furthermore, Tetsu takes a lesser amount of time to get back on his feet after being thrown down by a monster.
Miscellaneous:
Tetsu Ken was once a strong dockyard hand, passing his days by loading and unloading cargo as he looked out at the exciting seas ahead. Seas he would never be able to sail or reach. With a family of seven children and a stay-at-home wife, Tetsu Ken spent many of his years merely trying to support his wealth of children. They were his pride and joy, of course, but something nagged at the working giant. He had never possessed adventure, nothing had ever excited him. He had thrown his young adult freedom to the wind in order to settle down into a family. Now, here he was, stuck as a Dockyard worker.
Slowly, Tetsu's children left home and struck out into the great green yonder, finding careers and families of their own. One by one Tetsu's household became smaller, and one by one he started to lose purpose. His children, the reason he worked and thrived, had now left him for their own adventures. Where was his?
Three months after his last child went to live with his own, new family, the continental impact happened. It sent gigantic tremors through Tetsu's village, his family, but most importantly; his sense of purpose. Scouts soon came back to the giant's dock town saying that a grand new land had been discovered, and that monster hunters were desperately needed to help clear out and set villages into the new frontier. Here was Tetsu's chance to find adventure and excitement; he had never lost his chance, he had just been waiting for it. So out the man strode, ripe with newly found vigor and a will to gather the trophies of great beasts.
Theme: |
47,479 | 1,290 | 9 | 1,399 | 8,773 | Lyra Steppon
As soon as she enters the cave, Lyra hears some guy roar with his own battle-cry. It didn't come from her group however, so it's clear that they weren't the only hunters here. Yet why would that guy give his position away so soon is unclear to her. Arguably she's running in blind, but at least she tries to make herself decently quiet.
Or maybe that guy INTENDED to give away their position.
Suddenly, Lyra hears stomping noises coming towards them. This wasn't the sound of hard rocks however... it was a combination of snow, slush, and twigs.
The monster wasn't in the cave after all.
The Jak-Jak bursts into view behind the hunter gang, with large branches flying to the side upon her reveal. It was a big mama indeed, and while despite being covered mostly in snowy mist, she still looks rather imposing. It's pure-white eyes gleam through the cloak of white, with her front silhouette of large front legs and gnarly horns being visible as well. However instead of trembling in fear like most people, Lyra simply grins stupidly in the face of possible death.
"Heehee!" she chuckles, "Fancy seeing you here, Big Mama. You wanna come and play?"
With that her grip on her switch axe tightens, as its handle and blade extends, ready to do combat with the beast. It's bright orange color, made from the scales and skin of the giant Tetsucabra, makes her presence fairly known through the thick snow, almost as if it was a flag. With that she quickly runs in a curved motion parallel to the Jak Jak. She quickly finds a small ledge in which she swiftly jumps off of and raises her axe as she attempts to mount the monster with a cry of her own. | Name:
Lyra Steppson
Appearance:
Lyra is a fit female with aqua-blue to white fading hair and green eyes. She's 5'9" feet tall and weighs 124 Pounds, sporting a nice fit body, balanced curves, and a nice tan. Her attire is rather skimpy but light enough as not to bog her down compared to thick heavy armor.
Age:
24
Gender:
Female
Gear:
Reckless Switch Axe MK III: A Tetsucabra Switch Axe that summons forth the waves, and leaves beautiful trails of water.
Wroggi Hat: Headgear of a design never seen before. Crafted by a smith who trained in a foreign land.
Wroggi Mail: Chest armor marked by the unique cloak that covers its back. An import from foreign lands.
Wroggi Vambraces: Armguards crafted by a smith who was inspired by his travels to a foreign land.
Wroggi Faulds: Waist armor worn by foreign hunters. Though customized, it retains aspects of the original.
Wroggi Greaves: Leg armor of a peculiar design that made waves among hunters. They work as good as they look!
Hunting Knife: A simple knife to slice open the guts of monsters.
Fighting Style/Tactics:
When in battle, Lyra often goes for a "Hit and Run" tactic, mostly due to how relatively weak her armor is compared to most of the other hunters. Basically she goes into the fray quickly, deals as much damage as she can, and backs away once the monster is back on its feet. She's much more of an opportunistic hunter, often seeing and exploiting the monster's weakness with significant elegancy, only backing out when things get too heated.
Useful Skills:
Lyra is actually rather quick on her feet, making her an excellent scouting unit to have on your team. She's extremely accurate when throwing paint balls onto monsters, while having relatively good tracking abilities, and is an excellent runner even while carrying the rather heavy-looking switch axe. She's also surprising well in identifying and applying medicine and antidotes, as well as having good taste when it comes to food, being able to identify almost any animal she eats and smells. This is made possible as she was born in a hunting village herself, where she often tasted various meats from different animals, including during her travels around the world.
Personality & Buff(s):
Lyra is usually seen as an up-beat and extremely friendly person. She usually walks with a nice big smile or grin on her face and loves to make friends towards literally anyone really. Growing up in a nomadic hunting village, she also has a roaring passion for hunting, just like her farther used to, as well as a tendency to travel a lot. She's also very opportunistic hunter, often waiting for the right time to strike at the unsuspecting monster and attack it furiously before waiting for the next time it looses its guard. She also loves to eat food and has been taught by her mother over-basic training in regards to medicine and antidotes, as she was an apothecary. Overall, Lyra's always prepared to go on a hunt, no matter the weather or conditions she'll have to endure.
Due to her good tastes in food, she's capable in creating certain specific meals that have a high dose of positive effects on the user and is also skilled in located various plant matter that's fit for being used as medicine or bandages.
Theme:
TBA |
47,480 | 1,290 | 10 | 1,761 | 2,977 | Rex
Rex almost crapped himself when their target abruptly charged at the group from behind. Luckily he'd already gone ahead and loaded a pair of Paint Shot rounds into his Bowgun. However, Little-Miss-Wroggi decided to charge in with her Switch Axe and attempt to jump on their target's back. He was a good shooter, but not that good just yet. The young man cursed under his breath, and ejected the magazine of paint rounds, and slapped a magazine of Demon Shot into his Hunter's Rifle. He swung the barrel of his weapon towards the other members of the group.
The young man had a particular expression whenever he was in combat: a blank, cold look befitting a serial killer. Without a word he squeezed off a pair of Demon Shot. | Name: Rex Drake
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Gear: Armor is full Derring gear, dyed black. Currently utilizes a Hunter's Rifle (equipped with Long Barrel and Variable Zoom Scope attachments). Rex has a bone dagger that his father gave to him before he died, which he is extremely attached to (sometimes even violently so).
Fighting Style/Tactics: Rex is very much used to solo hunting, which often shows itself when in the field; examples of this include following a monster into another area without another thought, planting traps/barrel bombs and throwing flash/sonic bombs without notifying others, and (if he has them) firing Crag and Cluster Shot with reckless abandon. Despite this, he is surprisingly good support, in terms of utilizing Demon, Armor, and Health Shot... however, he's been known to accidentally shoot a monster with the last of those three. Because of his actions he finds himself targeted by monsters quite a bit, so he's gotten quite good at dodging and evading.
Useful Skills: While more of a Jack-of-all-trades than most, Rex excels in long-range sniping, and has learned to read monsters' behavior and body language to judge a target's health.
Personality Buff(s): Rex tends to have a difficult time communicating with others (even those he's known for years), which means that his comrades have been known to be jumped by smaller monsters out in the field. So far, nobody has been killed, but because it hasn't happened yet, that doesn't mean it won't happen. Due to what can only be described as ADD he tends to notice things that others wouldn't (a monster stalking the group, a rare/valuable item, etc.).
Miscellaneous: - Rex has weak Psychic abilities; in-game, this would be equal to +5 Skill Points (where +10 is Detect, and +15 is Autotracker).
- Has an extremely odd habit of shooting targets in the knee, even if he isn't using a Bow. |
47,481 | 1,290 | 11 | 1,211 | 352 | Kaze scowled at the sound of a shout deeper into the labyrinth of the Jak-Jak. Of course some nimrod had to alert the monster that people were here. They also had to leave behind some farmboy who somehow rooted himself to the damn ground. Why do people come along to hunt if they're incapable? He thought to himself as he stomped his way through the snow. Cracking the crusted top and mashing down the powder underneath so the others would continue to have an easier time. The sound of thundering footsteps started coming along, something bigger and heavier than a human.
"Great, it knows where we are thanks to that shout earlier..." He growled just before the beast revealed itself. If it wasn't trying to kill them he would have considered it to be pleasant to look at. The white and pale blue scales matching their surroundings perfectly. Of course the big mother was pissed they were here and charged the group. As Kaze moved out of the way he pulled his hammer from the sling on his back. He wasn't paying attention to what Rex was doing and the girl in Wroggi armor was already trying to get on the Jak-Jak's back. "It's to early for that!" He hollered, having never mounted a monster so early. Normally he tired it out a bit before even attempting that.
Changing directions back towards the mother he lunged at her rear legs. Aiming a strike at her calf with the more pointed end of his hammer. He had seen most people go for the powerful and muscular thighs of monsters, but that was a lot more meat to go through. He'd go for the thinner and more vulnerable lower legs and the feet instead. Not many could walk, never-mind run, on a broken limb. | Name: Kaze
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Gear:
Weapon:
Mace: An Iron Hammer with a sharp tip to increase deadliness. An easy weapon to obtain.
Helm: Giaprey Helm: White helm made from Giaprey materials. The hallmark item of a snow-lands hunter.
Torso: Giaprey Mail: Made of Giaprey materials, this practical armor is a northern hunter's trademark.
Gauntlets: Giaprey Vambraces: The snow white Giaprey material of these vambraces make a tenacious armor.
Faulds: Giaprey Tasset: Tasset made from Giaprey material. Superior item that matches ability with beauty.
Leggings: Giaprey Greaves: Greaves made from Giaprey material. Beautiful design optimized for hunting.
Talisman: N/A
Fighting Style/Tactics: Throwing full force into everything is how Kaze fights. Every swing should be made to cripple a monster, every smash made to destroy it's life. Using the momentum of his heavy weapons to amplify the force of his own strength. While others keep a monsters attention he comes in from the side or behind to smash their legs into uselessness. Destroying the core of a monsters strength tends to be where he is, crushing their limbs. Or sometimes even assaulting the head from below with powerful uppercuts with his hammer to shut their mouths, denying them their breath attacks.
Useful Skills:
Kaze is particularly skilled at moving through whatever environment he's in. Snow, vines, mud, or shallow water doesn't slow him down. With the strength in his legs it's difficult to knock him on his ass as well once he plants himself. Given the strength in his legs he can lunge in and out of combat, moving several feet at a time. This allows him to be highly mobile when dodging in and out of a monsters attack pattern.
Kaze is also fairly skilled in tracking. He's tracked monsters through snow and mud, some of the more difficult terrains to go through. He's not perfect but he can give a general idea in direction if all they have to go by are footprints.
Personality Buff(s):
Kaze is naturally aware of his surroundings and wary of his foes. He's always moving around, keeping things in sight and shifting away from parts of his surroundings he deems dangerous. Given his wary nature he's always hovering on the flanks or behind a monster, waiting for a proper opening before moving in. This makes him rely heavily on other hunters to create openings or distractions for him to move in and capitalize on.When attacking from behind or from the flanks Kaze deals bonus damage to monsters.
Out of hunting he enjoys cooking quite a bit as well. He grew up in the north where food tended to be bland but nutritious. So he learned how to make good tasting food that was just as nutritious. During his travels he learned from the various Felyne chefs that had their little eateries in the villages. He's not a master but he does alright when he has the ingredients.
Miscellaneous: Got nothin just yet... |
47,482 | 1,290 | 12 | 2,068 | 714 | Serra
“Finally!” Serra yelled as she threw her cloak to the ground. She might be a little chilly without the extra layers, but it would help her move better. Plus, if the blue haired girl could stand the cold in her ‘armour’ then how bad could it be. She swung her horn around her head, playing a long and deep note before circling around the charging monster. She suddenly felt a strong sensation run through her body. It felt as though she was filled with extra strength.
“Thanks for that!” She said as she glanced to the man with the bowgun. It was good to see that there were others that had decided to be a bit more supportive too. His facial expression was a little unnerving though, but everyone had little habits when they fought. She swung her horn again, sounding off two more notes before taking a deep breath and playing a defence boosting song. The sound of the song echoed through the caverns, and she was sure that all her allies had heard it. And with that out of the way, she quickly assessed the situation. Some of her team had already moved around to attack the more vulnerable sections of the monster, so she thought it was a good idea to try and draw some attention.
With that she made her way in front of the creature, before charging towards her head. She let out a loud cry as she approached, readying her hammer for a quick upward strike. She might not be the strongest person there, but she didn’t have to be. Right now, she just had to try and be the most annoying target. She smiled wide as she brought her hammer up, aiming straight for the creature’s head. | Serra
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Armor:
Arzuros Helm
Arzuros Mail
Arzuros Vambraces
Arzuros Faulds
Arzuros Greaves
Weapon:
Metal Bagpipe
2 x Pitfall Traps
2 x Shock Traps
Fighting Style/Tactics: Serra’s strength comes from her ability to play to her ally’s strengths and creating opportunities for them to shine. Her main goal though, as she would put it, is to be as irritating as possible. She draws attention while playing her songs and carefully preparing for the opportunity to let her allies shine, using traps or a well placed hit to stun a monster. Solo hunts have always been far more difficult for her, but she can handle herself well enough.
Useful Skills: Serra’s unwavering sense of confidence in herself and her choices might make her seem a little arrogant, but in a fight, it allows her to keep her cool in almost any situation. She also prides herself on being a good judge of character when it comes to meeting people and after one or two hunts, is able to start thinking about how to better utilise someone’s more unique abilities.
Personality Buff(s): Serra has always had a rather abrasive personality, but it can serve her well in a fight. She uses this confidence to her benefit, distracting and luring the attention of monsters by making herself appear to be a better target. This strategy can be incredibly dangerous though, as she often wears armour that is more utility than protection. One wrong more, one missed thought and she can be taken out of the fight in an instant. Despite the risk though, she revels in the opportunity to draw the monster’s focus. After all, hiding in the back lines wouldn’t be fun at all.
(I would think of this like the Taunt skill in game, they have a slightly higher chance of hitting her, but only if she is actively drawing attention)
Miscellaneous:
Serra’s hobbies include playing her much smaller instrument, a lyre, and learning to cook. Her attempts at cooking haven’t ended very well, but she is determined to master the skill one day.
While her ability as a tactician is quite good, her overconfidence often gets the better of her. This can result in her rushing in without thinking things through, especially when her enemy seems like it would be a simple fight. |
47,483 | 1,290 | 13 | 1,761 | 2,977 | Rex
Rex nodded at Serra in thanks before rushing a short distance from the group, loading a magazine of Paint Shot as he want. Once an acceptable distance from the group and the Jak-Jak he dropped to a knee and peered through his Bowgun's scope. He felt better, thanks to the defense boost provided by (who he had come to mentally call) Ms. Arzuros. He exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger. Luckily the round hit his target, and he quickly swapped out the magazine for some normal ammunition.
Maybe I should have asked about this thing before we set off... he thought. Rex inhaled, and exhaled again before firing. From sheer appearance it had the basic appearance of an Elder Dragon but it didn't give off the same feel as the one he'd encountered as a child...
Rex couldn't stop shaking, despite the flames around him. On his knees, the boy's legs wouldn't respond to his brain's orders to run. The glowing, red eyes piercing his own somehow sapped his will to flee. His father-- a lifelong Hunter before he passed away-- had always driven into him that the creatures he hunted were animals, driven by the same instincts as your average cat, dog, or bird.
However, wreathed in flame, the monster before him looked downright demonic. But he felt why it was enraged. And, further driving the point home was something behind the ire burning in this beast's eyes.
Intelligence.
This beast had come here with a distinct purpose.
It hadn't been hungry.
Its territory hadn't been invaded by hunters in the village.
It had attacked the village all because a certain little boy had stumbled on its nest, and taken an egg to sell to someone.
And everyone around him had died because he'd wanted to make some quick cash. | Name: Rex Drake
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Gear: Armor is full Derring gear, dyed black. Currently utilizes a Hunter's Rifle (equipped with Long Barrel and Variable Zoom Scope attachments). Rex has a bone dagger that his father gave to him before he died, which he is extremely attached to (sometimes even violently so).
Fighting Style/Tactics: Rex is very much used to solo hunting, which often shows itself when in the field; examples of this include following a monster into another area without another thought, planting traps/barrel bombs and throwing flash/sonic bombs without notifying others, and (if he has them) firing Crag and Cluster Shot with reckless abandon. Despite this, he is surprisingly good support, in terms of utilizing Demon, Armor, and Health Shot... however, he's been known to accidentally shoot a monster with the last of those three. Because of his actions he finds himself targeted by monsters quite a bit, so he's gotten quite good at dodging and evading.
Useful Skills: While more of a Jack-of-all-trades than most, Rex excels in long-range sniping, and has learned to read monsters' behavior and body language to judge a target's health.
Personality Buff(s): Rex tends to have a difficult time communicating with others (even those he's known for years), which means that his comrades have been known to be jumped by smaller monsters out in the field. So far, nobody has been killed, but because it hasn't happened yet, that doesn't mean it won't happen. Due to what can only be described as ADD he tends to notice things that others wouldn't (a monster stalking the group, a rare/valuable item, etc.).
Miscellaneous: - Rex has weak Psychic abilities; in-game, this would be equal to +5 Skill Points (where +10 is Detect, and +15 is Autotracker).
- Has an extremely odd habit of shooting targets in the knee, even if he isn't using a Bow. |
47,484 | 1,290 | 14 | 15 | 3,140 | SIR SPUD
As the Jak-Jak appeared it sent a wave of ice and snow at the hunters in the wave of a massive gust. The other hunters didn't pay attention to it as their clothes reflected this accidental attack, but Spud felt the effects of frostbite as the cold air ran straight through his thin farmer clothes. His limbs became numb and stopped responding to his commands, essentially turning him into a frozen statue. The good news was that he was still pointing his weapon in the general direction of the Jak-Jak. The bad news was that the monster could easely get him.
Thankfully, the hunters began their attack on the Jak-Jak before it striked Spud, and one of the hunters made sure she destracted the attention of the big guy. Her song sent a surge of energy running through the body of Spud, but it barely helped with the frostbite.
"Thanks honey, you saved me skin. Just you wait till I get meself to move again and hit that damn bastard in the face." Of course, he would have to actually free himself to make sure he keeps his word.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing to harness his monster powers. "Okey, focus Spud. Use your inner strenght. You are one with the Potato and the Potato is one with you." He felt a strong breeze run through his skin, and Spud opened his eyes to see what was going on. Throughout his entirey body his skin started to peel of like starch, rejecting the frozen tissue and replacing it with a soft new tissue not affected by the frostbite. Slowly but surely he could feel his limbs again, thought he felt kinda weak. It would take several minutes for his regenerative powers to heal him up to full power again, but this was a good fisrt step. He raised both his hands in the air to celebrate this newfound streght, only to fall face-first into the snow without the support of stable ground below him.
Spud spit out a handful of snow before standing up, and cleaning the snow off of his suit. He quickly grabbed his pitchfork, and reoriented himself in the battle. A dozen seconds barely passed, but it felt like an eternity to stand up from the snow. His skin itched but he could move at leasty and thanks to the previous buff of the hunter gal he could barely feel the cold now.
The Jak-Jak was being attacked by multiple hunters with excellent equipment, and Spud knew that if he tried to do the same, he would only becom mashed potato. So instead he rushed to the aid of the gal trying to distract the hunter to help out the rest of the hunters supportively. He stopped a few feet away from her, and began furiously poking her pitchfork toward the Jak-Jak, as if the old beatenup tool could suddenly became poweful enough to slay such a massive beast. "Look 'ere ya big beasty. You want a taste of me? I can see you're into nice tasty potatoes! You just can't resist to take a bite outta the best potato in the whole word, amiright? Then come and catch me if ya can!" | Name: Sir Spud, the Potato Knight
Appearance: <TBA>
Age: 20
Gender: Male/Potato
Gear:
-Worn farmer overalls: Good ol' potato bustin jeans, from the best of all them farmers outta there. Hamd sewn, with some added cow learher straps for added protection around joints.
-Red checked shirt: The trusty friend of any farmer who wants to look casual and professional at the same time whilst farming 'tatos. The red color is narely visible frim years of hard work, and there are many extra cloth pieces sewn into the material.
-Busted steel helmet without visor: Nice and rusty, like the rest of the tools on the farmlands. This helmet has been "repaired" with a large hammer not fit for such delicate jobs, during which process the helmet's vusor part broke off, and now hangs as a cosmetical piece on the top of the helmet.
-Trusty Pitchfork: Bring the mob, because this trusty pitchfork will vandalise any monster with it's rusted steel tips. Numbers show that this pitchfork has 280% better effiency than swords if a large enough mob wields them against a monster.
Fighting Style/Tactics:
Spude doesn't need no tactic, a farmer boy gotta swing the trusty 'fork, and all th baddies be gone in an instant. Just stab and jab and swing this baby around, and you are guarenteed to inflict some PAIN.PAIN infloction not guaranteed and may result in permanent damage in the user or teammates
Useful Skills:
-Spudness (Infection Lv.1): Sir Spud is no ordinary farmboy. His innate love for potatoes and close encounter with a few nasty 'tato monsters ,that may or may not have infected him with a disease, gave him a set of unnatural abilities he can utilise in combat.
Pros:
-Weak Regeneration: As the muscles turn steadely into monster/plant tissues, Spud gains the ability to regenarate. At this point he can recover from serious wounds over time, or rejuvinate quickly after combat.
-GROW: Spud grows in size overtime like a potato would during the plant's season. Neat.
-Funky Smell: Spud releases hormones that act as a weak concealment. From far away, he smells like another plant or plant monster.
Cons:
-Tatos for cooking: Spud's akin has become quite flammabe and cannot resist heat for long. Side effect of his plant genes.
-Tatos for peeling: Spud's skin has bevome very much like a 'tato and it can be easely bruised, pierced, cut or peeled.
Personality Buff(s): Tho little Spud (formerly known as Joe) has been a potato farmer his whoooole life, he been fighting off tato monsters for a long time. His innate love for these delicious treats affects him in his daily life, becoming obsessed with tatos and their ideas. He sees the inner spud in everything, and even treats monsters like 'tatos. Put em on a fork, cook em, and then have a nice feast.
Now Spud ain't the sharpest tool in the shed (not like the shed has a fine collection of tools), so he be not the most knowledgable around, so he uses his farmer guts and worker wisdom to get around obstacles. He probably be the first one to spot the obvious answer to an obvious question, and he knows a lot about hard work and fixing up busted gear.
Comical Relief: He be making lotsa farmer jokes along the way. |
47,485 | 1,290 | 15 | 911 | 1,306 | The Greater Jak-Jak
<><><><>
A small and petite creature lobbed itself at the Jak-Jak, the beast's bulky eyes straining upwards to see Lyra trying to fall upon it. Bringing it's gigantic tail up into the air, the Jak-Jak swatted the girl towards the ground, a satisfying thump signalling her descent. The Greater Jak-Jak continued its attack, bringing its armored tail down to try and pin the girl.
Next was a colorful barrage, the pigments of bright plants splattering onto the Jak-Jak's hide. Bringing its bulky right wing into position, the Jak-Jak created a barrier between the shots of paint and itself. It quickly turned its attention away from the paint, as to focus on a much more dangerous target.
Crack. The Jak-Jak felt a large vibration go through it's back leg. Twisting its head around with a terrifying snarl, it posed its tail to wack away th-
"REEE-ONNK!"
The Jak-Jak roared as the power of a hammer-instrument and a Demon Shot collided with its body all at once. It tucked back its shielding wing closer to its gigantic body, and recoiled its head away from the hunter in front of it.
A blinding ferocity began to egg itself into the Jak-Jak's body, the heating anger of its kind cauterizing its damaged pride. The furnace of a monster began to swing open, the white-hot rage of a Greater Jak-Jak manifesting full force. How dare these puny beasts try to claim the Jak-Jak's life? This is not their domain, nor will it ever be!
The Greater Jak-Jak Is Now Enraged!
The Jak-Jak tipped its head quickly forward as it caught the instrumental girl on its curling horns, charging into the women before curving its body to face the man responsible for distracting the Jak-Jak. Arching its back and bring its head down, the Jak-Jak charged at the bulky, Giaprey-clad man with full force, pummeling the pinned girl into the snow along the way.
Oh, and don't think mama Jak-Jak forgot about you, potato.
The Jak-Jak flung its tail from behind its charge, swinging it madly from side-to-side as it finally struck the previously charging farmer. An inspiring crack of tree-branches let the Jak-Jak know the strike was definitely a home run.
As the Jak-Jak came into collision with the bulky and, ultimately too slow, Kaze, it flung him and the captured girl away with the force of its bulky momentum. Up and away, puny scavengers. Now, how many more were left?
A female, and a male. Both scrawny, and both kneeling on the ground stoically. What a putrid offense, to not quiver in fear before the might Jak-Jak. Bringing its gigantic wings to the beast's front, the Jak-Jak created a huge, front-facing surface in order to plow towards the remaining duo with. Clashing the appendages to its sides, the beast began another heated charge, snow and small organisms being kicked up viciously in its angered wake. It looked like the most fearsome snow plower alive in that moment, its scales and eyes now gleaming with a much more malicious glow.
The Greater Jak-Jak started to become tired, but with that, its enraging temper only grew. | 鉄の拳
(Tetsu Ken)
Age: 68
Gender: Male
Gear:
(The following set of armor was harvested from a group of Ceanataurs that had been nesting in a volcano not far from Tetsu Ken's village. They were slain by the hunter's late father, Hetetsu Ken.)
Ceanataur Helm
Ceanataur Mail
Ceanataur Braces
Ceanataur Tassets
Ceanataur Greaves
+ Ludroth Bonesword
+ A set of three Pitfall-Traps.
Fighting Style/Tactics: Tetsu Ken provides a rather tanky role to any team he contributes to, his stature and equipment always reflecting his tactics of stay put and stay fighting. He believes creating scenarios that keep a monster in place and grounded are one of the key strategies to completing a hunt successfully. He also believes he is an essential part of that strategy; his core strengths lying in his expertise of keeping a monster interested in him, and keeping himself standing. To take on a monster with your own great power, is to take on a hunt with certainty; this is a motto Tetsu Ken always hunts by.
Useful Skills: Tetsu Ken is proficient in the setting of traps, particularly those that impede the movements and attacks of monsters. Furthermore, Tetsu has a helpful background in the maintenance of melee weaponry, particularly the designs of katakanas, bows, and greatswords.
Personality Buffs: Tetsu Ken is an older, wanderlusting adventurer; the practical avatar of a grizzled hunter. his body is coarse and worn, ancient muscles rippling across his back from his lifetime as a dockworker. Thus, he finds himself taking the head-on confrontation against a gigantic beast more often than not, put there by his own wishes and want for battle prowess.
Whenever Tetsu Ken is engaged in Melee fighting with a monster, he has a better chance to execute successful mounts and keep himself mounted on a monster. Furthermore, Tetsu takes a lesser amount of time to get back on his feet after being thrown down by a monster.
Miscellaneous:
Tetsu Ken was once a strong dockyard hand, passing his days by loading and unloading cargo as he looked out at the exciting seas ahead. Seas he would never be able to sail or reach. With a family of seven children and a stay-at-home wife, Tetsu Ken spent many of his years merely trying to support his wealth of children. They were his pride and joy, of course, but something nagged at the working giant. He had never possessed adventure, nothing had ever excited him. He had thrown his young adult freedom to the wind in order to settle down into a family. Now, here he was, stuck as a Dockyard worker.
Slowly, Tetsu's children left home and struck out into the great green yonder, finding careers and families of their own. One by one Tetsu's household became smaller, and one by one he started to lose purpose. His children, the reason he worked and thrived, had now left him for their own adventures. Where was his?
Three months after his last child went to live with his own, new family, the continental impact happened. It sent gigantic tremors through Tetsu's village, his family, but most importantly; his sense of purpose. Scouts soon came back to the giant's dock town saying that a grand new land had been discovered, and that monster hunters were desperately needed to help clear out and set villages into the new frontier. Here was Tetsu's chance to find adventure and excitement; he had never lost his chance, he had just been waiting for it. So out the man strode, ripe with newly found vigor and a will to gather the trophies of great beasts.
Theme: |
47,486 | 1,290 | 16 | 1,399 | 8,773 | Lyra Steppon
As Lyra descends upon the monster with her massive switch axe, it appeared as if she was foolish enough to go in without expecting a counterattack from it. Indeed, before her blade met the creature's dark-blue skin, she would get slammed towards the ground by the Jak Jak's massive tail. The strength of the tail almost knocked the breath from the overconfident hunter as she finds her self pinned by it.
"Ghhhgh!" Lyra groans as she tries to squiggle out of the massive armored tail, "That's friggin' smarts!"
Meanwhile around her, the rest of the hunters began to open fire and attempt to slash at the dragon. Some succeeded in getting a hit on her, mostly those coming from the ranged hunters and from the person with the armored horn, while some weren't so lucky. However, surprisingly to Lyra, just these intro hits put the massive beast into a rage of fury! Of course such a monster would get mad by getting hit several times on such a caliber, but this quickly?
With a mighty roar, the Jak Jak charges into the hunters in front of her, which also causes Lyra to roll right into the frigid snow, pummeling head first. As she slowly gets up, her head began to turn for a quick moment before finally snapping to her senses. She clenches to her switch axe as she watches the creature from a distance, attempting to figure out where she'll do next. She sees that the creature is making another charge towards two hunters. There was no time to loose. Judging her distance between the beast and the hunters, perhaps she can intercept one of the beast's legs before it stops. She runs diagonally between it and the other two hunters, running as fast as she can, before being only several meters from the line of a steaming organic locomotive of a beast. Then using her axe, she swings it at the creature's front leg, hoping that it'll stop her advance and have it topple to the ground.
Lyra can only hope. | Name:
Lyra Steppson
Appearance:
Lyra is a fit female with aqua-blue to white fading hair and green eyes. She's 5'9" feet tall and weighs 124 Pounds, sporting a nice fit body, balanced curves, and a nice tan. Her attire is rather skimpy but light enough as not to bog her down compared to thick heavy armor.
Age:
24
Gender:
Female
Gear:
Reckless Switch Axe MK III: A Tetsucabra Switch Axe that summons forth the waves, and leaves beautiful trails of water.
Wroggi Hat: Headgear of a design never seen before. Crafted by a smith who trained in a foreign land.
Wroggi Mail: Chest armor marked by the unique cloak that covers its back. An import from foreign lands.
Wroggi Vambraces: Armguards crafted by a smith who was inspired by his travels to a foreign land.
Wroggi Faulds: Waist armor worn by foreign hunters. Though customized, it retains aspects of the original.
Wroggi Greaves: Leg armor of a peculiar design that made waves among hunters. They work as good as they look!
Hunting Knife: A simple knife to slice open the guts of monsters.
Fighting Style/Tactics:
When in battle, Lyra often goes for a "Hit and Run" tactic, mostly due to how relatively weak her armor is compared to most of the other hunters. Basically she goes into the fray quickly, deals as much damage as she can, and backs away once the monster is back on its feet. She's much more of an opportunistic hunter, often seeing and exploiting the monster's weakness with significant elegancy, only backing out when things get too heated.
Useful Skills:
Lyra is actually rather quick on her feet, making her an excellent scouting unit to have on your team. She's extremely accurate when throwing paint balls onto monsters, while having relatively good tracking abilities, and is an excellent runner even while carrying the rather heavy-looking switch axe. She's also surprising well in identifying and applying medicine and antidotes, as well as having good taste when it comes to food, being able to identify almost any animal she eats and smells. This is made possible as she was born in a hunting village herself, where she often tasted various meats from different animals, including during her travels around the world.
Personality & Buff(s):
Lyra is usually seen as an up-beat and extremely friendly person. She usually walks with a nice big smile or grin on her face and loves to make friends towards literally anyone really. Growing up in a nomadic hunting village, she also has a roaring passion for hunting, just like her farther used to, as well as a tendency to travel a lot. She's also very opportunistic hunter, often waiting for the right time to strike at the unsuspecting monster and attack it furiously before waiting for the next time it looses its guard. She also loves to eat food and has been taught by her mother over-basic training in regards to medicine and antidotes, as she was an apothecary. Overall, Lyra's always prepared to go on a hunt, no matter the weather or conditions she'll have to endure.
Due to her good tastes in food, she's capable in creating certain specific meals that have a high dose of positive effects on the user and is also skilled in located various plant matter that's fit for being used as medicine or bandages.
Theme:
TBA |
47,487 | 1,290 | 17 | 1,211 | 352 | Kaze eyed the jak-jak as it turned its head and snarled at him. He gave a growl of his own as he reared his hammer back to crash it into that leg again. Seemingly hellbent on snapping the bones beneath the scales and muscles. He whiffed it though when the jak-jak backed off and tucked its thick wings about its face. Seemingly stunned by the hunting horn bashing into its chin. Well he was wrong on the stunned portion, the jak-jak was pissed and started charging about the place. Knocking the farmboy away, catching the hunting horn girl in its horns.
Kaze was already trying to move out of the way but he wasn't going fast enough. So he braced his legs and used his hammers broad head to act as a shield when it slammed into him. Grunting he held for a moment before he and the girl caught in the horns were launched away. The pair landed in a tangle of arms, legs, snow, and ice. "Dammit..." He growled as he moved away from her and got up. The snow sloughed off his armor as he dragged his hammer up out of the frosty powder.
Reaching out he dragged the hunter horn user to her feet before he charged at the jak-jaks blind side. She wasn't even paying attention to those who had gone down while it charged at the two stationary targets. A yellow glow started to appear around his hammer as he held it behind himself while he ran forward. That telltale glow was the start of a Superpound just for the jak-jak. | Name: Kaze
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Gear:
Weapon:
Mace: An Iron Hammer with a sharp tip to increase deadliness. An easy weapon to obtain.
Helm: Giaprey Helm: White helm made from Giaprey materials. The hallmark item of a snow-lands hunter.
Torso: Giaprey Mail: Made of Giaprey materials, this practical armor is a northern hunter's trademark.
Gauntlets: Giaprey Vambraces: The snow white Giaprey material of these vambraces make a tenacious armor.
Faulds: Giaprey Tasset: Tasset made from Giaprey material. Superior item that matches ability with beauty.
Leggings: Giaprey Greaves: Greaves made from Giaprey material. Beautiful design optimized for hunting.
Talisman: N/A
Fighting Style/Tactics: Throwing full force into everything is how Kaze fights. Every swing should be made to cripple a monster, every smash made to destroy it's life. Using the momentum of his heavy weapons to amplify the force of his own strength. While others keep a monsters attention he comes in from the side or behind to smash their legs into uselessness. Destroying the core of a monsters strength tends to be where he is, crushing their limbs. Or sometimes even assaulting the head from below with powerful uppercuts with his hammer to shut their mouths, denying them their breath attacks.
Useful Skills:
Kaze is particularly skilled at moving through whatever environment he's in. Snow, vines, mud, or shallow water doesn't slow him down. With the strength in his legs it's difficult to knock him on his ass as well once he plants himself. Given the strength in his legs he can lunge in and out of combat, moving several feet at a time. This allows him to be highly mobile when dodging in and out of a monsters attack pattern.
Kaze is also fairly skilled in tracking. He's tracked monsters through snow and mud, some of the more difficult terrains to go through. He's not perfect but he can give a general idea in direction if all they have to go by are footprints.
Personality Buff(s):
Kaze is naturally aware of his surroundings and wary of his foes. He's always moving around, keeping things in sight and shifting away from parts of his surroundings he deems dangerous. Given his wary nature he's always hovering on the flanks or behind a monster, waiting for a proper opening before moving in. This makes him rely heavily on other hunters to create openings or distractions for him to move in and capitalize on.When attacking from behind or from the flanks Kaze deals bonus damage to monsters.
Out of hunting he enjoys cooking quite a bit as well. He grew up in the north where food tended to be bland but nutritious. So he learned how to make good tasting food that was just as nutritious. During his travels he learned from the various Felyne chefs that had their little eateries in the villages. He's not a master but he does alright when he has the ingredients.
Miscellaneous: Got nothin just yet... |
47,488 | 1,290 | 18 | 15 | 3,140 | SIR SPUD
The good news was that the Jak-Jak did indeed pay attention to him. The bad news was that she payed too much attention to him, and after swiftly removing Spud's taunt partner, he became vulnerable target for the beast's raging attacks. After swiftly dodging a few swipes of the JJ's tail, Spud lost his bearings for a second as a wild gust of snow decided to help out the monster by rudely forcing itself into the eyes of the farmboy. Blinded by the snow, Spud was in no condition to dodge the next attack and the quick attack sent him flying through the air, his flight was quickly interrupted by a large Pine tree.
After decimating a few branches on the tree, the ensuing avalanche of snow created a soft pile below him that broke his fall. Still, someone without Spud's regeneration might not have stood up from such a grave fall. Spud was knocked unconcious by the attack, and lied in the snow without control of his body. But something inside him kept aware of the situation he was in, and reminded him that he cannot give up by staying unconcious. Whatever it was it slowly started to fill his chest with a warm feeling, and invited him to an unknown destination. He wasn't sure where he was anymore and he didn't even know who he was, but he still decided to follow this mystical voice. Then accompanied by a bright flash of light, he woke up coughin up his own blood onto the ground, melting away the snow with small red droplets. More like orange-ish to be honest, but it still resembled human blood. Mostly. Still, the fact that he even woke up after receiving such trauma was only possible thanks to his regenerative powers.
"Well I be damned right on the spot. If this wasn't a Hail Mary then I don't know what it was. Thank the virgin for saving my starch." Then he followed up by coughing up another batch of blood on the snow. "That monster be damned. As long as blood flows in me veins, I'll avenge the death of me brothers by killin da beast meself." After looking around for his weapon, he found his pitchfork broken in half, and all tips but one bent beyond recognition. His hlemet's visor was also missing, with no sign of it anywhere on the horizon. "Now you gun' and done it." Spud grabbed the remains of his pitchfork, and broke off the last remaining sharp piece. The took the back half of the tool and atatched it to the spike, making a small makeshift spear that could be used to pierce or cut anything.
He leaned on the spear as he stood up as most of his bones were hurting like hell from the impact. But he could feel his body slowly rejuvenating as his monster powers surfaced with the lack of self control caused by anger. Thought he lost all sense of direction in the air, turned out he wasn't thrown too far away by the Jak-Jak, thanks to that Pine tree that was in the way. As he finally stood upright, he saw two of his fellow hunters who were kneeling in the snow, facing the of the Jak-Jak head on as it was preparing to charge them. Spud knew he ad to do something, but his rational mind wasn't working and he began walking towards his comrades. His vision was clouded and adrenalin pumped through his veins, reinforcing his weak steps to make them a march to battle.
He firmly gribbed his spear and started shouting towards the Monster, hoping that it would be distracted yet again. If he could just make it ignore the chain in front of it and help trip the monster, he and the other would have a perfect oppurtinity to attack. He coughed up another batch of blood, and began his speech towards the raging monster, hoping that it would focus on him. "Listen 'ere you big fat ugly potato! You broke me 'fork and me helmet and now you have to pay for it. You can break my body and you can break my spirit, but you can NEVER break my potato poking fork and my spudknight helmet. I'll shove this spear so deep down ya throat, you'll think of yourself as grillmeat on a stake when I be done with ya." He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean some of the blood from his face, and spit the rest on the ground, along with a broken tooth. "Now come 'ere and finish the job you started. You killed me two brothers and I am the next in line." | Name: Sir Spud, the Potato Knight
Appearance: <TBA>
Age: 20
Gender: Male/Potato
Gear:
-Worn farmer overalls: Good ol' potato bustin jeans, from the best of all them farmers outta there. Hamd sewn, with some added cow learher straps for added protection around joints.
-Red checked shirt: The trusty friend of any farmer who wants to look casual and professional at the same time whilst farming 'tatos. The red color is narely visible frim years of hard work, and there are many extra cloth pieces sewn into the material.
-Busted steel helmet without visor: Nice and rusty, like the rest of the tools on the farmlands. This helmet has been "repaired" with a large hammer not fit for such delicate jobs, during which process the helmet's vusor part broke off, and now hangs as a cosmetical piece on the top of the helmet.
-Trusty Pitchfork: Bring the mob, because this trusty pitchfork will vandalise any monster with it's rusted steel tips. Numbers show that this pitchfork has 280% better effiency than swords if a large enough mob wields them against a monster.
Fighting Style/Tactics:
Spude doesn't need no tactic, a farmer boy gotta swing the trusty 'fork, and all th baddies be gone in an instant. Just stab and jab and swing this baby around, and you are guarenteed to inflict some PAIN.PAIN infloction not guaranteed and may result in permanent damage in the user or teammates
Useful Skills:
-Spudness (Infection Lv.1): Sir Spud is no ordinary farmboy. His innate love for potatoes and close encounter with a few nasty 'tato monsters ,that may or may not have infected him with a disease, gave him a set of unnatural abilities he can utilise in combat.
Pros:
-Weak Regeneration: As the muscles turn steadely into monster/plant tissues, Spud gains the ability to regenarate. At this point he can recover from serious wounds over time, or rejuvinate quickly after combat.
-GROW: Spud grows in size overtime like a potato would during the plant's season. Neat.
-Funky Smell: Spud releases hormones that act as a weak concealment. From far away, he smells like another plant or plant monster.
Cons:
-Tatos for cooking: Spud's akin has become quite flammabe and cannot resist heat for long. Side effect of his plant genes.
-Tatos for peeling: Spud's skin has bevome very much like a 'tato and it can be easely bruised, pierced, cut or peeled.
Personality Buff(s): Tho little Spud (formerly known as Joe) has been a potato farmer his whoooole life, he been fighting off tato monsters for a long time. His innate love for these delicious treats affects him in his daily life, becoming obsessed with tatos and their ideas. He sees the inner spud in everything, and even treats monsters like 'tatos. Put em on a fork, cook em, and then have a nice feast.
Now Spud ain't the sharpest tool in the shed (not like the shed has a fine collection of tools), so he be not the most knowledgable around, so he uses his farmer guts and worker wisdom to get around obstacles. He probably be the first one to spot the obvious answer to an obvious question, and he knows a lot about hard work and fixing up busted gear.
Comical Relief: He be making lotsa farmer jokes along the way. |
47,489 | 1,290 | 19 | 2,068 | 714 | Serra
“Nice hit!!” Serra yelled with a grin. The hammer landed soundly, and the monster’s head recoiled away. She glanced to the man that had joined her to distract the monster. He looked a little… odd with a pitchfork and some less than pristine condition armour. Looked a little more like a farm boy than a hunter, but one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
Serra’s grin disappeared as she realised that her hit hadn’t done as much as she had hoped. She felt the thud of the horn, and for a few moments she was at the mercy of the Jak-Jak’s enraged attacks. She felt herself smash into the snow before being thrown along with one of her team mates. Her limbs felt heavy in the snow, and she was having trouble even catching her breath, when she felt someone helping her up.
“Thanks” She said, but the man had already run off to face the monster again. She looked around for her horn to see that it had been dropped some distance away. She made for it, grabbing and downing a small jar of green liquid as she did. She grabbed her horn and was about to charge after the others when she stopped for a moment. This thing could do a lot of damage if it they let it throw its weight around, so maybe a better plan was to stop it, then focus on taking it down. Making her way to a more open part of the room, Serra sorted through her bad, looking for a metal disk from her bag. It took a few moments, but the Shock Trap was set up and ready to go. She just hoped that her other team mates would be able to avoid the creature’s charge.
Serra swung her horn around her head, playing a few quick notes before blowing. She was playing a song to help her team mates rejuvenate after the hits they had taken. It wouldn’t do much, but she was too far away to charge in at this point. She stood in front of the trap, ready to dive out of the way if the monster decided to go after her instead. This thing had already landed one too many hits on her, and she was ready to repay the favour. | Serra
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Armor:
Arzuros Helm
Arzuros Mail
Arzuros Vambraces
Arzuros Faulds
Arzuros Greaves
Weapon:
Metal Bagpipe
2 x Pitfall Traps
2 x Shock Traps
Fighting Style/Tactics: Serra’s strength comes from her ability to play to her ally’s strengths and creating opportunities for them to shine. Her main goal though, as she would put it, is to be as irritating as possible. She draws attention while playing her songs and carefully preparing for the opportunity to let her allies shine, using traps or a well placed hit to stun a monster. Solo hunts have always been far more difficult for her, but she can handle herself well enough.
Useful Skills: Serra’s unwavering sense of confidence in herself and her choices might make her seem a little arrogant, but in a fight, it allows her to keep her cool in almost any situation. She also prides herself on being a good judge of character when it comes to meeting people and after one or two hunts, is able to start thinking about how to better utilise someone’s more unique abilities.
Personality Buff(s): Serra has always had a rather abrasive personality, but it can serve her well in a fight. She uses this confidence to her benefit, distracting and luring the attention of monsters by making herself appear to be a better target. This strategy can be incredibly dangerous though, as she often wears armour that is more utility than protection. One wrong more, one missed thought and she can be taken out of the fight in an instant. Despite the risk though, she revels in the opportunity to draw the monster’s focus. After all, hiding in the back lines wouldn’t be fun at all.
(I would think of this like the Taunt skill in game, they have a slightly higher chance of hitting her, but only if she is actively drawing attention)
Miscellaneous:
Serra’s hobbies include playing her much smaller instrument, a lyre, and learning to cook. Her attempts at cooking haven’t ended very well, but she is determined to master the skill one day.
While her ability as a tactician is quite good, her overconfidence often gets the better of her. This can result in her rushing in without thinking things through, especially when her enemy seems like it would be a simple fight. |
47,490 | 1,290 | 20 | 2,786 | 796 | Gaki
Gaki loped along in a low crouch, using his hands to push against the walls and floor as he bounded through the cave. The echoes of the last roar died away, but he knew now where it came from. He avoided a few side paths and made his way to a seemingly dead end; a look up above, however, revealed the light from the glowing mushrooms at the edge of a steep rock face. Its top was tinged with frost and ice. Gaki slipped his hands out of his makeshift weapons and hung them from either side of a vine serving as his belt, then jumped and reached out as far as he could. His fingers barely found purchase on the wall, but find it they did and with a seemingly inhuman strength of grip he began pulling himself upwards. His toes too found tiny holds, little more than cracks in the wall that offered the barest of leverage. But then he was up and away, scurrying like some sort of bug up the smooth face and over the top in a matter of moments. He shook his hands and feet as they made contact with the icy floor, but as long as he had the Anteka-pelt cloak the worst of the cold was kept at bay.
Up through the tunnels he went now, his reflection racing alongside him in the layers of ice. He kept close to the wall on his left, and began to smell the air. He could smell a fresh breeze, though it was bitter cold, and now the sound of the beast within the Labyrinth could be heard without issue. Its giant body made the walls rumble...but there was something else. The cry of some other monster? No, it didn't sound quite right...The clash of something that sounded like the shiny rocks he sometimes found hitting flesh and scales. Then there was the sharp smell left after a lightning strike in a rain storm, only it didn't fade away, and it was followed by a "ding, ding, ding" that certainly wasn't the sound of a living creature.
The boy rounded one last turn and set off into a new tunnel--then stopped short, limbs scrabbling on the ice. Up ahead he could see the Jak Jak, its elderly but still powerful body charging at something in the snow, using its wings to plow the thick white powder. And the somethings in the snow, they were...
His eyes widened.
They...they had fur, or scales, didn't they? Except it wasn't right, the fur didn't come out of their skin, it was just...there, hanging off of them. Kind of like his own pelts...And they had big tools, something that looked like a much much bigger version of a stone club Gaki had made once (it had broken a long time ago), and something that also looked like that club but also made noise somehow when the creature blew into it. And another creature had another club, but it was sharp, and it...it folded and moved somehow, almost like a Gargwa wing if you pulled a certain strip of meat on it to make it go back and forth.
And they were fighting the Jak Jak, even though they were so small, and somehow they were hurting it and it hadn't yet killed them even when it hit them. The one with the club that made noise stood near the thing that smelled like lightning, and Gaki could tell it was dangerous just by looking at it. What was it? Was it another tool that these creatures had made? And why...why did they look so familiar to him?
He crept closer, hiding behind a chunk of rock sticking out of the ice. The rock had various blue crystals sticking out of it--Gaki had found in times past that sometimes he could pry shiny rocks out of these that would make sparks for his fire or just looked pretty in the sunlight. But now it provided him a place to watch the battle unfold with wide, curious eyes... | G A K I
"GAH-KIIIIIIIIIIIII!!"
Age:
Not known for certain, but looks to be in the 16-18 range.
Gender:
Male
Backstory
A man in white armor stands atop a rocky cliff, looking out over the thick jungle below him. The silvery longsword sits silently upon his back. The child he holds in one hand, however, kicks and screams and cries incessantly.
"I never wanted, or needed, a family." His voice is deeper, and colder, than the frozen wastes he prowled to forge that armor. He holds the boy by the scruff of the neck out over the cliff's edge. The screaming stops as eyes go wide with terror, tears falling who knows how many feet into the canopy below.
"All I need is the Hunt."
The Hunter lets go, turns his back and walks away, disappearing into the wind. The child falls, and once again begins to scream...
Gaki awakens from the nightmare, bolting up from his nest of leaves on the cold cave floor. He shakes his head, not understanding why the water drops roll down his cheeks. He needs to keep moving--all the other Monsters are moving, the territories are shifting. Something has changed in this world, and the boy feels instinct pulling him in a new direction...
Gear
Head:
None, currently.
Torso:
Leafy Mantle - It's a bunch of leaves and other material strung on a vine and draped over the shoulders. Useless as armor, but better as camoflauge.
Waist:
Kelbi Skirt - A simple covering from the waist to just above the knees, made by skinning Kelbi and using vines and sharp wooden pins to bind them together. Nice and warm, but not very protective.
Arms:
None, currently.
Legs:
None, currently.
Item Name:
Hand Wraps
Appearance:
Thick, heavy wraps made by stripping and braiding plant fiber into sturdy ropes. These ropes aren't just cordage or single braids either--this is the kind of stuff that's almost as thick as your arm. They're wrapped and tied around the arms in a particular fashion, like a huge variant of a boxer or muay thai fighter's hand wraps, but they completely cover the hand and fingers with an end that's just a bunch of knots thickly compressed together.
"Ingredients":
Ivy - To make the cordage.
Carpenterbug - To coat the ropes for weatherproofing and strength.
Gluehopper - To use on the ends to keep them from fraying, and to soak the knots in so they won't come undone.
Type:
Gauntlets
Description:
A pair of gauntlets made by scrapping together materials in the wild; an odd weapon that doesn't even need smithing. However, it's obviously weak compared to "properly made" Gauntlets...then again, up until now, has any Hunter even used gauntlets as a weapon?
Type of Damage:
Impact
Details
Fighting Style/Tactics:
Gaki had to be a vicious opportunist in order to survive. His favored tactic is to stalk prey unseen, then ambush them when they show an opening and go straight for the kill. Due to his lack of technological understanding, he's not comfortable with traps, bombs, or other tools, but if it gives him a leg up he's more than willing to use it. He is also relentless--once he is sure he's wounded his prey, he won't let them get away. No matter if he has to follow them for days and wait for them to sleep or bleed out, he won't give up until he's brought them down--because otherwise he goes empty-handed, and when it comes to survival that can mean death. In the thick of the fight, he's like an angry animal, and will shrug off scratches and bruises while avoiding heavier blows that would break bone or cut him too deeply.
Useful Skills:
Gaki has finely developed senses, so much so that they can seem superhuman at times. He is an excellent tracker, using his knowledge of the wild in addition to those senses. He is also very quick to pick up on "danger signals," even when there's little evidence of such.
Despite knowing little to nothing of technology, his "figure it out or die" lifestyle has made him very creative--he can craft things with natural materials swiftly and with a high degree of skill.
Personality Buff(s):
Gaki's personality isn't well developed, because until now he hasn't interacted with others much. However, he can be summed up very simply: He will do anything to live another day, and anything to find food. This had led to him developing a couple of skills:
Gaki has lived on and traversed many kinds of terrain with nothing but his bare body to protect and support him; thus, he can climb surfaces others wouldn't be able to get a handhold on and find paths where others might be blocked off. He can also find shelter in places others might not think to look, along with hiding spots.
He's fast, extremely fast, because a single blow from something bigger than him would have meant death, and being too slow to chase prey would mean starving. Sometimes he'll even drop onto all fours, moving in a way that should be unnatural to a human with the skill one would expect from an ape.
Miscellaneous:
Gaki will eat nearly anything, as long as it isn't poisonous, and often won't even bother to cook it.
Gaki can't really speak, but could possibly learn over the course of interacting with others.
He's starting off with very little, befitting his life up until now; once the RP is underway and he's made those first connections, gathering materials for armor and weaponry will be one of his biggest driving goals.
Finally, he has a habit of licking his hands when he gets excited. The gesture is reminiscent of a certain dangerous monster... |
47,491 | 1,290 | 21 | 1,761 | 2,977 | Rex
And then he was back to reality. The Jak-Jak had become enraged, and was throwing itself at the others like killing hunters was going out of style. Dammit! he thought. I got distracted. They could have... Rex shook his head. Chewing himself out would have to wait until later. It uses its wings like a shield, and as blunt weapons. Its armor is thick, so it might tire itself out. However, there is one cure-all for thick armor.
Rex hit the magazine release on his Bowgun, and loaded Pierce Shot into the receiver. Peering down the scope, he slowed his breathing, and quickly squeezed off the two rounds in the magazine. If the level one rounds didn't work, he still had level two Pierce Shot among his ammunition types. With smooth, nigh-mechanical movements Rex reached for another magazine. | Name: Rex Drake
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Gear: Armor is full Derring gear, dyed black. Currently utilizes a Hunter's Rifle (equipped with Long Barrel and Variable Zoom Scope attachments). Rex has a bone dagger that his father gave to him before he died, which he is extremely attached to (sometimes even violently so).
Fighting Style/Tactics: Rex is very much used to solo hunting, which often shows itself when in the field; examples of this include following a monster into another area without another thought, planting traps/barrel bombs and throwing flash/sonic bombs without notifying others, and (if he has them) firing Crag and Cluster Shot with reckless abandon. Despite this, he is surprisingly good support, in terms of utilizing Demon, Armor, and Health Shot... however, he's been known to accidentally shoot a monster with the last of those three. Because of his actions he finds himself targeted by monsters quite a bit, so he's gotten quite good at dodging and evading.
Useful Skills: While more of a Jack-of-all-trades than most, Rex excels in long-range sniping, and has learned to read monsters' behavior and body language to judge a target's health.
Personality Buff(s): Rex tends to have a difficult time communicating with others (even those he's known for years), which means that his comrades have been known to be jumped by smaller monsters out in the field. So far, nobody has been killed, but because it hasn't happened yet, that doesn't mean it won't happen. Due to what can only be described as ADD he tends to notice things that others wouldn't (a monster stalking the group, a rare/valuable item, etc.).
Miscellaneous: - Rex has weak Psychic abilities; in-game, this would be equal to +5 Skill Points (where +10 is Detect, and +15 is Autotracker).
- Has an extremely odd habit of shooting targets in the knee, even if he isn't using a Bow. |
47,492 | 1,290 | 22 | 911 | 1,306 | The Greater Jak-Jak
<><><><>
The Greater Jak-Jak, its head tilted down in a menacing charge and wings placed to its sides for protection, continued its trajectory towards the frozen form of the two hunters. A cloud of smoky snow enveloped the behemoth, swirling around it in a torrent of authority that made the Jak-Jak look like a fired missile. A lithe form charged into such a smoke, however, a capped heroine swing an over-sized, sharp object. The creature looked deadly, yet doubtful, in its movements with the weapon, being quickly cut short of the Jak-Jak's front leg by its shield-like wing. throwing the appendage upwards in a swooping motion, the girl was flung into the air, the Jak-Jak's tenacious strength barreling her figure up near the tops of the dwarfish trees. The Jak-Jak was so preoccupied with the spectacle, the Superpound caught it completely by suprise.
Crack. The crunch of scales breaking off the Jak-Jak's armored back-leg was a chilling sound, bringing the beast further into its maddened rage. With the force of a giant, blue horse, the Jak-Jak flung its back leg into the assaulting warrior, pushing him down and out into the deep snow. It used such a kick to start propelling itself forward, starting another charge to onlooking hunters. Another cloud of snow rose from the Jak-Jak's trod, a missile once again as it-
BZZZZZTTT
So there the Jak-Jak stood, frozen in place like a statue as the shock-trap erupted out from the layers of snow covering it. The beast looked around itself as it struggled, watching as the hunters recuperated against the defenseless Jak-Jak. A piercing sensation started to spread itself from the beast's abdomen; looking down, metal rods of sharp implications had planted themselves into the Jak-Jak's breast, fired from a direction it could discern in the overwhelming heat of this electrical surge. Painfully twisting its head upwards, the Jak-Jak saw the descending form of the girl from before, more confident and deadly than before. The Greater Jak-Jak was starting to quickly free itself, but she would still be at the mercy of her assailants before long. How could she be fooled and overwhelmed by such puny creatures?!
A broken pitchfork lodged into the Jak-Jak's underbelly signaled the start of the attacks. | 鉄の拳
(Tetsu Ken)
Age: 68
Gender: Male
Gear:
(The following set of armor was harvested from a group of Ceanataurs that had been nesting in a volcano not far from Tetsu Ken's village. They were slain by the hunter's late father, Hetetsu Ken.)
Ceanataur Helm
Ceanataur Mail
Ceanataur Braces
Ceanataur Tassets
Ceanataur Greaves
+ Ludroth Bonesword
+ A set of three Pitfall-Traps.
Fighting Style/Tactics: Tetsu Ken provides a rather tanky role to any team he contributes to, his stature and equipment always reflecting his tactics of stay put and stay fighting. He believes creating scenarios that keep a monster in place and grounded are one of the key strategies to completing a hunt successfully. He also believes he is an essential part of that strategy; his core strengths lying in his expertise of keeping a monster interested in him, and keeping himself standing. To take on a monster with your own great power, is to take on a hunt with certainty; this is a motto Tetsu Ken always hunts by.
Useful Skills: Tetsu Ken is proficient in the setting of traps, particularly those that impede the movements and attacks of monsters. Furthermore, Tetsu has a helpful background in the maintenance of melee weaponry, particularly the designs of katakanas, bows, and greatswords.
Personality Buffs: Tetsu Ken is an older, wanderlusting adventurer; the practical avatar of a grizzled hunter. his body is coarse and worn, ancient muscles rippling across his back from his lifetime as a dockworker. Thus, he finds himself taking the head-on confrontation against a gigantic beast more often than not, put there by his own wishes and want for battle prowess.
Whenever Tetsu Ken is engaged in Melee fighting with a monster, he has a better chance to execute successful mounts and keep himself mounted on a monster. Furthermore, Tetsu takes a lesser amount of time to get back on his feet after being thrown down by a monster.
Miscellaneous:
Tetsu Ken was once a strong dockyard hand, passing his days by loading and unloading cargo as he looked out at the exciting seas ahead. Seas he would never be able to sail or reach. With a family of seven children and a stay-at-home wife, Tetsu Ken spent many of his years merely trying to support his wealth of children. They were his pride and joy, of course, but something nagged at the working giant. He had never possessed adventure, nothing had ever excited him. He had thrown his young adult freedom to the wind in order to settle down into a family. Now, here he was, stuck as a Dockyard worker.
Slowly, Tetsu's children left home and struck out into the great green yonder, finding careers and families of their own. One by one Tetsu's household became smaller, and one by one he started to lose purpose. His children, the reason he worked and thrived, had now left him for their own adventures. Where was his?
Three months after his last child went to live with his own, new family, the continental impact happened. It sent gigantic tremors through Tetsu's village, his family, but most importantly; his sense of purpose. Scouts soon came back to the giant's dock town saying that a grand new land had been discovered, and that monster hunters were desperately needed to help clear out and set villages into the new frontier. Here was Tetsu's chance to find adventure and excitement; he had never lost his chance, he had just been waiting for it. So out the man strode, ripe with newly found vigor and a will to gather the trophies of great beasts.
Theme: |
47,493 | 1,291 | 0 | 134 | 1,308 | WARHAMMER 40K: THE CHAOS INCURSION
Inquisitor Icarus of the Ordo Hereticus stood silent and still upon the command deck of the Amythian as the soothing sound of computers and machinery filled the large room. Her sapphire blue eyes gazed up at a large monitor that hung part way over the massive glass window that displayed the vast emptiness of space. Upon the monitor was information about their position in space and the estimated amount of time it would take them to arrive at their destination if conditions stayed favorable.
"Inquisitor Icarus, Imperial units in the area of Minh report zero threats and zero anomalies between us and our destination. The estimated time till arrival is twenty three hours and forty nine minutes. Weather upon Sovereign will remain in the low temperatures for the next two days then will slowly warm to the planets summer season. We have no further words or information from the Erathellian System. The ship is running at one hundred and fifty percent capacity, all systems are in the green and are fully functional. I would feel sorry for the poor bloke that would end up engaging us in battle."
The ship's information specialist brought his right hand to his mouth and coughed before continuing. "The small number of elite troops that you requested help in this mission are in their personal quarters within the living deck of the ship. None of them have left their quarters yet but once that happens I will inform you immediately. Most likely unpacking their gear and getting comfortable with their new setting. All gear, equipment, weapons and vehicles are secured and counted for." The information specialist looked over more random information before nodding his head in approval. "The ship is running like a charm, we have everything we need, everyone is present and accounted for, thank the emperor."
Inquisitor Icarus nodded her head once in acknowledgement, her short black hair slightly swaying as she did. "Inform my retinue to report to the briefing room immediately for important information regarding the mission. Inform them that I require their presence inside of the meeting room as soon as possible. While you are doing that, I have a matter to attend to." The Inquisitor turned and left the command deck swiftly but silently as if on the hunt for something or someone. A few moments later she would appear in the meeting room with her own Servo-Skull floating beside her.
Walking to the front of the room, she stopped next to a table in the middle of the room and motioned for her Servo-Skull to send a direct feed into it. Instantly an incredibly detailed and interactive holographic image of the Erathellian Solar System came up. At that moment, it dawned on her that the information specialist had not done what she had asked. Reaching to interact with the com upon the wall near the entrance of the room, she was abruptly interrupted before she could order the command once more. "This is Information specialist Flores, by order of Inquisitor Icarus, all those that are part of the Inquisitors retinue must report to the meeting room immediately for information about the mission at hand."
Swiftly, Inquisitor Icarus returned to her position in the middle of the room and ensured that the hologram was in fact working correctly. All there was to do now was to wait for the Emperors finest to show up, then she would start. | Name:
Andromedai Morgenstern
Age:
Thirty
Gender:
Female
Personality:
As a member of the Adepta Sororitas, Andromedai has a will of iron that is matched by her steadfast determination to thoroughly eliminate all hostiles that threaten the Imperium of Man and The God Emperor. Some call her reckless, but in truth she carefully plans out each of her actions before swiftly putting them into motion, there is no room for mistakes upon the battlefield. When serving along her own kind, she is selfless and honorable. She will assist those who are in need the most, if appropriate. At times, she can be unpredictable, using her creativity to overcome whatever challenges that are tossed her way. Very rarely, some of her past life will show through her personality, showing the humanity that still remains buried behind her intense training and brain-washing she endured over many years.
Former Occupation:
Ophelian Celestian for the Order of the Argent Shroud.
Equipment:
Armor: Full suit of Celestian Power Armour with Order of the Argent Shrouds shading and emblem.
Primary Weapon: Astartes Mark Vb Godwyn Pattern Bolter -
Secondary Weapon:
Melee Weapon: Chainsowrd
Accessory 1: Krak Grenades
Accessory 2: Melta-Bomb
Accessory 3: Rosarius
Acessory 4: Librium/Tome.
Medical Equipment.
Has been seen operating with a Mk IV Arkhan Rifle in the past.]
Notable Events:
The Obsidian incursion:
A few months after being assigned to the Order of the Argent Shroud, Andromedai was stationed upon the Shrine world of Erathell to help protect a number of Important Temples and Shrines dedicated to the God-Emperor of Mankind. While she preferred a combat role, guarding such holy sites was also a critical role she was honored to hold. Many months passed in calm before the Slaanesh devoted forces of Chaos invaded, bringing a wave of death and destruction to all that they touched. Due to where they had started their invasion, Andromedai was one of the first to throw herself into Erathells defense. Alongside her fellow Sisters of Battle, they pushed back against the chaos forces over two days of non-stop fighting. The records for the battle indicate that not a single Adepta Sororitas had been lost, through the forces that had invaded the world had been completely irradiated. This was the first world invasion that Andromedai had been part of, from it she had learned many useful skills and had gathered much information about the enemy that would help her through many other battles in the future.
The Assault of Dalenarth:
Andromedai and her fellow Sisters of Battle fought alongside the fabled Space Marines in a war called the Assault of Dalenarth. A large number of Tau forces had been spotted in the Hawkings cluster but vanished from all sight, seemingly to vanish in the depths of the galaxy. When further investigation into the Hawkings cluster was issued, a large base was found to have been established upon an abandoned War world, hiding amongst the rubble. Swiftly and to the letter, the threat was analyzed and considered to be grave, if not completely annihilated. Their numbers were massive and thus both the Sisters of Battle and the Space Marines were sent to deal with the threat. As soon as they arrived, war had broken out and casualties on all sides were counted but never admitted to. Working alongside a Space Marines for the first time, she witnessed the combined strength of their forces. Eventually when Andromedai found herself alongside a single Space marine in the depths of the Tau base, the two of them burned through the hostile forces together, finely eliminating the Tau commander who had organized the whole mission. Both of them were recognized for their acts during the war that lasted two weeks.
The Slaughter at Mobius:
The Slaughter upon the desert world of Mobius is a failed assignment that not many members of the Imperium of man know about. Andromedai had been asked to lead fifteen Sisters of Battle to a small civilized world that had been also called a desert world due to its arid and barren landscapes. Why the Imperium of man had decided to place a colony here was beyond Andromedai she had her orders to investigate a destress signal. When they landed upon the planet, what they found was much more horrific than what was expected. The colony had been completely destroyed, leaving little to no sign of. Further investigation resulted in stirring up something that laid below the sands.
The colony had foolishly built their city on top of a forbidden world, unknown of the dangers that laid below it. They had awoken a small group of hideous xenos known as Tyranids. There had been no way to tell if the distress signal was a trap or not, but what they did know is that all the occupants of the city had died seemingly overnight. The corpses that still remained were fresh, it was very likely the hostiles were still close by. Quickly, Andromdai sent out a message for immediate evacuation and recommended exterminates to quell the threat of the hive. The order would be given to destroy the planetary biosphere and all life upon the world once she had her troops were evacuated.
The pilot informed them that she would be at their location in sixty seconds. Those sixty seconds proved to be the worst she had experienced upon any planet or any battle since she had seen combat. The ground broke apart in the distance and from it came the Xeno horrors that had wiped the colony clean. Almost every round and explosive that the group had was expelled before the drop ship arrived, strafing the area then quickly landing almost on top of the Sisters of Battle. To her surprise, every member of her squad made it onto the drop ship, allowing herself to be the last to board. When she did though, she felt numerous rounds from the Tyranid weapons travel through random parts of her body.
The wounds she sustained were incredibly painful, severe and life threatening but with great will and determination she pushed herself part way into the drop ship. The two medics from her squad helped pull her into the ship just as the doors were closing. Within moments, they were a safe distance away from the planet and were now heading back to the fleet where the wounded would be tended to. As they did though, they witnessed the order for the exterminates being carried out in full, a magnificent but also horrifying spectacle to witness. |
47,494 | 1,291 | 1 | 729 | 2,152 | This is Information specialist Flores, by order of Inquisitor Icarus, all those that are part of the Inquisitors retinue must report to the meeting room immediately for information about the mission at hand.
Then silence. Ansgar looked up from his workbench, in a rather spartan quarters. The Krieger had decided, and requested, specifically that his quarters only contain the absolute, vital necessities. A bed, secure stowage for his equipment and maintenance gear, and a workbench to maintain his needlessly tempermental Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy). That was what he spent most of his time doing, outside close quarters drills and prayer. And that was what he was doing when the message came over the vox, ordering all retinue to the meeting room. Rather overt, but on the Inquisitor's own vessel? He supposed they could afford to be blunt. He thought the way he did of the Inquisitor, without gender, since he had been effectively told, being carted off the Thrasis campaign and being sworn to utter secrecy upon penalty of the most painful death imaginable, that he was being assigned to Inquisitor Icarus. The Ordos meant nothing to him, he really had no idea the differences between them. He would hunt the enemies of Man, and that was enough cause for the Death Korp Grenadier.
Ansgar went about securing his gear, armoring up and affixing the trademark Krieg rebreather and helmet most of all. People tended to expect that he never remove the thing, that he lived, slept, fought and died in the thing. Which was true, he would indeed do all of those things. But it seemed to make outsiders almost feel better, seeing the impassive and expected face of the Death Korp over some oddly youthful face, according to them. He didn't feel comfortable with the attention being unmasked brought, so he just left the thing on. Kept him ready for a moment's notice of trouble as well, so he finished his armor checks before slinging the backpack power unit, which was the centerpoint of his gear, onto his back. Lastly, and most certainly not least, was the Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) itself, which was secured over his shoulder. Glancing at a mirror that was left in the room, for some reason, he looked far too clean. The equipment and uniform were cleaned of the muck, blood, and debris from his rather rapid flight from Thrasis I, and he looked too new, despite the dents, scrapes, and a rather stunning claw mark down the breastplate, for the Krieger's taste.
Marching out of his quarters, it took several minutes to figure out where the meeting room was, and Ansgar was able to get there before anyone else it seemed. Tardy lot, they were going to be, was it? Ansgar came to attention, giving a swift salute to the Inquisitor. Female officer then, hardly a concern to Ansgar. Most woman tended to stay back on Krieg, but he was aware that was not how things normally operated outside of the place. Exposure to the Adeptus Sororitas most certainly made him aware of that, if nothing else would have. But with the salute came the, slightly muffled from the rebreather, report from the Krieg born Guardsman. Almost as an afterthought, which would be apparent, came the informal name he was referred to as by outsiders. It also helped them feel better than referring to a man as merely a statistical number. "Trooper 17431, informally Ansgar Staudinger, Death Korp Grenadier. Reporting for active duty, ma'am." | Name:
Ansgar Staudinger
Death Korp Trooper Number:
Trooper 17431
Appearance:
Height:
5'6"
Age:
27
Sex:
Male
Class:
Death Korp Grenadier
Equipment:
- Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) -
Also known as a Hellgun or, more rarely, a Hotshot lasgun, the Type XIV (Heavy) is the standard issue weapon for all Grenadiers serving in Death Korp regiments. They are, at least by the Grenadiers themselves, intensely disliked due to perceived unreliability in the field during extended operations and a Krieger's general preference for the default Type XIV Lasgun (More commonly known outside of Krieg as the Lucian Pattern Lasgun). However, with the proper maintence that each Grenadier performs routinely, the weapon performs its intended role as a high power Lasgun, capable of punching through heavier armor and providing, on full auto, a withering rate of fire. The Type XIV (Heavy) utilizes a backpack unit to power it, and a Quick Recharge Generator included in the backpack unit is generally overtaxed, due to the design of the weapon and its power output. Ansgar, like many Grenadiers, would have preferred a Type XIV Lasgun over the Heavy variant, but as a Grenadier, he is required to carry it.
- Grenadier Carapace Armor -
Intended for deployment where the fighting is fiercest, Death Korps Grenadiers are equipped with heavy Carapace Armour that has been integrated into the standard Krieg kit. This comprises the Mark IX helmet, a rebreather facemask, three-piece shoulder guards, a chest plate with additional abdomen plates and shin and knee guards. All are made of Plasteel and reinforced with a layer of Ceramite for additional strength, heat resistance and weight reduction. The armor, coupled with uniform and Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) makes a very heavy loadout, adding in the miscellaneous equipment they carry as well, however, the protection is vastly appreciated by the Grenadiers in general, due to their role as the leading edge in storming trenches and hostile emplacements, needing the protection to get close enough to do their jobs, not so much concerned with survival.
- Explosives -
As his former squads Demolitions expert, Ansgar carried the standard explosives load out alongside extra tools, for when the Engineers could not keep up with the assault but were preoccupied elsewhere. Besides several Frag and Krak grenades, Ansgar also has several demolition charges, rated for taking out hardened bunkers when put in place. Ansgar modified the charges so that, in a hurry, he can pull a detonation cable and heave the charge at a target, the normally delicate and precise procedure for arming the charges ditched in favor of emergency target removal. And, as a Krieg Engineer before he was assigned as a Grenadier, he has learned to build improvised explosives that served him well in the trenches when supplies on conventional explosives were running short, as well as utilize Chemical weapons safely.
- Melee Gear -
Ansgar carries two weapons for melee combat, one obligatory and the other actually used. The obligatory is his bayonet, which the Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) lacks a mount for, another reason it remains unpopular among Grenadiers, and typically serves as much as a tool and last resort weapon than anything else. His actual go to is a Entrenching Tool, edges sharpened to allow him to carve through hostiles as well as bludgeon them, and retain the intended purpose of digging trenches and other necessary fighting positions.
Notable Deeds:
- Tyranid Assault on Thresis IV -
Raised from birth to be a Death Korp Engineer, Ansgar Staudinger, or known by his Trooper designation 17431, will never state when he was sent to war, something that tends to bother people who ask that are outsiders to Krieg and their necessary methods of providing the Imperium the soldiers it needs. Assigned fresh to an Engineering Platoon, Ansgar would spend a great deal of time digging trenches and laying mines in the defense of a Shrine World, Thresis IV, directly in the path of a Tyranid Hive Fleet Splinter. The Tyranids, despite being vastly reduced in numbers compared to a true Hive Fleet, descended like mad locusts, slaughtering over 90% of the Death Korp forces deployed on the planet. Of that 10%, Ansgar Staudinger was one of the survivors, the only from his platoon, found near death after turning an entire trench line into a raging biochemical inferno, equal parts fire and chemical weapon that was effective on the Tyranids. Sharing the compound make up with other Death Korp Engineers, the biochemical fire was used to great extent to halt and drive back the Tyranids, making the then rookie Staudinger's trial by fire a literal, and resounding, success.
- Nightmares Beneath Thrasis II -
As part of the Thrasis campaign his regiment was assigned to, and the arrival of Tyranid complicating greatly, Ansgar Staudinger was deployed with a fresh Engineering platoon to assist in the breaking of a siege on Chaos held factories on the system's forge world, Thrasis II. Utilizing conventional tunneling and, when they detected they were almost at the entry point, Hades Breaching Drill, to punch into the Chaos held Foundry, Ansgar and his fellow Guardsmen stumbled into something straight out of the most feverish of a heretic's nightmares. The Warp had bled over into the belly of the foundry, with daemons and mutants in equal measures assaulting the woefully unprepared Krieg Guardsmen. However, they had a job to do, and they were able to hold their ground, keeping a secure tunnel long enough for support to arrive and push deep enough into the Chaos corrupted foundry, to the dark heart and plant enough explosives for the resulting explosion spotted from orbit. Whether it was the sheer amount of explosives put in place, or partially due to Chaos corruption was never decided. However, as one of the only survivors again by virtue of Luck or being Blessed, Ansgar was reassigned by a surviving Commissar to the Death Korp Grenadiers.
- Hellscape of Thrasis I -
Nearing the end of the Thrasis System Campaign, Ansgar found himself a freshly minted Grenadier, no longer an Engineer although he often worked closely with them during breaching actions against enemy defensive lines. However, upon touching down on Thrasis I, the Kriegers found something unlike anything anyone could be prepared for. The Foundry was merely a foretaste of what was to come, as planet spanning rituals had allowed the Warp to taint and corrupt great stretches of the planet, forcing Guard forces to struggle through conventional defenses one day, and make a mad dash through Daemon infested hellscapes that should not be the next. What Ansgar refuses to mention to a soul, due to an oath he was put under at the end of the conflict, was the arrival of Grey Knights, of the Emperor's most holy Ordos Malleus. Alongside Adeptus Sororitas support, which Ansgar learned to have a deep, healthy respect for, the combined arms forces stormed the capital of Thrasis I, a den of pure evil and corruption that made the rest of the planet look like a Shrine World in comparison. Once again, whether by luck or the Emperor's own intervention, Ansgar found himself as one of the only Grenadiers, and Krieger's period, to survive the assaults into the city, arriving at the Hall of Governing as it had been christened during Thrasis I's founding as a colony, only to find horrors so unspeakable even the Krieg born Grenadier refuses to speak of them now. But, between the Grey Knights and Sisters of Battle alongside his own humble contributions at that point, which mostly consisted of survival, Ansgar lived to see the end of the hellish campaign on Thrasis I. With literally no regiment to return to, and having become aware of the most secretive of Space Marine chapters, it was decided to induct him into the Inquisition, sending him to serve where needed most. |
47,495 | 1,291 | 2 | 1,991 | 4,769 | Amythian, now here was something that Vala wasn't even dreaming of being on board of - a real imperium light cruiser! She was quietly sitting in a chair by the workbench she had also asked to be in her room. As someone who used a lot of modified and custom crafted weapons and armor, she had to keep them in prime condition herself. That's the reason she spend a lot of her free time on them.
She had just tweaking her rifle and crafting some more slugs for it when the message was sounded.
"This is Information specialist Flores, by order of Inquisitor Icarus, all those that are part of the Inquisitors retinue must report to the meeting room immediately for information about the mission at hand."
Vala sighed a she looked up and about the place. It was time to get prepared, but by her own calculations they shouldn't have been scheduled to arrive at their destination just yet.” Guess I will go in full gear to be presentable at least.” She muttered and walked over to the locker in the room, taking the custom armor out of it and quickly putting the pieces on herself.
With the armor in place, she started putting all of her weapons in place. The handguns on her hips, the sword and rifle on her back and the shotgun on her waist. She looked herself at the mirror, making sure her face wasn't covered in oil and grime from all the tinkering. Content with how she looked, she smiled as she walked towards the exit of her room to head in the direction of the meeting room.
She arrived just in time to hear a man presents himself in military designation, name and former post. Vala nodded as she entered the meeting room and saluted the inquisitor. The former merc wasn't really much on military etiquette, but she learned basic salutes at least after she was drafted into the retinue.
“Vala Sal Felere, combat engineer. Reporting for duty!” She greeted also before quickly taking a more relaxed stance. She disliked the military stances and preferred to keep away form them as much as possible. Her weapons and armor were neatly clean, but without polish so they don't shine in light and gave away positions in case of sneak tactics were needed. | Name: Vala Sal Felere
Appearance:
She's 5.8 ft tall.
Age: 29
Sex: Female
Class: Mercenary Engineer
Psyker Powers: None
Equipment
Armor:
-Reinforced leather jacket, pants.
-Custom Armor plating – Created by using parts of salvaged imperial power armor. Multiple modifications and corrections were made for it to fit its new role. Barely resembles its origin.
-Armored leather boots with inbuilt powerful electromagnets.
-A pair of armored gloves.
Weapons:
-‘White Skull’ Las Pistol – a heavily modified version of the standard issue laspistol, this work of engineering has been created by Vala herself. It has almost triple the power draw of a normal laspistol, making it more useful than it’s original, but it depletes powercells quickly and the wear on the weapon is increased, making the need for replacement parts quite frequent. She has created only 3 of these with the other two now destroyed. It’s kept on a holster on her right hip.
- MAG Autogun MkIV(Shelly) - An autogun that fires hexagonal solid projectiles. The projectiles are about 6 cm in length and 0.7 cm in diameter. She acquired this specific gun or at least what was the remnants of a gun while on one of the many lawless space stations scattered across the fringes of Imperium space. After a lot of tinkering and experimentation she managed to create a workable and actually useful variant of it. It has the same range as a standard autogun. Its flat projectiles/slugs are propelled using a system of incredibly powerful electromagnets. The rifle uses standard powercells. Devastating against lightly armored targets as causes both blunt and puncture damage with each slug. Lacks penetrating power against heavily armored targets, though still hits like a hammer. The rifle has 10 slugs per clip. Held on the right side of her back with a magnetic buckle.
-Modified Assault Shotgun - Has a shorter Barrel and only holds 3 shells. It’s sturdy and does the job it needs to. It kept on the back of her waist with a magnetic buckle.
-Autopistol – Held in a holster on her left hip.
-Short straight sword – She keeps it for when she’s out of all her other weapons. Kept in a sheath across the left side of her back.
-4 small frag grenades.
Other equipment:
-A forearm mounted grappling hook launcher – uses same electromagnetic tech as her rifle.
-Known to also carry portable set of tools during missions.
Notable Deeds:
As a merc Val cannot really boast with deeds such as those of the soldiers of the Imperium, but she has stacked up a small list of accomplishments non the less.
The Kroozer Gambit
Hired by a Rogue Trader, away from the notable trade routes, Vala and her crew were tasked with bringing down a ork Kroozer that was discovered waiting in ambush for an unsuspecting transports. The Trader didn’t want to damage his own vessel so he hired mercs to be his scapegoats while his ship would pass the sector, hoping to escape paying.
Her crew immediately got suspicious of it and forged a plan to both do the job and get paid. Since what they had was a old modified transport ship, they pretended to be a random unsuspecting pray while a Vala and 4 of her crewmates took an assault boat. When the Kroozer moved to intercept their transport along with it’s fighter escort, the assault boat rammed to the engine room. Following a lightning fast gunfight, they set 5 heavy explosives across the engines and left the ship just in time for the bombs to explode and cripple the vessel. During that time, their transport had led the escort wing straight to the Rogue Trader’s vessel. Without support from the Kroozer, the trader managed to deal with the fighter escort. Their transport ship had susptained medium damages, but they got paid non the less. She later heard that an imperial Dauntless stumbled upon the Kroozer and destroyed it. Surely the Rogue Trader had taken all credit for disabling it…
3 days of darkness.
Vala’s crew had been forced to land on an uninhabited world when they came into confrontation with a light corsairs pirate vessel. Luckily for them the elder ship wasn’t heavily armed and after an incredible accurate hit on their part, both vessels were forced to crash land.
Vala’s armed transport had taken a serious beating and given the degree of the damage it would have required at least a week to repair. Without given much choice in the matter they were forced into a fight for their lives. After 3 days of almost constant battling with the corsairs, Vala’s crew managed to repel the enemy and grant her enough time to finish the repairs in a record time of 3 and a half days! They lost 5 people in that event, but finally managed to escape the planet.
Death to the Infidel.
While on a break from missions and traveling towards a nearby lawless space station for refuel and repair, Vala’s transport suddenly shook heavily from the impact wave of an immense explosion. By the time they saw what was going on, the transport was knee deep in a chaos attack of two Infidel class escorts on the pirate station.
The station’s weak shields were quickly down, it’s frankly old weaponry couldn’t match the two escorts. As the transports around it were destroyed, Vala’s ship found itself with no place to run. She and other 5 of her 15 crew members barely managed to get to the assault boat that also doubled as a escape capsule before their transport was blown to bits by 2 torpedos. With the destruction of the station, one of the Infidel class ships left to chase some ships that managed to escape the initial barrage while the other one stayed behind to finish wiping the place from anything that moved. Without place to land anywhere in the assault boat’s range there was only one option left. They used the debris as cover from the batteries, they boarded the Escort’s engine compartment like they had done in the past with the orks.
It was a slaughter against the chaos marines their weapons didn’t really carry much punch. It took Vala mere 2 minutes to set all the explosives and move back to her assault boat, but by the time she pulled the boat away from the chaos ship, she was the only one left. Alone and heavily wounded she watched with a big smile as the explosions took place, rendering it motionless in space… She laughed loudly as Imperial ships started warping about the place, probably having noticed the chaos presence. |
47,496 | 1,291 | 3 | 1,587 | 2,247 | This is Information specialist Flores, by order of Inquisitor Icarus, all those that are part of the Inquisitors retinue must report to the meeting room immediately for information about the mission at hand.
“This is Primaris Psyker Selkirk. By order of painful fiery death, I command everyone else to leave me alone.”
Maria sighed, setting down the book she had been engrossed in for the last few hours. It wasn’t anything scholarly or particularly Emperor-worshipping, merely a fictional novel by some kid who had gotten access to a word processor, but it was a delightfully original take on a tired old genre and had an intelligent view of magic users - hopefully that wouldn’t get the burgeoning author purged for heresy at some point in the near future.
She hopped to her feet, slipping into the sturdy boots she’d been issued so many years ago, debating for a moment whether or not to arrive at the meeting place in full dress or not. On the one hand, it would reflect poorly on her to show up half dressed and without her gear, on the other hand, her gear was heavy and uncomfortable.
Eventually she decided it would be best not to be executed for improper decorum as a sign of Chaos worship. Strapping on the various buckles and clasps of her armor, she slipped into her coat and donned her hat before strapping her gun belt and other accoutrements over the exterior of the faux leather, aramid fiber, or whatever the material was. Striking a pose in a small mirror she had set up, she smirked to herself - as always, the bandolier of bolts slung across her chest was simultaneously an odd contrast and a swashbuckling flair with her coat and hat.
Striding out of the room, she slumped against the wall for a quick second, sighing melodramatically, before straightening up and marching briskly for the designated room.
As she entered, she took note of the other occupants of the room, surprised to see a Death Korps guardsman here. Weren’t his type more keen on dying in droves to grind down their enemies with sheer numbers and complete disregard for their own lives?
Flashing a quizzical look at him, she appraised the other non-Inquisitorial occupant of the room. A woman who appeared to be about her age with some very impressive red hair and a suit that seemed to… favor its wearer’s physique. Also interesting.
Turning her attention to the Inquisitor, she snapped back into the Guard mindset, standing stiffly at attention and delivering a crisp salute, “Primaris Psyker Maria Selkirk, awaiting further instructions, Lady Inquisitor.” She stood there, stock still, almost statue like. | Name: Maria Selkirk
Maria stands at about 178 centimeters at full height, sporting a heavily built, strong body that readily shows her years of experience in the field. Much of her body has some sort of scar or nick to show, with some even showing ugly burns. Despite years of war she has seen throughought her life, she has snowy white hair of surprising softness, sharply contrasting the lava red eyes she has inexplicably had since birth.
Age: 29
Sex: Female
Personality: Will mostly be shown IC, but… Maria is intelligent, snarky, and decidedly irreverent behind the backs of authority figures. How she came from the strict world of Praetoria is a true mystery, as her complete indifference to things like uniformity and compliance (when she can get away with it) is completely uncharacteristic of the world. But by the same token, she shows an innate intelligence and awareness of her surroundings. Perhaps she can’t build a plasma gun from spare parts or debate complex arcane specifics with a seasoned scholar, but she can piece together seemingly unrelated pieces of information and find a pattern hidden within, or decipher the mad ravings of a guardsman stricken to lunacy by Chaotic sights.
Former Occupation: Personal bodyguard for a Commissar.
Psyker Powers: Maria boasts incredibly potent pyromantic abilities, having awakened them in the heat of battle. While not the stuff of legends, her skill at the offensive discipline is not to be underestimated, under pain of an excruciating and fiery demise.
Equipment:
Custom Made Bolt Revolver: This potent weapon originally belonged to another - a Commissar. Specifically, the Commissar who she guarded for years on end. A powerful hand cannon of fearsome size, sound, and effect, the weapon was scratch built for the Commissar, firing full sized bolts out of a barrel considerably longer and heavier than a normal bolt pistol’s, mitigating the recoil significantly - despite this, it has a sophisticated system of sliding counterweights that fire at the same time as the gun, adding their own mass to counteract the recoil of the weapon. These, coupled with the muzzle break at the front, make it a surprisingly easy weapon to fire. Upon the Commissar’s death, ownership of the weapon passed to her by virtue of being the closest one to the man to grab it from him. She has continued to use it to this day. Due to being a revolver, the capacity is limited to six rounds, but by the same token the far less complicated mechanism makes the weapon almost preternaturally reliable when coupled with its superior worksmanship.
Customized Mordian Uniform: Beginning its life as her standard issue Mordian Iron Guard uniform, Maria received the set upon her joining of the Guard. It has since then seen many alterations, chiefly the removal of the surrounding fabric, stripping the uniform down to the resilient carapace armor contained within, which she continues to wear to this day, albeit with the occasional addition after a good find on the battlefield. While her alterations to it are primarily cosmetic - covering the edges to prevent anything snagging, she has managed to modify the hat suffiently to meet her personal aesthetic preferences, turning the headgear into a jaunty tricorn with a single white feather stuck in the top.
Coat and hat: Maria’s coat serves little practical purpose save some warmth and as a good covering to keep dust out. Her extended tenure as a Commissar’s personal bodyguard let her feather her nest a little with a few aesthetic frivolities - mainly in the form of the coat she wears at all time. Constructed of an unknown but incredibly sturdy fabric, the coat has lasted her for many years, and will surely last many more.
Notable Deeds:
Hailing from the world of Mordian, Maria was raised amid the same wretched conditions as the other members of the world. The hardship of her early life tempered her against the horrors of the greater galaxy, like all of her fellows hailing from the world. At the age of seventeen she made her way into the Imperial Guard, reasoning that a quick death in service of the Emperor beat a slow and roughly as painful one within the hives. Over the years she saw many engagements, miraculously not dying, even if she’s had more than her share of close calls.
”You’re a Psyker, Maria.”
Maria first awakened her psychic abilities in a routine operation against the gangs that infested every corner of Mordian. While truly keeping them in check or wiping them out was a dream that could only be born of huffing fermented grox manure for a few days, it was important that they keep them from completely overrunning certain parts of the world - such as one of the major military depots.
The standard Mordian tactic of lining up in thick rows and concentrating fire on the enemies certainly had an effect, but the surrounding gangs had joined forces - after all, having military grade gear in their arsenal would dramatically boost their standing. Outnumbered by surprisingly well armed gangs, the Guard soon found their ammunition on hand running dry, their nimble adversaries frustrating their attempts to burn their skulls out by dodging and weaving their ways closer, tossing crude grenades and even some genuine ones into their ranks, even some Kraks landed under the few armored vehicles on hand, knocking them out of commission for the time being. Backup, in the form of the rest of their regiment with accompanying armor in tow, was inbound but would take some time to arrive - this had, after all, originally been a simple policing action.
A grenade had blown open the ranks of men and women right next to her, tearing a bloody hole in their lines that their assailants suddenly rushed for, intending to exploit the sudden breach before the Guard could plug it, leaving only Maria and a machine gunner running low on ammunition and sporting a shattered leg to hold them off.
Maria quickly emptied the power cell on her las rifle, finding the other one empty too. Beside her, perched behind his weapon, the gunner quickly ran out of ammunition as well, scrambling to hurl grenades at the enemy, scavenging as many off the shattered bodies that surrounded them as he could, hurling them into the mass of onrushing bodies - but it wasn’t enough.
She had felt only rage at that point. While normally not a clean and polished yes-woman who delighted at the very thought of obeying orders, indeed she chafed under them for the most part, she still respected them. And the fact that she wouldn’t be able to do her job, was going to die right here, because of something as stupid as running out of ammunition angered her to no end.
Something had risen up in her then, and without even understanding what she was doing, she conjured forth great torrents of flame, dousing the emboldened gangers in a fire fueled by a potent mixture of unchecked rage and primal survival instinct.
When she came to, she found that she had fallen unconscious from the exertion, but the line had held, in no small part due to her sudden ability to conjure flame from nothing.
Waaagh! ‘Urtfist
After her sudden development of psychic abilities, Maria faced the prospect of potential execution, or transport to Terra as Emperor-food, but the Commissariat intervened, pulling her from the rank and file to serve as a bodyguard for the division’s Commissar. This roughly coincided with the decision of the brass to ship her and her division out to the frontline to replenish severely depleted and considerably poorer trained Guard formations defending against a recently emerged threat - a sizeable Ork Waaagh! bearing down on an agricultural system known as Effus. The Waaagh! struck first at the outer site of human inhabitation, a mostly barren world pockmarked by meteor impacts, the planet of Effus IV was soon to become a bloodbath of unimaginable proportions where almost the entire Waaagh! would be halted, at a great cost in lives and resources. One of two planets located within the habitable zone, there had been multiple attempts to convert it into an agricultural world like its sister planet, Effus III, but such efforts had stalled due to lack of resources and hostile local fauna.
The Waaagh! had its origins in the warboss of an originally small clan, who got it into his head to lead his forces against those of other nearby clans, managing to unite them despite his numerical inferiority. The scholars theorized he had an unusually large present in their bastard version of the Warp, drawing other Orks to his cause regardless of his actual physical capabilites - which were, admittedly, fearsome.
The initial forces sent to contain the Waaagh! were tragically underprepared, rapidly overrun by battle hungry Orks looking for a good fight. The Guard regiments had been sent in as more of a “trial by fire”, their commanders not fully comprehending the scale of the Waaagh! bearing down on the system. The forces of the 352nd Mordian Iron Guard were closest at hand and rapidly redeployed to counter the Waaagh!, sending out an urgent request for backup.
By the time they arrived, the Imperial forces were in utter rout, fleeing from the Orks in every which way, oftentimes abandoning their weapons and equipment to move faster.
The commander of the regiment was known as Nadia Parron, a woman stern and unrelenting even by Mordian standards, ordered her forces to deploy in the open in standard battle formation, issuing extra ammunition in anticipation of a protracted battle. To the fleeing Guardsmen she issued a general order: stand and fight, or be executed as traitors to the Imperium.
Most of them kept running right up until precise las fire drilled burning holes through their skulls.
Redeploying her armored units and support troops, Commander Parron advanced slowly, cautiously scouting ahead with aerial units and ground forces, keeping their lone cruiser within bombarding distance, knowing full well her lone force would be insufficient to hold off an entire Ork Waaagh! Her primary goal was to find a fortifiable position to hold off the Orks until reinforcements could arrive.
Eventually they found an ancient asteroid crater, miraculously still fairly intact, and immediately set about digging in. Normal doctrine would have had the Guard face the Orks in the open, but Commander Parron, while stern and unrelenting, was no fool.
The engagement began when a vanguard of greenskins advanced over the horizon, driving their primitive vehicles pell-mell for the Imperial line. Disciplined las fire lanced out from the Mordian troops, heavy armor adding its part too and inflicting grievous casualties on the approaching xenos.
Recon craft had estimated the strength of the advance force at about three thousand strong - no xenos made contact with the Guard’s line, though their crude weaponry had brought down a few comrades.
The real assault began at the planet’s version of high noon - a vertiable tidal wave of greenskins surged over the horizon and almost immediately, the Imperial artillery began to open up, plunging devastating shellfire into the hordes of xenos - but even as they inflicted grievous slaughter, as did the Ork weaponry begin to take its toll. Men and women began dropping left and right.
The enemy force broke upon the raised walls of the meteor crater and Imperial fortifications, greenskins attempting to climb towards the Guard forces only to be beaten back by disciplined las fire, or, in Maria’s case, furious blasts of warpfire. She honed her skill upon the throngs of bloodthirsty xenos, gleefully incinerating them en masse as they threw themselves even more energetically into the fray.
However, the position was untenable in the face of the sheer numbers and ferocity of the attack, and by the third day of the defense their numbers had dwindled severely.
Help came unexpectedly in the form of a strike cruiser bearing a full company of Astartes - Angels Encarmine, to be specific. The arrival of the Space Marines turned the tide momentarily in favor of the Imperial forces, allowing them to beat back the Ork assault long enough to fortify once more and await reinforcements.
Damn the torpedoes! And the Orks!
When reinforcements finally arrived in the form of several hastily assembled formations of Guardsmen from any nearby worlds, and of all walks of life, Commander Parron decided to gamble her forces on a single decisive assault to crush the momentarily stalled Waaagh! to prevent it gaining any further traction from greenskins elsewhere.
The operation was a bloodbath on both sides - the Mordian 352nd and the company of Astartes, as the only remotely experienced or even truly competent forces available, were chosen to form the speartip of this operation. Leading one of the assault companies was Commissar Basir and his bodyguard, Maria Maria Selkirk.
The Commissar was a rather aggressive one, even by their standards, and decided to lead his company, along with several others of the hastily formed recruit formations, in a headlong charge against a mid sized gargant. Maria, not wishing to be shot, said nothing but did her best to keep herself (and the Commissar) alive. She was doomed to failure on the latter however when, miraculously reaching the Gargant, with severely depleted numbers, the man charged headlong at it. At this point, her sense of self preservation overrode her devotion to her duty and she held back, eventually taking shelter behind a massive mound of bodies - greenskin and human alike - to hurl warpfire every which way.
What seemed like days later, but was likely only a couple hours, she came to coated in blood from head to toe and completely exhausted. All around her was utter devastation, the Gargant lay in smoldering ruins, telltale signs of a Leman Russ Annihilator having been in the vicinity, if the recently cooled molten metal was anything to go by.
She had staggered to her feet, incapable of generating another warp bolt if her life depended on it. Scavenging through the field of corpses, taking extra power packs and looking for a lasgun in reasonable condition, she came across the body of the commissar, and by extension, his custom made bolt revolver, which she quickly appropriated for her own personal use before staggering back to friendly lines where she collapsed almost immediately, |
47,497 | 1,291 | 4 | 1,990 | 2,102 | The room was dark and dimly lit by some old, flickering lights attached to the walls alongside the endless, wiry mess of tubes, plates and heavy circuitry that ran across the interior of the room.
The wall furthermost in the room consisted of a large, slightly dirty pane of glass that loomed over the rest of the room, staring right out into the empty darkness of space. The room was large, reaching almost ten meeters before its curved metal roof. Despite its size, it was almost completely empty.
All except for one lone figure, an ashen haired woman sitting cross legged right in the middle of the room, the large pane staring out into the void right behind her.
The woman was donned in a tight, deep brown elastic jumpsuit adorned with a web like pattern of metal threads running about its surface. Above it she wore a set of segmented half plate, consisting of a chestguard, a pair of shoulderpads, with two long metal greaves and gauntlets running almost up to her elbows and thighs respectively. Hanging from her back and attached to her elbows was a long, flowing blue cloak, tattered in its appearance as it laid out around her. And along her torso hung a heavy tome on her left side, bound by a hard chain of steel running across her torso diagonally. Her hair, pale as snow, would be hanging out behind her in a long, ashen ponytail that ran down to her lower back.
Adrianne's eyes were closed as she sat in her position cross legged, meditating, frozen like a statue.
Then, suddenly, her violet eyes would open; a faint shimmer of sickly purple light emanating from them before she blinked once more, and they were back to their normal violet hue. As if summoned by an invisible calling, she reached forward to pick up the metal helmet in front of her. An armored zero-g helmet fashioned much like the rest of her gothic plate armor, and with a skeletal skull at the center of it where the facemask should be.
Standing up, she reached forward and made a gesture with her hand. Lying motionless some feet in front of her was her staff, and upon her gesture, it would suddenly fly up from the ground and land right in the palm of her hand, Adrianne grasping it as it came at her.
"This is Information specialist Flores, by order of Inquisitor Icarus, all those that are part of the Inquisitors retinue must report to the meeting room immediately for information about the mission at hand."
A voice suddenly sounded across the room, coming from the vox speaker located somewhere up in the darkness of the roof of the room. But by then, Adrianne had already reached the door, which she opened with a slight gesture, walking through staff in hand. As she passed through the heavy iron door, two shadows located at either side of the door would come to life, snaking their way down through the air like it was water. As the snake like figures entered the light of the corridor behind them, they would be revealed to the be servo-skulls, each with a long, snake-like metallic human spine snaking out from the back of their skulls like a vicious, pointed tail. They followed Adrianne like a pair of shades, hovering behind the psyker as she marched through the vessel towards their intended destination.
And with one final step, the woman would suddenly disappear in a crack of black smoke, vanishing instantly!
*
A creeping, unnatural sense of cold would suddenly wash of the briefing room for a short moment that could be experienced by every organic being within. The unusual sensation was followed shortly by what might have felt like the beginning of a migraine, as if the center of balance in the room shifted ever so slightly for a moment - before everything suddenly returned to normal.
Now standing behind Vala would be the figure of Adrianne, the psyker seemingly having materialized out of nowhere!
The psyker was quiet, not saying a word. Indeed, standing as she did in the half-shadows and wearing her mask, she almost looked like some dark spirit! Throwing a glance at the back of the red haired woman standing in front of her, a sense of curiosity ran through her mind.
The woman definitely didn't look like any imperial official or soldier that she had seen, and she looked far too regal and proud to be a deck monkey. She was a mystery, though Adrianne did not speak. Instead, the psyker continued to stand directly behind Vala, deciding instead to see how long it would take the woman to even notice her.
Turning around, she could see another guardsman and the fellow Psyker present.
The guardsman looked as grim and spartan as ever, though unusually clean from the pictures she had usually seen of his division. The way he stood, his posture, everything about him simply radiated a steely, grim resolve, like that of a man ready, perhaps even eager, to throw himself into almost certain death to fulfill the purpose of his existence. Yet, for some reason, and almost comically so, there was something about him that made him rather uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the social gathering and lack of dangerous bullets whizzing by and the smell of bodies?
Adrianne took a moment to try to remember his name, if she even knew, though quickly gave up, realizing the foolish errand of befriending a guardsman. A guardsman of Krieg nonetheless!
Looking the other way, she saw a woman, sporting a funny hat in a rather swashbuckling attire. The way Maria stood still like a statue, and her quaint outfit, made her in some way almost resemble an imperial naval officer. If she had not already known she was a fellow psyker, Adrianne might initially have assumed she was simply an officer or a very flamboyant mercenary come to serve.
Finally, Adrianne continued to stare right forward, over Vala's shoulder. Which quite frankly wasn't that difficult, as Adrianne was quite a bit taller than the other woman.
Instead, she made sure to cross glances with the Inquisitor, Icarus, simply nodding with the empty, dark sockets of her mask when she met the Inquisitor's gaze, acknowledging her presence and attendance, before continuing to listen. | Name: Adrianne Valenthin
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Class: Sanctioned Psyker
Psyker Power
Divination & Telekinesis are her main fields of psychic talent, but she also possesses two other abilities such as Smite and Storm of Lightning, as well as a rudimentary form of mental communication. Does not possess any noteworthy healing abilities, and she is just as likely to send someone to the warp as she is to heal a minor scratch.
Appearance:
6.6ft tall, pale skin and snow white hair. Sturdy and heavy frame, but still retains her feminine figure despite adhering to a strict physical training regime.
The base of her outfit consist of a simple yet elastic skin tight jumpsuit in dark brown color that is capable of withstanding the vacuum of space as well as provide a decent protection against the elements, though offers little protection versus physical threats. Overlayed on top is a series of armaplas plates that form a chestguard, cuisses, knee-high boots, shoulderpads and gloves stretching back and up to her elbows where they form into a sharp point. They offer good locational protection, especially from the front, but leave her jumpsuit exposed in other places, particularly from her lower back and down to the back of her knees where her boots cover both sides of her ankles. The plates are polished to a light gray color, and almost look like silver. The surface is covered with a series of intricate design and artwork in typical imperial fashion, featuring numerous flutes and ridges across the plates, as well as a couple skull imprints. Above her armor she wears a satin blue silk cloak that hangs down from the back of her left shoulder, as well as a silk loincloth hanging from the front of her belt of similar color. Thrown sideways around her torso is a series of books and scrolls attached by chain.
Running up along the spine of her chestguard is a refractor field generator built into the plate itself, taking form of a small generator emitting a series of horizontal, blue lights up along the back of the chestplate, and shaped much like a human skeletal spine. When activated, a faint, blue and almost invisible barrier appears around her figure.
Her helmet is made out of the same material as that of her armor, and it takes the form of a gothic plated helmet, with a narrow but wide blue glass visor and a longer neck guard extending out behind her helmet. Two plastic tubes are attached to a rebreather device at the bottom mouth piece of her helmet, that stretch out on each side of her neck and down into a small, highly pressurized air tank built into the back of her chestguard.
Her boots are magnetic, and her entire suit when worn enables her to survive in space, and also provides immunity to most chemical and biological attacks. She carries enough oxygen to last for almost an hour.
Equipment:
Main Weapon: Her primary weapon is a two handed power-weapon in the form of an oversized saber with a sleek blade and an extended handle which doubles as a psyker staff, and adorned with sigils, trinkets, technological gadgets and inscriptions. She often uses her weapon in conjunction with her telekinetic powers to amplify its destructive potential.
Calisto. Plasma Pistol.
Ceremonial Dagger. In essence, just a normal albeit flashy dagger with an adorned handle. Typically only carried for show, but is sharp enough to slice through unprotected skin with ease, and small enough to be concealed without much problem.
Refractor Field. Description under Appearance.
2x Servo-Skulls: Familiars. Mostly used to store events, data, recordings and scrolls and provide reconnaissance.
Savior – Saved an influential nobleman by foreseeing his assassination, tossing him out of the way of the sniper’s bullet with her telekinetic powers and into a big wedding cake instead.
Guide – Saved a band of arbiters from the underworld of a hive world during an uprising by using her powers of divination to avoid the roaming mobs and gangs and reached safety without incident. Not a single shot was fired during their escape.
Hates Surprises – Accidentally electrocuted and sent three of the arbiters she had saved above to the infirmary when they tried to surprise her with a party later. Being so used to foresee danger before it happens, she is prone to freaking out over minor surprises that eludes her farsight.
Fireteam – During an Ork incursion, she helped a fireteam of six guardsmen hold off a much larger band of orks after their sergeant was injured through using her powers of divination to guide their fire, turning what had been originally green recruits into seemingly crack shots. Any Ork that left its cover was immediately put down from long range, and when they mounted a frenzied charge together, they didn’t make it more than halfway across the field to the trenches before they were wiped out by precision fire.
Warpstorm over Mordran V - Adrianne was assigned to aid the planetary imperial garrison with culling a lesser greenskin uprising, assisting local Imperial Guard and Sisters of Battle forces with the purging when a warpstorm suddenly appeared over the otherwise peaceful colony world of Mordran V. Trapped on the planet, Adrianne found herself fighting for survival alongside her imperial guard as Chaos Ships appeared in orbit, and unleashed a ferocious invasion of the planet! Though the warpstorm only lasted for two weeks, by the time it had lifted, Mordran V had been transformed from a lush, promising garden world into a lifeless, daemon-infested hellscape, with most of its original population killed except for a few imperial strongholds that managed to weather the storm. Her experience from Mordran V would change Adrianne for ever. What had been a cautious girl that had stepped onto the planet would instead emerge a seemingly reckless with little to no restraint on her powers!
Time With the Inquisitor: W.I.P. |
47,498 | 1,291 | 5 | 1,991 | 4,769 | Vala stood there after presenting herself and just observed the room and the people who were now present in it. The inquisitor was well... the same, the guardsman was also not really interesting. The woman that entered and had a really interesting hat and coat was well a lot more intriguing. Vala wasn't sure exactly from where that woman hailed. Her coat reminded the merc of a certain rogue trader she once met. They also seemed to prefer as showy garbs as this one.
It was then that the atmosphere in the room changed. Something felt wrong and caused Vala to narrow her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. This was... no... it maybe... couldn't be. Vala's hand lightning fast was already on her laspistol. She threw a quick glances around and verified that the inquisitor was not taking action indeed. Then this must not be an enemy attack.
The former mercenary had an idea of what had just happened. She felt similar things just before she was picked up by the Imperium. She glanced left and right, confirming that no one was there which left only one place where the new arrival could be... Behind her!
She tried to take a single step back, but quickly pressed against the woman standing behind herself.' I knew it...' Vala thought, not really amused by this. She hated having people in her blind spot. She usually fired at such cases right away with the inquisitor's calm looking state being the only thing that made her no shoot right away.
“Ahm..., would you kindly step away from my blind spot, please?” Vala asked the woman who was behind her. Yes she realized it was a woman the moment she felt the rather soft front when she tried to take that step back.” It's kind of annoying to have someone in my blind spot and not fire at them...” | Name: Vala Sal Felere
Appearance:
She's 5.8 ft tall.
Age: 29
Sex: Female
Class: Mercenary Engineer
Psyker Powers: None
Equipment
Armor:
-Reinforced leather jacket, pants.
-Custom Armor plating – Created by using parts of salvaged imperial power armor. Multiple modifications and corrections were made for it to fit its new role. Barely resembles its origin.
-Armored leather boots with inbuilt powerful electromagnets.
-A pair of armored gloves.
Weapons:
-‘White Skull’ Las Pistol – a heavily modified version of the standard issue laspistol, this work of engineering has been created by Vala herself. It has almost triple the power draw of a normal laspistol, making it more useful than it’s original, but it depletes powercells quickly and the wear on the weapon is increased, making the need for replacement parts quite frequent. She has created only 3 of these with the other two now destroyed. It’s kept on a holster on her right hip.
- MAG Autogun MkIV(Shelly) - An autogun that fires hexagonal solid projectiles. The projectiles are about 6 cm in length and 0.7 cm in diameter. She acquired this specific gun or at least what was the remnants of a gun while on one of the many lawless space stations scattered across the fringes of Imperium space. After a lot of tinkering and experimentation she managed to create a workable and actually useful variant of it. It has the same range as a standard autogun. Its flat projectiles/slugs are propelled using a system of incredibly powerful electromagnets. The rifle uses standard powercells. Devastating against lightly armored targets as causes both blunt and puncture damage with each slug. Lacks penetrating power against heavily armored targets, though still hits like a hammer. The rifle has 10 slugs per clip. Held on the right side of her back with a magnetic buckle.
-Modified Assault Shotgun - Has a shorter Barrel and only holds 3 shells. It’s sturdy and does the job it needs to. It kept on the back of her waist with a magnetic buckle.
-Autopistol – Held in a holster on her left hip.
-Short straight sword – She keeps it for when she’s out of all her other weapons. Kept in a sheath across the left side of her back.
-4 small frag grenades.
Other equipment:
-A forearm mounted grappling hook launcher – uses same electromagnetic tech as her rifle.
-Known to also carry portable set of tools during missions.
Notable Deeds:
As a merc Val cannot really boast with deeds such as those of the soldiers of the Imperium, but she has stacked up a small list of accomplishments non the less.
The Kroozer Gambit
Hired by a Rogue Trader, away from the notable trade routes, Vala and her crew were tasked with bringing down a ork Kroozer that was discovered waiting in ambush for an unsuspecting transports. The Trader didn’t want to damage his own vessel so he hired mercs to be his scapegoats while his ship would pass the sector, hoping to escape paying.
Her crew immediately got suspicious of it and forged a plan to both do the job and get paid. Since what they had was a old modified transport ship, they pretended to be a random unsuspecting pray while a Vala and 4 of her crewmates took an assault boat. When the Kroozer moved to intercept their transport along with it’s fighter escort, the assault boat rammed to the engine room. Following a lightning fast gunfight, they set 5 heavy explosives across the engines and left the ship just in time for the bombs to explode and cripple the vessel. During that time, their transport had led the escort wing straight to the Rogue Trader’s vessel. Without support from the Kroozer, the trader managed to deal with the fighter escort. Their transport ship had susptained medium damages, but they got paid non the less. She later heard that an imperial Dauntless stumbled upon the Kroozer and destroyed it. Surely the Rogue Trader had taken all credit for disabling it…
3 days of darkness.
Vala’s crew had been forced to land on an uninhabited world when they came into confrontation with a light corsairs pirate vessel. Luckily for them the elder ship wasn’t heavily armed and after an incredible accurate hit on their part, both vessels were forced to crash land.
Vala’s armed transport had taken a serious beating and given the degree of the damage it would have required at least a week to repair. Without given much choice in the matter they were forced into a fight for their lives. After 3 days of almost constant battling with the corsairs, Vala’s crew managed to repel the enemy and grant her enough time to finish the repairs in a record time of 3 and a half days! They lost 5 people in that event, but finally managed to escape the planet.
Death to the Infidel.
While on a break from missions and traveling towards a nearby lawless space station for refuel and repair, Vala’s transport suddenly shook heavily from the impact wave of an immense explosion. By the time they saw what was going on, the transport was knee deep in a chaos attack of two Infidel class escorts on the pirate station.
The station’s weak shields were quickly down, it’s frankly old weaponry couldn’t match the two escorts. As the transports around it were destroyed, Vala’s ship found itself with no place to run. She and other 5 of her 15 crew members barely managed to get to the assault boat that also doubled as a escape capsule before their transport was blown to bits by 2 torpedos. With the destruction of the station, one of the Infidel class ships left to chase some ships that managed to escape the initial barrage while the other one stayed behind to finish wiping the place from anything that moved. Without place to land anywhere in the assault boat’s range there was only one option left. They used the debris as cover from the batteries, they boarded the Escort’s engine compartment like they had done in the past with the orks.
It was a slaughter against the chaos marines their weapons didn’t really carry much punch. It took Vala mere 2 minutes to set all the explosives and move back to her assault boat, but by the time she pulled the boat away from the chaos ship, she was the only one left. Alone and heavily wounded she watched with a big smile as the explosions took place, rendering it motionless in space… She laughed loudly as Imperial ships started warping about the place, probably having noticed the chaos presence. |
47,499 | 1,291 | 6 | 1,990 | 2,102 | Adrianne would tilt her head slightly to the side, her long white ponytail swaying behind her as she did.
"Ohh? Would you assume me to be some sort of thug or bandit? Now now, I was going to shank you and run off with your purse, I would have done so long ago." The Psyker spoke with a rather amused voice, her lips curling into a smirk behind her skull mask.
Eventually, she reached a hand up to her mask and clicked a combination of buttons, causing a slight hiss as the edges of the helmet seperated from her collar, and she pulled it off, allowing her ashen white hair to flow freely around her face as she set Vala with a pair of strong, violet eyes.
"Don't worry yourself. Unless, you are one of those few with an utterly ridiculous social bubble... !" Adrianne added with a slightly joking tone at the end of her sentence as she eyed Vala up and down, as if something about the other woman really amused the Psyker for some reason.
"Have you ever attended a congregation to our glorious Emperor ever in your life? One would've thought one session of that would have washed away all shyness!" | Name: Adrianne Valenthin
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Class: Sanctioned Psyker
Psyker Power
Divination & Telekinesis are her main fields of psychic talent, but she also possesses two other abilities such as Smite and Storm of Lightning, as well as a rudimentary form of mental communication. Does not possess any noteworthy healing abilities, and she is just as likely to send someone to the warp as she is to heal a minor scratch.
Appearance:
6.6ft tall, pale skin and snow white hair. Sturdy and heavy frame, but still retains her feminine figure despite adhering to a strict physical training regime.
The base of her outfit consist of a simple yet elastic skin tight jumpsuit in dark brown color that is capable of withstanding the vacuum of space as well as provide a decent protection against the elements, though offers little protection versus physical threats. Overlayed on top is a series of armaplas plates that form a chestguard, cuisses, knee-high boots, shoulderpads and gloves stretching back and up to her elbows where they form into a sharp point. They offer good locational protection, especially from the front, but leave her jumpsuit exposed in other places, particularly from her lower back and down to the back of her knees where her boots cover both sides of her ankles. The plates are polished to a light gray color, and almost look like silver. The surface is covered with a series of intricate design and artwork in typical imperial fashion, featuring numerous flutes and ridges across the plates, as well as a couple skull imprints. Above her armor she wears a satin blue silk cloak that hangs down from the back of her left shoulder, as well as a silk loincloth hanging from the front of her belt of similar color. Thrown sideways around her torso is a series of books and scrolls attached by chain.
Running up along the spine of her chestguard is a refractor field generator built into the plate itself, taking form of a small generator emitting a series of horizontal, blue lights up along the back of the chestplate, and shaped much like a human skeletal spine. When activated, a faint, blue and almost invisible barrier appears around her figure.
Her helmet is made out of the same material as that of her armor, and it takes the form of a gothic plated helmet, with a narrow but wide blue glass visor and a longer neck guard extending out behind her helmet. Two plastic tubes are attached to a rebreather device at the bottom mouth piece of her helmet, that stretch out on each side of her neck and down into a small, highly pressurized air tank built into the back of her chestguard.
Her boots are magnetic, and her entire suit when worn enables her to survive in space, and also provides immunity to most chemical and biological attacks. She carries enough oxygen to last for almost an hour.
Equipment:
Main Weapon: Her primary weapon is a two handed power-weapon in the form of an oversized saber with a sleek blade and an extended handle which doubles as a psyker staff, and adorned with sigils, trinkets, technological gadgets and inscriptions. She often uses her weapon in conjunction with her telekinetic powers to amplify its destructive potential.
Calisto. Plasma Pistol.
Ceremonial Dagger. In essence, just a normal albeit flashy dagger with an adorned handle. Typically only carried for show, but is sharp enough to slice through unprotected skin with ease, and small enough to be concealed without much problem.
Refractor Field. Description under Appearance.
2x Servo-Skulls: Familiars. Mostly used to store events, data, recordings and scrolls and provide reconnaissance.
Savior – Saved an influential nobleman by foreseeing his assassination, tossing him out of the way of the sniper’s bullet with her telekinetic powers and into a big wedding cake instead.
Guide – Saved a band of arbiters from the underworld of a hive world during an uprising by using her powers of divination to avoid the roaming mobs and gangs and reached safety without incident. Not a single shot was fired during their escape.
Hates Surprises – Accidentally electrocuted and sent three of the arbiters she had saved above to the infirmary when they tried to surprise her with a party later. Being so used to foresee danger before it happens, she is prone to freaking out over minor surprises that eludes her farsight.
Fireteam – During an Ork incursion, she helped a fireteam of six guardsmen hold off a much larger band of orks after their sergeant was injured through using her powers of divination to guide their fire, turning what had been originally green recruits into seemingly crack shots. Any Ork that left its cover was immediately put down from long range, and when they mounted a frenzied charge together, they didn’t make it more than halfway across the field to the trenches before they were wiped out by precision fire.
Warpstorm over Mordran V - Adrianne was assigned to aid the planetary imperial garrison with culling a lesser greenskin uprising, assisting local Imperial Guard and Sisters of Battle forces with the purging when a warpstorm suddenly appeared over the otherwise peaceful colony world of Mordran V. Trapped on the planet, Adrianne found herself fighting for survival alongside her imperial guard as Chaos Ships appeared in orbit, and unleashed a ferocious invasion of the planet! Though the warpstorm only lasted for two weeks, by the time it had lifted, Mordran V had been transformed from a lush, promising garden world into a lifeless, daemon-infested hellscape, with most of its original population killed except for a few imperial strongholds that managed to weather the storm. Her experience from Mordran V would change Adrianne for ever. What had been a cautious girl that had stepped onto the planet would instead emerge a seemingly reckless with little to no restraint on her powers!
Time With the Inquisitor: W.I.P. |
47,500 | 1,291 | 7 | 729 | 2,152 | The chill sounded off just about every alarm in Ansgar's head, the subtle shift creating a migraine would have caused a panicked expression to flash across the Kreiger's face, if it was visible to begin with, and if it had happened at all. Instead, he turned on heel, the whine of his Type XIV primed to unleash a volley of powerful las rounds the only announcement that he was reacting on instinct. To be fair, pluck a survivor from a world in the midst of becoming a Daemon world, and one could not readily fault him for not reacting peacefully to sudden appearances from warp travel. The chill and headache only made the matter more clear, as far as the man was concerned, that there was trouble so soon. He had the Type XIV trained on Adrianne and was about ready to fire when civil thought kicked in. Unlike Adeptus Sororitas and Grey Knights, he was not used to working alongside human psykers. The split second he didn't move from his ready position gave him time to analyze.
Psyker, or manipulated by one, likely the former. Silver looking armaplate, would likely take precision to punch through gaps and weakpoints assuming it was rated highly enough to take a Type XIV (Heavy) lasround. He would take that gamble, if he were not one to assume the worst of a situation like this. Helmet, similar material, likely rated equally or slightly better. Overall threat, above average. Potential for violence? An attack would not have waited for one of them to notice, and considering no one else seemed to react as poorly as he, the calm hum of the Type XIV returning to its safe state and the muzzle lowering indicated he was not reacting on instinct anymore. But, while reacting, the discomfort and unsurity of a social situation were gone. Combat made far more sense to Ansgar, after all. Most sane people would have likely apologized profusely for aiming a potent weapon at someone out of instinct, but the Krieger only offered an off hand comment, shifting his position to keep all of them in view now. Muffled and definitely not friendly in tone, and a tad cold when his comment was directed at the Psyker who newly arrived. "Not used to friendly warpers..."
Warper being a nicer term his regiment had referred to Psykers as. More unkind was learned from their brief contact with the shattered survivors of an Armageddon regiment having finished putting down Orks on Thesis II before the Chaos incursions. Bangers were the more derogatory term, referencing their tendency to explode, their heads especially. Ork psykers, at least, but the Krieg regiment stuck to it, an oddity to be sure, but facing Chaos in so many of its forms, oddities tended to form at the best of times. Her idle jesting with the other woman was nothing interesting, to Ansgar at least, and he left the Hellgun resting in his arms, ready for a split moment's notice, just in case. Anything with Warp relations was never good news, whether it stabbed you in the face, screaming bloody murder, or slipped its toxic dagger between a lone sentry's ribs in a unspoken assault from the Immaterium. He didn't pretend to understand the Warp, and frankly, he had no interest in doing so. When it was a threat, it was put down. Otherwise, watched carefully for when that line into threat was crossed. And it was put down. | Name:
Ansgar Staudinger
Death Korp Trooper Number:
Trooper 17431
Appearance:
Height:
5'6"
Age:
27
Sex:
Male
Class:
Death Korp Grenadier
Equipment:
- Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) -
Also known as a Hellgun or, more rarely, a Hotshot lasgun, the Type XIV (Heavy) is the standard issue weapon for all Grenadiers serving in Death Korp regiments. They are, at least by the Grenadiers themselves, intensely disliked due to perceived unreliability in the field during extended operations and a Krieger's general preference for the default Type XIV Lasgun (More commonly known outside of Krieg as the Lucian Pattern Lasgun). However, with the proper maintence that each Grenadier performs routinely, the weapon performs its intended role as a high power Lasgun, capable of punching through heavier armor and providing, on full auto, a withering rate of fire. The Type XIV (Heavy) utilizes a backpack unit to power it, and a Quick Recharge Generator included in the backpack unit is generally overtaxed, due to the design of the weapon and its power output. Ansgar, like many Grenadiers, would have preferred a Type XIV Lasgun over the Heavy variant, but as a Grenadier, he is required to carry it.
- Grenadier Carapace Armor -
Intended for deployment where the fighting is fiercest, Death Korps Grenadiers are equipped with heavy Carapace Armour that has been integrated into the standard Krieg kit. This comprises the Mark IX helmet, a rebreather facemask, three-piece shoulder guards, a chest plate with additional abdomen plates and shin and knee guards. All are made of Plasteel and reinforced with a layer of Ceramite for additional strength, heat resistance and weight reduction. The armor, coupled with uniform and Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) makes a very heavy loadout, adding in the miscellaneous equipment they carry as well, however, the protection is vastly appreciated by the Grenadiers in general, due to their role as the leading edge in storming trenches and hostile emplacements, needing the protection to get close enough to do their jobs, not so much concerned with survival.
- Explosives -
As his former squads Demolitions expert, Ansgar carried the standard explosives load out alongside extra tools, for when the Engineers could not keep up with the assault but were preoccupied elsewhere. Besides several Frag and Krak grenades, Ansgar also has several demolition charges, rated for taking out hardened bunkers when put in place. Ansgar modified the charges so that, in a hurry, he can pull a detonation cable and heave the charge at a target, the normally delicate and precise procedure for arming the charges ditched in favor of emergency target removal. And, as a Krieg Engineer before he was assigned as a Grenadier, he has learned to build improvised explosives that served him well in the trenches when supplies on conventional explosives were running short, as well as utilize Chemical weapons safely.
- Melee Gear -
Ansgar carries two weapons for melee combat, one obligatory and the other actually used. The obligatory is his bayonet, which the Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) lacks a mount for, another reason it remains unpopular among Grenadiers, and typically serves as much as a tool and last resort weapon than anything else. His actual go to is a Entrenching Tool, edges sharpened to allow him to carve through hostiles as well as bludgeon them, and retain the intended purpose of digging trenches and other necessary fighting positions.
Notable Deeds:
- Tyranid Assault on Thresis IV -
Raised from birth to be a Death Korp Engineer, Ansgar Staudinger, or known by his Trooper designation 17431, will never state when he was sent to war, something that tends to bother people who ask that are outsiders to Krieg and their necessary methods of providing the Imperium the soldiers it needs. Assigned fresh to an Engineering Platoon, Ansgar would spend a great deal of time digging trenches and laying mines in the defense of a Shrine World, Thresis IV, directly in the path of a Tyranid Hive Fleet Splinter. The Tyranids, despite being vastly reduced in numbers compared to a true Hive Fleet, descended like mad locusts, slaughtering over 90% of the Death Korp forces deployed on the planet. Of that 10%, Ansgar Staudinger was one of the survivors, the only from his platoon, found near death after turning an entire trench line into a raging biochemical inferno, equal parts fire and chemical weapon that was effective on the Tyranids. Sharing the compound make up with other Death Korp Engineers, the biochemical fire was used to great extent to halt and drive back the Tyranids, making the then rookie Staudinger's trial by fire a literal, and resounding, success.
- Nightmares Beneath Thrasis II -
As part of the Thrasis campaign his regiment was assigned to, and the arrival of Tyranid complicating greatly, Ansgar Staudinger was deployed with a fresh Engineering platoon to assist in the breaking of a siege on Chaos held factories on the system's forge world, Thrasis II. Utilizing conventional tunneling and, when they detected they were almost at the entry point, Hades Breaching Drill, to punch into the Chaos held Foundry, Ansgar and his fellow Guardsmen stumbled into something straight out of the most feverish of a heretic's nightmares. The Warp had bled over into the belly of the foundry, with daemons and mutants in equal measures assaulting the woefully unprepared Krieg Guardsmen. However, they had a job to do, and they were able to hold their ground, keeping a secure tunnel long enough for support to arrive and push deep enough into the Chaos corrupted foundry, to the dark heart and plant enough explosives for the resulting explosion spotted from orbit. Whether it was the sheer amount of explosives put in place, or partially due to Chaos corruption was never decided. However, as one of the only survivors again by virtue of Luck or being Blessed, Ansgar was reassigned by a surviving Commissar to the Death Korp Grenadiers.
- Hellscape of Thrasis I -
Nearing the end of the Thrasis System Campaign, Ansgar found himself a freshly minted Grenadier, no longer an Engineer although he often worked closely with them during breaching actions against enemy defensive lines. However, upon touching down on Thrasis I, the Kriegers found something unlike anything anyone could be prepared for. The Foundry was merely a foretaste of what was to come, as planet spanning rituals had allowed the Warp to taint and corrupt great stretches of the planet, forcing Guard forces to struggle through conventional defenses one day, and make a mad dash through Daemon infested hellscapes that should not be the next. What Ansgar refuses to mention to a soul, due to an oath he was put under at the end of the conflict, was the arrival of Grey Knights, of the Emperor's most holy Ordos Malleus. Alongside Adeptus Sororitas support, which Ansgar learned to have a deep, healthy respect for, the combined arms forces stormed the capital of Thrasis I, a den of pure evil and corruption that made the rest of the planet look like a Shrine World in comparison. Once again, whether by luck or the Emperor's own intervention, Ansgar found himself as one of the only Grenadiers, and Krieger's period, to survive the assaults into the city, arriving at the Hall of Governing as it had been christened during Thrasis I's founding as a colony, only to find horrors so unspeakable even the Krieg born Grenadier refuses to speak of them now. But, between the Grey Knights and Sisters of Battle alongside his own humble contributions at that point, which mostly consisted of survival, Ansgar lived to see the end of the hellish campaign on Thrasis I. With literally no regiment to return to, and having become aware of the most secretive of Space Marine chapters, it was decided to induct him into the Inquisition, sending him to serve where needed most. |
47,501 | 1,291 | 8 | 1,587 | 2,247 | Maria still stood rock solid at attention. Unlike the Krieg man, she knew the feeling of a psyker teleporting their way in, and also unlike him, she knew their new visitor bore them no ill will. Despite herself, she snickered at his reaction, though managing to maintain her posture.
Though she did not move a muscle, she muttered out of the side of her mouth, “Relax, Mr. Organic Servitor, she doesn’t bite.” She paused for a moment, “Or at least I think she doesn’t. Normally.” Looking at the new arrival out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t stop her eyebrows raising at the… impressive posture of the other psyker. “Though to be frank, she could probably just fall on you from that height and it’d hurt a lot more.”
Maria was not short by any means, but the new woman was straight up tall, perhaps bordering on towering even. She’d seen her before, though not very close, and it was only now that she appreciated how imposing her height could be, especially when coupled with her armor. Granted, it wasn’t as if she was unused to being completely dwarfed by other people - she had spent time around the Astartes after all, and they stood tall over any normal human.
It did amuse her that they seemed to share the exact same type of snow white hair - maybe it was a psyker thing? Or at least something psykers were prone to? She would have to go do some reading, if possible. Truth be told there was little in the way of intellectual stimulation when attached to various overzealous Commissars and Imperial Guard commanders. Some of them had impressive libraries, but it wasn’t as if they would let some psyker from the Underhive of Mordia browse through their private collections.
She made a mental note to pester the Inquisitor and the other psyker about any interesting books they might be willing to share before returning her attention to the Inquisitor in question, face going blank once more as she returned to standing stiffly at attention. | Name: Maria Selkirk
Maria stands at about 178 centimeters at full height, sporting a heavily built, strong body that readily shows her years of experience in the field. Much of her body has some sort of scar or nick to show, with some even showing ugly burns. Despite years of war she has seen throughought her life, she has snowy white hair of surprising softness, sharply contrasting the lava red eyes she has inexplicably had since birth.
Age: 29
Sex: Female
Personality: Will mostly be shown IC, but… Maria is intelligent, snarky, and decidedly irreverent behind the backs of authority figures. How she came from the strict world of Praetoria is a true mystery, as her complete indifference to things like uniformity and compliance (when she can get away with it) is completely uncharacteristic of the world. But by the same token, she shows an innate intelligence and awareness of her surroundings. Perhaps she can’t build a plasma gun from spare parts or debate complex arcane specifics with a seasoned scholar, but she can piece together seemingly unrelated pieces of information and find a pattern hidden within, or decipher the mad ravings of a guardsman stricken to lunacy by Chaotic sights.
Former Occupation: Personal bodyguard for a Commissar.
Psyker Powers: Maria boasts incredibly potent pyromantic abilities, having awakened them in the heat of battle. While not the stuff of legends, her skill at the offensive discipline is not to be underestimated, under pain of an excruciating and fiery demise.
Equipment:
Custom Made Bolt Revolver: This potent weapon originally belonged to another - a Commissar. Specifically, the Commissar who she guarded for years on end. A powerful hand cannon of fearsome size, sound, and effect, the weapon was scratch built for the Commissar, firing full sized bolts out of a barrel considerably longer and heavier than a normal bolt pistol’s, mitigating the recoil significantly - despite this, it has a sophisticated system of sliding counterweights that fire at the same time as the gun, adding their own mass to counteract the recoil of the weapon. These, coupled with the muzzle break at the front, make it a surprisingly easy weapon to fire. Upon the Commissar’s death, ownership of the weapon passed to her by virtue of being the closest one to the man to grab it from him. She has continued to use it to this day. Due to being a revolver, the capacity is limited to six rounds, but by the same token the far less complicated mechanism makes the weapon almost preternaturally reliable when coupled with its superior worksmanship.
Customized Mordian Uniform: Beginning its life as her standard issue Mordian Iron Guard uniform, Maria received the set upon her joining of the Guard. It has since then seen many alterations, chiefly the removal of the surrounding fabric, stripping the uniform down to the resilient carapace armor contained within, which she continues to wear to this day, albeit with the occasional addition after a good find on the battlefield. While her alterations to it are primarily cosmetic - covering the edges to prevent anything snagging, she has managed to modify the hat suffiently to meet her personal aesthetic preferences, turning the headgear into a jaunty tricorn with a single white feather stuck in the top.
Coat and hat: Maria’s coat serves little practical purpose save some warmth and as a good covering to keep dust out. Her extended tenure as a Commissar’s personal bodyguard let her feather her nest a little with a few aesthetic frivolities - mainly in the form of the coat she wears at all time. Constructed of an unknown but incredibly sturdy fabric, the coat has lasted her for many years, and will surely last many more.
Notable Deeds:
Hailing from the world of Mordian, Maria was raised amid the same wretched conditions as the other members of the world. The hardship of her early life tempered her against the horrors of the greater galaxy, like all of her fellows hailing from the world. At the age of seventeen she made her way into the Imperial Guard, reasoning that a quick death in service of the Emperor beat a slow and roughly as painful one within the hives. Over the years she saw many engagements, miraculously not dying, even if she’s had more than her share of close calls.
”You’re a Psyker, Maria.”
Maria first awakened her psychic abilities in a routine operation against the gangs that infested every corner of Mordian. While truly keeping them in check or wiping them out was a dream that could only be born of huffing fermented grox manure for a few days, it was important that they keep them from completely overrunning certain parts of the world - such as one of the major military depots.
The standard Mordian tactic of lining up in thick rows and concentrating fire on the enemies certainly had an effect, but the surrounding gangs had joined forces - after all, having military grade gear in their arsenal would dramatically boost their standing. Outnumbered by surprisingly well armed gangs, the Guard soon found their ammunition on hand running dry, their nimble adversaries frustrating their attempts to burn their skulls out by dodging and weaving their ways closer, tossing crude grenades and even some genuine ones into their ranks, even some Kraks landed under the few armored vehicles on hand, knocking them out of commission for the time being. Backup, in the form of the rest of their regiment with accompanying armor in tow, was inbound but would take some time to arrive - this had, after all, originally been a simple policing action.
A grenade had blown open the ranks of men and women right next to her, tearing a bloody hole in their lines that their assailants suddenly rushed for, intending to exploit the sudden breach before the Guard could plug it, leaving only Maria and a machine gunner running low on ammunition and sporting a shattered leg to hold them off.
Maria quickly emptied the power cell on her las rifle, finding the other one empty too. Beside her, perched behind his weapon, the gunner quickly ran out of ammunition as well, scrambling to hurl grenades at the enemy, scavenging as many off the shattered bodies that surrounded them as he could, hurling them into the mass of onrushing bodies - but it wasn’t enough.
She had felt only rage at that point. While normally not a clean and polished yes-woman who delighted at the very thought of obeying orders, indeed she chafed under them for the most part, she still respected them. And the fact that she wouldn’t be able to do her job, was going to die right here, because of something as stupid as running out of ammunition angered her to no end.
Something had risen up in her then, and without even understanding what she was doing, she conjured forth great torrents of flame, dousing the emboldened gangers in a fire fueled by a potent mixture of unchecked rage and primal survival instinct.
When she came to, she found that she had fallen unconscious from the exertion, but the line had held, in no small part due to her sudden ability to conjure flame from nothing.
Waaagh! ‘Urtfist
After her sudden development of psychic abilities, Maria faced the prospect of potential execution, or transport to Terra as Emperor-food, but the Commissariat intervened, pulling her from the rank and file to serve as a bodyguard for the division’s Commissar. This roughly coincided with the decision of the brass to ship her and her division out to the frontline to replenish severely depleted and considerably poorer trained Guard formations defending against a recently emerged threat - a sizeable Ork Waaagh! bearing down on an agricultural system known as Effus. The Waaagh! struck first at the outer site of human inhabitation, a mostly barren world pockmarked by meteor impacts, the planet of Effus IV was soon to become a bloodbath of unimaginable proportions where almost the entire Waaagh! would be halted, at a great cost in lives and resources. One of two planets located within the habitable zone, there had been multiple attempts to convert it into an agricultural world like its sister planet, Effus III, but such efforts had stalled due to lack of resources and hostile local fauna.
The Waaagh! had its origins in the warboss of an originally small clan, who got it into his head to lead his forces against those of other nearby clans, managing to unite them despite his numerical inferiority. The scholars theorized he had an unusually large present in their bastard version of the Warp, drawing other Orks to his cause regardless of his actual physical capabilites - which were, admittedly, fearsome.
The initial forces sent to contain the Waaagh! were tragically underprepared, rapidly overrun by battle hungry Orks looking for a good fight. The Guard regiments had been sent in as more of a “trial by fire”, their commanders not fully comprehending the scale of the Waaagh! bearing down on the system. The forces of the 352nd Mordian Iron Guard were closest at hand and rapidly redeployed to counter the Waaagh!, sending out an urgent request for backup.
By the time they arrived, the Imperial forces were in utter rout, fleeing from the Orks in every which way, oftentimes abandoning their weapons and equipment to move faster.
The commander of the regiment was known as Nadia Parron, a woman stern and unrelenting even by Mordian standards, ordered her forces to deploy in the open in standard battle formation, issuing extra ammunition in anticipation of a protracted battle. To the fleeing Guardsmen she issued a general order: stand and fight, or be executed as traitors to the Imperium.
Most of them kept running right up until precise las fire drilled burning holes through their skulls.
Redeploying her armored units and support troops, Commander Parron advanced slowly, cautiously scouting ahead with aerial units and ground forces, keeping their lone cruiser within bombarding distance, knowing full well her lone force would be insufficient to hold off an entire Ork Waaagh! Her primary goal was to find a fortifiable position to hold off the Orks until reinforcements could arrive.
Eventually they found an ancient asteroid crater, miraculously still fairly intact, and immediately set about digging in. Normal doctrine would have had the Guard face the Orks in the open, but Commander Parron, while stern and unrelenting, was no fool.
The engagement began when a vanguard of greenskins advanced over the horizon, driving their primitive vehicles pell-mell for the Imperial line. Disciplined las fire lanced out from the Mordian troops, heavy armor adding its part too and inflicting grievous casualties on the approaching xenos.
Recon craft had estimated the strength of the advance force at about three thousand strong - no xenos made contact with the Guard’s line, though their crude weaponry had brought down a few comrades.
The real assault began at the planet’s version of high noon - a vertiable tidal wave of greenskins surged over the horizon and almost immediately, the Imperial artillery began to open up, plunging devastating shellfire into the hordes of xenos - but even as they inflicted grievous slaughter, as did the Ork weaponry begin to take its toll. Men and women began dropping left and right.
The enemy force broke upon the raised walls of the meteor crater and Imperial fortifications, greenskins attempting to climb towards the Guard forces only to be beaten back by disciplined las fire, or, in Maria’s case, furious blasts of warpfire. She honed her skill upon the throngs of bloodthirsty xenos, gleefully incinerating them en masse as they threw themselves even more energetically into the fray.
However, the position was untenable in the face of the sheer numbers and ferocity of the attack, and by the third day of the defense their numbers had dwindled severely.
Help came unexpectedly in the form of a strike cruiser bearing a full company of Astartes - Angels Encarmine, to be specific. The arrival of the Space Marines turned the tide momentarily in favor of the Imperial forces, allowing them to beat back the Ork assault long enough to fortify once more and await reinforcements.
Damn the torpedoes! And the Orks!
When reinforcements finally arrived in the form of several hastily assembled formations of Guardsmen from any nearby worlds, and of all walks of life, Commander Parron decided to gamble her forces on a single decisive assault to crush the momentarily stalled Waaagh! to prevent it gaining any further traction from greenskins elsewhere.
The operation was a bloodbath on both sides - the Mordian 352nd and the company of Astartes, as the only remotely experienced or even truly competent forces available, were chosen to form the speartip of this operation. Leading one of the assault companies was Commissar Basir and his bodyguard, Maria Maria Selkirk.
The Commissar was a rather aggressive one, even by their standards, and decided to lead his company, along with several others of the hastily formed recruit formations, in a headlong charge against a mid sized gargant. Maria, not wishing to be shot, said nothing but did her best to keep herself (and the Commissar) alive. She was doomed to failure on the latter however when, miraculously reaching the Gargant, with severely depleted numbers, the man charged headlong at it. At this point, her sense of self preservation overrode her devotion to her duty and she held back, eventually taking shelter behind a massive mound of bodies - greenskin and human alike - to hurl warpfire every which way.
What seemed like days later, but was likely only a couple hours, she came to coated in blood from head to toe and completely exhausted. All around her was utter devastation, the Gargant lay in smoldering ruins, telltale signs of a Leman Russ Annihilator having been in the vicinity, if the recently cooled molten metal was anything to go by.
She had staggered to her feet, incapable of generating another warp bolt if her life depended on it. Scavenging through the field of corpses, taking extra power packs and looking for a lasgun in reasonable condition, she came across the body of the commissar, and by extension, his custom made bolt revolver, which she quickly appropriated for her own personal use before staggering back to friendly lines where she collapsed almost immediately, |
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