The coils creeping closer upon calvert was wonderful. The revelation that Clíodhna could cull his "dreams", timed perfectly to signal the flailing fox that the time to turn was now, shows just how dangerous a magic-user can be. Especially bards. If anyone ever complains that bards must be the stupid spoony singers so many stereotype them as, I will point them here. Seeing Clíodhna rally the rightous dead to wage war upon the defilers is a treat, and a reminder of how terrifying bards can become.
A Song of Brutal Escalation (Worm & D&D 3.5 Crossover)
- Thread starter Grimmatt
- Start date
- Mature
Technically, all Lisa got at the end was 'under attack, taken by surprise, zombie queen cape thats been hitting the empire?, being mauled'. You know, enough that she feels like she can twist the knife, even if she was months away from being able to absorb Coil's assets. Same time, the Undersiders cohesion is very fragile and could shatter easily at the moment because they have not been a team for very long.
Also... I feel like I should have stretched things out more, as this was not a good day to be Coil... same time, just the result of a strategic whim.
Side note, I have updated the mythos appearing thus far on Taylors end.
Edit; Also mulling over ideas for Theo Anders. On the one hand, Golem. On the other hand, Band Camp Theo.
Also... I feel like I should have stretched things out more, as this was not a good day to be Coil... same time, just the result of a strategic whim.
Side note, I have updated the mythos appearing thus far on Taylors end.
Edit; Also mulling over ideas for Theo Anders. On the one hand, Golem. On the other hand, Band Camp Theo.
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Ash & Steel
Brad Meadows (Hookwolf)
More and more he was regretting the bargain that saw him offering up his service to Kaiser and the Empire 88 in a moment of panic and weakness. More and more, he should have turned him down and sought either to sell his life dear or just have made a run for it. As it was, sure, there were fights, he had a position of authority in this shit show (one that actually mattered once be worked over the plants) enough money for plenty of beer, burgers and pizza and a little garden for homebrew booze, well, he had not been in that much hurry to really look into parting ways.
He could admit, after a bit of introspection (meaning a few drinks) that he had gotten complacent, been putting down roots and thought he was his own man, even if that was just the prick giving his dog plenty of the room on the leash. After all, once you have a guard dog trained up, you don't keep them in the kennels, you let them have a bit of a run, let them stretch their legs and howl a bit, maybe have them bite one of the more annoying pricks. Yet... he considered the pale kid who had been a frequent visitor to the cages.
On the one hand, the kid was a scrapper and did not go down easily and kept getting back up when he was knocked on his ass. Granted, nothing he had not seen all the time by those too stupid and stubborn to know that they had a few bones broken. That he was willing to learn to fight, that he accepted having the shit beaten out of him... he could respect that. And then shit like this happened, and he had to reconsider things. Having to fight alongside literal demons had that sort of effect, even if the instructions were to allow it to go first, to let it soak up the worst of any traps and how it was supposed to be some special fancy undead hating demon.
Personally, he had his doubts. And not because the thing was literally made of ash and metal, embers visible through cracks in the armor, and nothing flesh and blood underneath according to Melody and Jack (known to most as Cricket and Stormtiger). Nothing but the smell of ashes, of something rotten left in the sun until it baked, cooked inside of their own armor until the only thing left was hate and hunger. Basically, unnatural shit. Not sure just how it stacked up the undead, the dead denied their rest in afterlife.
That, and he was curious, what price did this carry? He was not stupid, despite not being interested in a lot of the useless crap people insist was important for looking smart. But, nothing was free and no tale of demons did not double as a cautionary one, where you would have been better off not taking the bargain. So, even as they began to march, he passed the word.
If they survived this, his crew would be served looking into making sure they don't get dragged down with Max. Man might be able to talk real smooth, but Brad did not fancy him being able to outsmart the hounds of darkness. The only way to win that fight was with steel and courage, to blot out any offers with fury and faith. For the words of demons were a poison to be cast out.
It was a pity that the kid was becoming more like what he was calling up.
Leet
He watched as the Empire struck at some of the old warehouses, and as The Snitch looked over the leading figure, he had a waking dream of fire. Of the ashes of a dead world were souls were fuel for the endless war of existence, of the struggle and the clash as endless hordes fought and ignited, trying to exist as the darkness closed in, ever hungry, ever a storm of passion wild and boundless, primal and undefinable in any sane mind. Violence was the hammer, suffering the anvil, death just another crucible for what was to come.
Still, he blinked, as Uber poked him. "Bro, you doing all right?" There was concern in his voice, hand almost cold to the touch, even as Cortanna looked on, worry in her digital eyes. As it was, as visions ran through his eyes, well, there was good and bad news for things going forward, as he smiled, grinning as materials he needed whispered and carved themselves into his mind.
"I'm good bro, just got a few ideas looking at the Empires fire cape." Granted, he had a few... well, scares over the last week, as the old rush of blueprints had for the most part faded. No, as he looked at things, as he studied the eye, he had gained something much more valuable, even as hands moved, pencil sketching out designs, designs meant, from what he could tell, to bring the fight to the dead... if he could get his hands on some materials for things. Still, even as he grinned widely, Cortanna sighing and shaking her head, Uber seemed to sense the mood.
"Andrew, how would you like an Undead Killer Whip?" Mostly because the materials for that would be a lot easier to get a hold of then any of the more awesome things. That, and for some reason looking at the cape, who was tearing into the warehouse and screaming as zombies were dogpiling it only for the dead to be cleaved in half and lit aflame, Jeff (known to the world as Leet), was wondering how he would be able to bake souls into the gear in the first place?
Pygral
The mortal had not lied, the find laughed, blade lashing out to lop off one of the weak corpses heads, and there were indeed undead abound to hunt and render into ash, that the dead, who could not feel the full touch of the sun above them... oh, what joy there was, as the blade flashed and he strode forward, hacking the desecrated ones and moving with great speed, a hunger lit in her breast. If the will of the Ashen Sun was with her, she may be able to close with the necromancer and show her the folly of defying the sun!
But, first the battle. As it was, the main problem with zombies was that they lacked minds when their masters were absent, and it was increasingly clear that there was no greater mind directing the abominations here. Nor was there any feeling of the self dripping away, as she raised her blade, flame roaring down the edge and spraying over a group, as she rushed, the ash whirling around the blade as flames erupted, the better to purify and leave them naught but ash!
And if some of the mortals would fall to the flames, she could only hope they would rise anew, that she could slaughter them and purify them inside the bindings of her instructions. Ah well, this is life. "Come dead ones, my hate burns!" And with that war cry, she dove into what seemed to be the last of a measly thirty zombies, a paltry trio rushing forward.
Hate in her heart, she would be called again for more tribute to her lord!
More and more he was regretting the bargain that saw him offering up his service to Kaiser and the Empire 88 in a moment of panic and weakness. More and more, he should have turned him down and sought either to sell his life dear or just have made a run for it. As it was, sure, there were fights, he had a position of authority in this shit show (one that actually mattered once be worked over the plants) enough money for plenty of beer, burgers and pizza and a little garden for homebrew booze, well, he had not been in that much hurry to really look into parting ways.
He could admit, after a bit of introspection (meaning a few drinks) that he had gotten complacent, been putting down roots and thought he was his own man, even if that was just the prick giving his dog plenty of the room on the leash. After all, once you have a guard dog trained up, you don't keep them in the kennels, you let them have a bit of a run, let them stretch their legs and howl a bit, maybe have them bite one of the more annoying pricks. Yet... he considered the pale kid who had been a frequent visitor to the cages.
On the one hand, the kid was a scrapper and did not go down easily and kept getting back up when he was knocked on his ass. Granted, nothing he had not seen all the time by those too stupid and stubborn to know that they had a few bones broken. That he was willing to learn to fight, that he accepted having the shit beaten out of him... he could respect that. And then shit like this happened, and he had to reconsider things. Having to fight alongside literal demons had that sort of effect, even if the instructions were to allow it to go first, to let it soak up the worst of any traps and how it was supposed to be some special fancy undead hating demon.
Personally, he had his doubts. And not because the thing was literally made of ash and metal, embers visible through cracks in the armor, and nothing flesh and blood underneath according to Melody and Jack (known to most as Cricket and Stormtiger). Nothing but the smell of ashes, of something rotten left in the sun until it baked, cooked inside of their own armor until the only thing left was hate and hunger. Basically, unnatural shit. Not sure just how it stacked up the undead, the dead denied their rest in afterlife.
That, and he was curious, what price did this carry? He was not stupid, despite not being interested in a lot of the useless crap people insist was important for looking smart. But, nothing was free and no tale of demons did not double as a cautionary one, where you would have been better off not taking the bargain. So, even as they began to march, he passed the word.
If they survived this, his crew would be served looking into making sure they don't get dragged down with Max. Man might be able to talk real smooth, but Brad did not fancy him being able to outsmart the hounds of darkness. The only way to win that fight was with steel and courage, to blot out any offers with fury and faith. For the words of demons were a poison to be cast out.
It was a pity that the kid was becoming more like what he was calling up.
Leet
He watched as the Empire struck at some of the old warehouses, and as The Snitch looked over the leading figure, he had a waking dream of fire. Of the ashes of a dead world were souls were fuel for the endless war of existence, of the struggle and the clash as endless hordes fought and ignited, trying to exist as the darkness closed in, ever hungry, ever a storm of passion wild and boundless, primal and undefinable in any sane mind. Violence was the hammer, suffering the anvil, death just another crucible for what was to come.
Still, he blinked, as Uber poked him. "Bro, you doing all right?" There was concern in his voice, hand almost cold to the touch, even as Cortanna looked on, worry in her digital eyes. As it was, as visions ran through his eyes, well, there was good and bad news for things going forward, as he smiled, grinning as materials he needed whispered and carved themselves into his mind.
"I'm good bro, just got a few ideas looking at the Empires fire cape." Granted, he had a few... well, scares over the last week, as the old rush of blueprints had for the most part faded. No, as he looked at things, as he studied the eye, he had gained something much more valuable, even as hands moved, pencil sketching out designs, designs meant, from what he could tell, to bring the fight to the dead... if he could get his hands on some materials for things. Still, even as he grinned widely, Cortanna sighing and shaking her head, Uber seemed to sense the mood.
"Andrew, how would you like an Undead Killer Whip?" Mostly because the materials for that would be a lot easier to get a hold of then any of the more awesome things. That, and for some reason looking at the cape, who was tearing into the warehouse and screaming as zombies were dogpiling it only for the dead to be cleaved in half and lit aflame, Jeff (known to the world as Leet), was wondering how he would be able to bake souls into the gear in the first place?
Pygral
The mortal had not lied, the find laughed, blade lashing out to lop off one of the weak corpses heads, and there were indeed undead abound to hunt and render into ash, that the dead, who could not feel the full touch of the sun above them... oh, what joy there was, as the blade flashed and he strode forward, hacking the desecrated ones and moving with great speed, a hunger lit in her breast. If the will of the Ashen Sun was with her, she may be able to close with the necromancer and show her the folly of defying the sun!
But, first the battle. As it was, the main problem with zombies was that they lacked minds when their masters were absent, and it was increasingly clear that there was no greater mind directing the abominations here. Nor was there any feeling of the self dripping away, as she raised her blade, flame roaring down the edge and spraying over a group, as she rushed, the ash whirling around the blade as flames erupted, the better to purify and leave them naught but ash!
And if some of the mortals would fall to the flames, she could only hope they would rise anew, that she could slaughter them and purify them inside the bindings of her instructions. Ah well, this is life. "Come dead ones, my hate burns!" And with that war cry, she dove into what seemed to be the last of a measly thirty zombies, a paltry trio rushing forward.
Hate in her heart, she would be called again for more tribute to her lord!
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Dark Father
Pater Tenebrarum
In his old life, he had been called Reginald Patterson and had been but another of the chaff struggling to try and save what he saw as his peoples way of life from the creeping poison as they bred until their homes could no longer contain them, and then set their eyes on what good honest Americans, who brought only the number of children they could afford to support into the world, had made. Creeping like a disease, infecting its host and soon outnumbering those whose ancestors had been there for generations, changing the laws to bring even more of their kind in openly, without needing to send forth waves of colonizers.
But now, the scales were lifted from his eyes, as he looked over his acolytes, all wights touched by his hands and given new names, taught the basics of the dark mysteries. all five with three of zombies at their heels, even as ten lined the walls of the chamber, strings of dark power linked to them, steering them and directing them, even as the voices directed him, whispered of the ways he could assist the herald... even if today, as he looked over his spawn, this was not a matter of the herald, but a matter of faith.
"Children of the dark! Bastard sons and daughters of this dying world! I have shown you the truth, the currents that sing and scream under the façade the ignorant call life, call reality!" His arms rose, the skulls of rats jiggling and clattering against the empty chitin of spiders and roaches, musical notes painted on each 'bead' of the rosary tied to the limb. "Through the gateway of the grave, you have become enlightened and looked on the face of the truth, have heard in your soul the call of divinity! Even now, the herald wages war against the ignorant, the heathen and infidel! Yet we are not to stay in small chambers, to ponder bones and rot!"
His voice rose, as they moved and murmured, the seeds of faith having been planted and grown deeply in their breasts, as evidenced by them taking to prayer and the powers of the dark mysteries. eyes gleaming with faith in the dark. Fools would call it madness, but what was faith and but the most holy madness, to stride free from the constraints of the mundane and touch, however briefly on the works of the divine?
"No my children, a most holy task is before us, to crusade in the name of the grave, to strike a bastion of false faith! We shall crush them, pinning their corpses to the pews as their false priest is offered up as a sacrifice on their very altar!" His voice was a fever pitch, as they cheered, chanting and stomping their feet, faces wide and gleeful as they pictured the slaughter to come. It was, in many ways, warming for his shriveled back heart. Lifting his mace up (well, it was a solid metal baseball bat with a crows skull nailed to the head, but it counted!), he pointed towards the exit in a commanding fashion. "Forward my children, forward unto slaughter!"
Through the dark underbelly of the sewer system, they marched, a parade of dead things and a host small in size, yet powerful enough in its aping (of sorts) of the various gangs of the bay. Yet, as the force of thirty one marched, largely unseen until they reached the correct junction, where one of his children looked up through the manhole cover to check, in which case they burst out onto the late evening streets of Brockton bay right in front of Rosemary Catholic Church.
Eyes were on them, screams were heard as they rushed into the church, dead hands and arms prying open the doors as the faith burned and stung, yet it was nothing more than a faint itch. Faith, many had in droves. Power? As the dead moved, bats and maces cracking down, zombies flailing about, it was clear that the power aspect of things was lacking. Oh, but the faith, the faith... Pater took a deep breath, even as he did not need to breath, drinking in the scent, that aroma of fear, of realization and despair... and of anger.
Yet, he flicked his bat, red and back, a few flakes of white from bones and spoke, more for the livings sake than his spawn and their servants. "Can you hear me, oh priest? Will the shepherd meet with the wolf?" After all, when the mortals formed a rough ring after the deads initial rush through the crowd, allowing their bloodlust and hunger to be sated (even as they made sure no new children would be baptized in the grave), men grasping what weapons they could close by (why, there were even a handful of pistols among them), women and children huddled behind overturned pews even as the priest, oh he prayed.
Yet, his prayer, while firm and hard, making the wight itch, was ultimately nothing. "Tell me father, does your god listen?" The mortals flinch, as they prepare, yet, what can they do, even as he stands but ten feet away, arms outspread, a visible apostle of the dark and the damned, a herald of the grave. "Pray to the Lord Yahweh priest, or his son Yeshua. Be as unto Elijah at Mount Carmel in defense of your flock." And with these words, he bowed, the mockery ringing in the air,
Yet, the priest came, stepping forward with sure step and faith, bible in one hand and cross in the other. His voice was not loud, but it was firm, it was sure and calm, and as he spoke, in ragged clumps, so did his flock speak with him, joining their voices together and speaking with once voice, one call to the most holy.
"O Divine Eternal Father, in union with your Divine Son and the Holy Spirit, and through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I beg You to destroy the Power of your greatest enemy - the evil spirits. Cast them into the deepest recesses of hell and chain them there forever! Take possession of your Kingdom which You have created and which is rightfully yours. Heavenly Father, give us the reign of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. I repeat this prayer out of pure love for You with every beat of my heart and with every breath I take. Amen."
With the last word, his head was bowed and the faith, which had been like as unto a fog lashed out, a sudden wild wave, scourging and crashing, burning as Pater bellowed... even if neither he, nor his acolytes were more than briefly stunned, one of them cowering back at the feeling of faith, eyes clearing as she screamed in horror, even as zombies fled, control broken as holy faith rattled their bindings.
It was with a scream of hate and fear that Pater unleashed his own 'prayer', a scream of hunger and need, of wracking and hollowing, streams of life torn from the defenders towards him, several of those close enough collapsing, breathing shallowly to the screams of women and children. Yet, the dead ran as the itching grew, as the faithful prayed.
They fled back into the sewers to the cries of grief... and the thundering roar of motorcycles arriving.
In his old life, he had been called Reginald Patterson and had been but another of the chaff struggling to try and save what he saw as his peoples way of life from the creeping poison as they bred until their homes could no longer contain them, and then set their eyes on what good honest Americans, who brought only the number of children they could afford to support into the world, had made. Creeping like a disease, infecting its host and soon outnumbering those whose ancestors had been there for generations, changing the laws to bring even more of their kind in openly, without needing to send forth waves of colonizers.
But now, the scales were lifted from his eyes, as he looked over his acolytes, all wights touched by his hands and given new names, taught the basics of the dark mysteries. all five with three of zombies at their heels, even as ten lined the walls of the chamber, strings of dark power linked to them, steering them and directing them, even as the voices directed him, whispered of the ways he could assist the herald... even if today, as he looked over his spawn, this was not a matter of the herald, but a matter of faith.
"Children of the dark! Bastard sons and daughters of this dying world! I have shown you the truth, the currents that sing and scream under the façade the ignorant call life, call reality!" His arms rose, the skulls of rats jiggling and clattering against the empty chitin of spiders and roaches, musical notes painted on each 'bead' of the rosary tied to the limb. "Through the gateway of the grave, you have become enlightened and looked on the face of the truth, have heard in your soul the call of divinity! Even now, the herald wages war against the ignorant, the heathen and infidel! Yet we are not to stay in small chambers, to ponder bones and rot!"
His voice rose, as they moved and murmured, the seeds of faith having been planted and grown deeply in their breasts, as evidenced by them taking to prayer and the powers of the dark mysteries. eyes gleaming with faith in the dark. Fools would call it madness, but what was faith and but the most holy madness, to stride free from the constraints of the mundane and touch, however briefly on the works of the divine?
"No my children, a most holy task is before us, to crusade in the name of the grave, to strike a bastion of false faith! We shall crush them, pinning their corpses to the pews as their false priest is offered up as a sacrifice on their very altar!" His voice was a fever pitch, as they cheered, chanting and stomping their feet, faces wide and gleeful as they pictured the slaughter to come. It was, in many ways, warming for his shriveled back heart. Lifting his mace up (well, it was a solid metal baseball bat with a crows skull nailed to the head, but it counted!), he pointed towards the exit in a commanding fashion. "Forward my children, forward unto slaughter!"
Through the dark underbelly of the sewer system, they marched, a parade of dead things and a host small in size, yet powerful enough in its aping (of sorts) of the various gangs of the bay. Yet, as the force of thirty one marched, largely unseen until they reached the correct junction, where one of his children looked up through the manhole cover to check, in which case they burst out onto the late evening streets of Brockton bay right in front of Rosemary Catholic Church.
Eyes were on them, screams were heard as they rushed into the church, dead hands and arms prying open the doors as the faith burned and stung, yet it was nothing more than a faint itch. Faith, many had in droves. Power? As the dead moved, bats and maces cracking down, zombies flailing about, it was clear that the power aspect of things was lacking. Oh, but the faith, the faith... Pater took a deep breath, even as he did not need to breath, drinking in the scent, that aroma of fear, of realization and despair... and of anger.
Yet, he flicked his bat, red and back, a few flakes of white from bones and spoke, more for the livings sake than his spawn and their servants. "Can you hear me, oh priest? Will the shepherd meet with the wolf?" After all, when the mortals formed a rough ring after the deads initial rush through the crowd, allowing their bloodlust and hunger to be sated (even as they made sure no new children would be baptized in the grave), men grasping what weapons they could close by (why, there were even a handful of pistols among them), women and children huddled behind overturned pews even as the priest, oh he prayed.
Yet, his prayer, while firm and hard, making the wight itch, was ultimately nothing. "Tell me father, does your god listen?" The mortals flinch, as they prepare, yet, what can they do, even as he stands but ten feet away, arms outspread, a visible apostle of the dark and the damned, a herald of the grave. "Pray to the Lord Yahweh priest, or his son Yeshua. Be as unto Elijah at Mount Carmel in defense of your flock." And with these words, he bowed, the mockery ringing in the air,
Yet, the priest came, stepping forward with sure step and faith, bible in one hand and cross in the other. His voice was not loud, but it was firm, it was sure and calm, and as he spoke, in ragged clumps, so did his flock speak with him, joining their voices together and speaking with once voice, one call to the most holy.
"O Divine Eternal Father, in union with your Divine Son and the Holy Spirit, and through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I beg You to destroy the Power of your greatest enemy - the evil spirits. Cast them into the deepest recesses of hell and chain them there forever! Take possession of your Kingdom which You have created and which is rightfully yours. Heavenly Father, give us the reign of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. I repeat this prayer out of pure love for You with every beat of my heart and with every breath I take. Amen."
With the last word, his head was bowed and the faith, which had been like as unto a fog lashed out, a sudden wild wave, scourging and crashing, burning as Pater bellowed... even if neither he, nor his acolytes were more than briefly stunned, one of them cowering back at the feeling of faith, eyes clearing as she screamed in horror, even as zombies fled, control broken as holy faith rattled their bindings.
It was with a scream of hate and fear that Pater unleashed his own 'prayer', a scream of hunger and need, of wracking and hollowing, streams of life torn from the defenders towards him, several of those close enough collapsing, breathing shallowly to the screams of women and children. Yet, the dead ran as the itching grew, as the faithful prayed.
They fled back into the sewers to the cries of grief... and the thundering roar of motorcycles arriving.
So, this is Reg from Dead Eyes, now with Cleric Levels and minions. Also some feats (retrained) to help with being a necromancer. Domains he took are Undeath and Madness by the way.
Also, as for the priest... this is Divine Divine Channeler to Turn Undead and I'm ruling that a priest, in their own church, with their own flock? Aid other stacks on the turning check.
Also, as for the priest... this is Divine Divine Channeler to Turn Undead and I'm ruling that a priest, in their own church, with their own flock? Aid other stacks on the turning check.
Briefings & Reports; Battle of the Faiths!
The figure on the television was, in many ways not all that different from any other news anchor from any other news network. He was a man in his middle years, who was well built, clean shaven and whose features not only drew in the eye, but seemed to lend weight to his words, delivered in a calm and authoritative tone that did a great deal to convince the listener that he knew what he was talking about, that he was informed and so that you, the viewer, could trust him. "Good evening Brockton Bay, this is James Newman from Brockton Bay News Network and I come to you tonight with a story hard to believe."
There is a moments pause, as the image of the old and cared for church is brought up on the screen. "Earlier this evening Rosemary Catholic Church was subject to a sudden and brutal attack as they went to the Saturday Evening Mass. They were simple families, choosing to keep their faith despite the pressures of the world, and as you can see, the church, while humble and simple, is well cared for and a legacy of older and simpler times. Yet, violence erupted inside a place of peace."
Shaky footage began to play, clearly taken from a phone camera, revealing the walking corpses making their way inside, rushing forward as baseball bats and crude cleavers struck down, some of the dead clearly more aware than the others, skin tight and pale around them, tight and shrunken, but with no sign of rot and decay. To be sure, they were clad in what seemed to be mockeries of religious vestments, robes of torn and stained black cloth, skulls and bones woven in with the shells of insects.
"Similar to the minions that struck at the Empire Eighty-Eight on their march down Memorial Street just over a week ago, these ones thankfully did not seem to create more of themselves from their victims as they rushed in, and began to herd the congregation into a central point. It is at this point that the leader of the attackers," the footage zoomed into the one that even through a screen seemed to carry an air of menace and madness, of eyes that screamed black laughter... and how another picture, of a much more unassuming man was next to him, "emerged to present his demands to Father Gregory Dane."
There is a grim line on the face of James Newman, as he draws the eye to the contrasting pictures. "The leader of the attackers is Reginald Patterson, who was confirmed to have been a victim of Crusaders altered projections in the January twelfth conflict. However, before this event, he was not known to have strong religious leanings, even if as can be noted in the footage, he appears to have developed certain complexes regarding religion. In particular, and surprisingly for one formerly part of the Empire, he refers to God and Christ by their Jewish names, as he challenges the Father to see whose 'prayers' would be more effective, showing that he is under the impression that his powers are religious in nature."
There is a pause, as the footage continues, showing the clash of prayers, as some stumble and the dead flee. "This delusion is strong enough that when confronted with a priest and his flock praying against evil in a firm enough manner, he and his minions exhibited distress before fleeing. However, as we are advised by the PRT, that we cannot count on prayer being able to drive Patterson and his insane killers off. They are advising caution, and warn against approaching, as they are noted to have lethal striker effects that act as vectors for the transformation into more of the altered."
Eyes look into the camera, as he nods, voice firm. "As it is, we ask that you join the families of the attack in prayer and remember to call the emergency hotline if you become aware of any of the altered."
For the last week, she had been having more and more nightmares, the occasional flashback as well. Sure, it was quiet seeming on the surface, things were not as sudden, as explosive as Nilbog had been, but that was worse, not better. It meant that what was happening was hidden, as the parahuman responsible was cunning about it. Not for the first time, as she listened to the reports, she cursed the fact that they needed them to act as sacrifices, a blood tithe for the Endbringers. Some were tolerable, barely, yet...
She looked raised a hand, cutting Colin off. "So what you are saying is that you cannot track them with the exotic energy from the memorial event and due to their altered physiology tracking them via heat signatures would be problematic." Her tones are clipped, firm as she narrowed her eyes. Usually he can be counted on for results, part of his thirst for individual glory and need for validation (like an overgrown man child trying to say 'look how smart I am, praise me!' for knowledge he had no training to properly understand). "Has there been any progress on actually detecting the exotic energy beyond observing its effects on organic matter?"
And there was the frown (the petulant frown), as he looked at her. "If you had waited another seventy one seconds, I would have reached that part of the briefing. As of this meeting, I have not been able to make any significant progress with detection or interaction with the energy for containment or testing purposes other than to note that it does interact with the visible light spectrum, absorbing all detectable wavelengths as it seemingly stays motionless." There is frustration in his tone.
"But Armsy, Leet's been handing out these little trinkets, seem to work like a magic charm!" And there was the baying of the resident ass, even as Colin puffed up, face reddening and she would say eyes narrowing.
"As I have said, there has been no scientific progress, instead of whatever new age mysticism fantasy that the credulous are subscribing to this." It was not quite a hiss, as Assault brought up his phone, showing a picture of what seemed to be a silver rod, white quartz at one end, with a ring of selenite behind it and more white quartz with a hilt of black obsidian. A picture that seemed to have little strands of black flowing in... only to vanish, the selenite growing grey and murky before clearing up again.
"Yeah, but Colin, here is the thing, it works." There was an emphasis in his tone, one that pretty much said 'you need to think of the unconventional'. But, there was the fact that Leet of all villain was apparently mass producing new tinker tech that worked with this energy, while....
"This is real life Ethan, not a video game!" Colin's voice rose, face flushed, as they came to the crux of the matter... and how it seemed that fantasy of all places could have clues for their problems. Yet, there was a reason she was here to bring the children back on track.
"Armsmaster." She did not need to raise her voice to make it a whip of ice. "Have you examined one of these... protective devices?" After all, she would have expected him to have done so out of professionalism if nothing else. The fact he was frowning angrily was not the best sign however.
"They NOT technology. There is no energy readings, no control mechanisms, they are more similar to one of Dauntless's items." There was a sigh... as the video continued, showing instructions on how to make it... and a five year old child that managed to put one together. One that was then demonstrated to actually work.
Now this? Her eyes narrowed, as she looked at Colin and then Ethan. "Extend an offer to have a little... chat with them." Hopefully, Colin, after a moment slowly nodded, having picked up on the hidden message. Because if this was the result of one of those idiots devices malfunctioning, well, she knew which heads would be rolling.
There is a moments pause, as the image of the old and cared for church is brought up on the screen. "Earlier this evening Rosemary Catholic Church was subject to a sudden and brutal attack as they went to the Saturday Evening Mass. They were simple families, choosing to keep their faith despite the pressures of the world, and as you can see, the church, while humble and simple, is well cared for and a legacy of older and simpler times. Yet, violence erupted inside a place of peace."
Shaky footage began to play, clearly taken from a phone camera, revealing the walking corpses making their way inside, rushing forward as baseball bats and crude cleavers struck down, some of the dead clearly more aware than the others, skin tight and pale around them, tight and shrunken, but with no sign of rot and decay. To be sure, they were clad in what seemed to be mockeries of religious vestments, robes of torn and stained black cloth, skulls and bones woven in with the shells of insects.
"Similar to the minions that struck at the Empire Eighty-Eight on their march down Memorial Street just over a week ago, these ones thankfully did not seem to create more of themselves from their victims as they rushed in, and began to herd the congregation into a central point. It is at this point that the leader of the attackers," the footage zoomed into the one that even through a screen seemed to carry an air of menace and madness, of eyes that screamed black laughter... and how another picture, of a much more unassuming man was next to him, "emerged to present his demands to Father Gregory Dane."
There is a grim line on the face of James Newman, as he draws the eye to the contrasting pictures. "The leader of the attackers is Reginald Patterson, who was confirmed to have been a victim of Crusaders altered projections in the January twelfth conflict. However, before this event, he was not known to have strong religious leanings, even if as can be noted in the footage, he appears to have developed certain complexes regarding religion. In particular, and surprisingly for one formerly part of the Empire, he refers to God and Christ by their Jewish names, as he challenges the Father to see whose 'prayers' would be more effective, showing that he is under the impression that his powers are religious in nature."
There is a pause, as the footage continues, showing the clash of prayers, as some stumble and the dead flee. "This delusion is strong enough that when confronted with a priest and his flock praying against evil in a firm enough manner, he and his minions exhibited distress before fleeing. However, as we are advised by the PRT, that we cannot count on prayer being able to drive Patterson and his insane killers off. They are advising caution, and warn against approaching, as they are noted to have lethal striker effects that act as vectors for the transformation into more of the altered."
Eyes look into the camera, as he nods, voice firm. "As it is, we ask that you join the families of the attack in prayer and remember to call the emergency hotline if you become aware of any of the altered."
For the last week, she had been having more and more nightmares, the occasional flashback as well. Sure, it was quiet seeming on the surface, things were not as sudden, as explosive as Nilbog had been, but that was worse, not better. It meant that what was happening was hidden, as the parahuman responsible was cunning about it. Not for the first time, as she listened to the reports, she cursed the fact that they needed them to act as sacrifices, a blood tithe for the Endbringers. Some were tolerable, barely, yet...
She looked raised a hand, cutting Colin off. "So what you are saying is that you cannot track them with the exotic energy from the memorial event and due to their altered physiology tracking them via heat signatures would be problematic." Her tones are clipped, firm as she narrowed her eyes. Usually he can be counted on for results, part of his thirst for individual glory and need for validation (like an overgrown man child trying to say 'look how smart I am, praise me!' for knowledge he had no training to properly understand). "Has there been any progress on actually detecting the exotic energy beyond observing its effects on organic matter?"
And there was the frown (the petulant frown), as he looked at her. "If you had waited another seventy one seconds, I would have reached that part of the briefing. As of this meeting, I have not been able to make any significant progress with detection or interaction with the energy for containment or testing purposes other than to note that it does interact with the visible light spectrum, absorbing all detectable wavelengths as it seemingly stays motionless." There is frustration in his tone.
"But Armsy, Leet's been handing out these little trinkets, seem to work like a magic charm!" And there was the baying of the resident ass, even as Colin puffed up, face reddening and she would say eyes narrowing.
"As I have said, there has been no scientific progress, instead of whatever new age mysticism fantasy that the credulous are subscribing to this." It was not quite a hiss, as Assault brought up his phone, showing a picture of what seemed to be a silver rod, white quartz at one end, with a ring of selenite behind it and more white quartz with a hilt of black obsidian. A picture that seemed to have little strands of black flowing in... only to vanish, the selenite growing grey and murky before clearing up again.
"Yeah, but Colin, here is the thing, it works." There was an emphasis in his tone, one that pretty much said 'you need to think of the unconventional'. But, there was the fact that Leet of all villain was apparently mass producing new tinker tech that worked with this energy, while....
"This is real life Ethan, not a video game!" Colin's voice rose, face flushed, as they came to the crux of the matter... and how it seemed that fantasy of all places could have clues for their problems. Yet, there was a reason she was here to bring the children back on track.
"Armsmaster." She did not need to raise her voice to make it a whip of ice. "Have you examined one of these... protective devices?" After all, she would have expected him to have done so out of professionalism if nothing else. The fact he was frowning angrily was not the best sign however.
"They NOT technology. There is no energy readings, no control mechanisms, they are more similar to one of Dauntless's items." There was a sigh... as the video continued, showing instructions on how to make it... and a five year old child that managed to put one together. One that was then demonstrated to actually work.
Now this? Her eyes narrowed, as she looked at Colin and then Ethan. "Extend an offer to have a little... chat with them." Hopefully, Colin, after a moment slowly nodded, having picked up on the hidden message. Because if this was the result of one of those idiots devices malfunctioning, well, she knew which heads would be rolling.
Armsmaster Brand Coffee!
For a very simple reason did Colin Wallis wonder why people were getting worked up about zombies. Granted, as he unlocked the safe for his morning cup of decaf (he had long filtered out the clouds of black smoke and ominous Latin chanting resulting from the various containers being close together, or how the resulting fumes seemed to supply half of the power needed for the rig each day), he wondered if anyone had gotten into his stash, or... eyes moved, locking onto the caffeine vault. It, thankfully, was not touched.
Still, moving over to the custom coffee maker (substandard equipment melted as a result of shoddy construction), he put it in, as he noticed his morning drinking companions sitting at the table. They were perfectly normal, even if he saw no reason to mention them to anyone.
On the right sat a tall and beautiful figure of light and fire, whose wings were glorious choirs lifted in praise unto God and had no set gender. Or rather, they were the best of both embodied inside a singular form, even if that form seemed to shift every moment. On the radiant flesh were golden symbols reading out the glories of the most holy. Every moment spoke of grace and purpose, of wisdom far beyond humanity, yet also humility, for what were they but a servant? Still, he nodded. "Michel."
On the left was his other guest, a figure of smoke and flame, shifting and entwining on themselves and resembling a great serpent, even as their wings were as glorious as they were terrible, black and dripping with all the misdeeds of humanity, burning into ash and soot to the rattling of chains. While there form was for the most part masculine, the shadows seem to hide a feminine shape as well, tempting and enticing, as they sat there with no shirt on as usual. "Lucifer, would you mind putting a shirt on?"
The lord of devils snorted and waved a hand. "Eh, look Colin, I'm just here for the coffee. If I wanted to be bitched at..." He (for in this moment they presented a male aspect) gestured at their brother (who at this moment was doing likewise), a hand lifted to their mouth to hide the amused smile.
"As am I dear brother. Yet, Colin is our host." There is no rebuke, no condemnation in his tone, save for that amusement and a brotherly nod, even as the coffee maker gave a great and almost mournful tolling sound (elsewhere, those who had been waiting to change shifts began to move, alerted by the clockwork nature of the coffee maker).
With calm, Colin moved, taking out the cups and pouring into the reinforced tungsten containers as the pair bickered behind him. For one friend, four cream and two sugar. For the other a squirt of lemon juice. As for himself? He had no reason to add anything to it. Still, placing them down, he partook in the time honored ritual of drinking while talking with friends.
He was going to have to invite Dragon one of these days, to have all three of his closest friends here. He just wondered if they would be able to help him with his investigation of the zombies. After all, if someone was able to recreate his Perfect Coffee recipe...
Still, moving over to the custom coffee maker (substandard equipment melted as a result of shoddy construction), he put it in, as he noticed his morning drinking companions sitting at the table. They were perfectly normal, even if he saw no reason to mention them to anyone.
On the right sat a tall and beautiful figure of light and fire, whose wings were glorious choirs lifted in praise unto God and had no set gender. Or rather, they were the best of both embodied inside a singular form, even if that form seemed to shift every moment. On the radiant flesh were golden symbols reading out the glories of the most holy. Every moment spoke of grace and purpose, of wisdom far beyond humanity, yet also humility, for what were they but a servant? Still, he nodded. "Michel."
On the left was his other guest, a figure of smoke and flame, shifting and entwining on themselves and resembling a great serpent, even as their wings were as glorious as they were terrible, black and dripping with all the misdeeds of humanity, burning into ash and soot to the rattling of chains. While there form was for the most part masculine, the shadows seem to hide a feminine shape as well, tempting and enticing, as they sat there with no shirt on as usual. "Lucifer, would you mind putting a shirt on?"
The lord of devils snorted and waved a hand. "Eh, look Colin, I'm just here for the coffee. If I wanted to be bitched at..." He (for in this moment they presented a male aspect) gestured at their brother (who at this moment was doing likewise), a hand lifted to their mouth to hide the amused smile.
"As am I dear brother. Yet, Colin is our host." There is no rebuke, no condemnation in his tone, save for that amusement and a brotherly nod, even as the coffee maker gave a great and almost mournful tolling sound (elsewhere, those who had been waiting to change shifts began to move, alerted by the clockwork nature of the coffee maker).
With calm, Colin moved, taking out the cups and pouring into the reinforced tungsten containers as the pair bickered behind him. For one friend, four cream and two sugar. For the other a squirt of lemon juice. As for himself? He had no reason to add anything to it. Still, placing them down, he partook in the time honored ritual of drinking while talking with friends.
He was going to have to invite Dragon one of these days, to have all three of his closest friends here. He just wondered if they would be able to help him with his investigation of the zombies. After all, if someone was able to recreate his Perfect Coffee recipe...
This is not canon 
Just want to clarify that. Also, he may be being mentally tweaked as the devil plots stealing his soul for making coffee in Hell
Just want to clarify that. Also, he may be being mentally tweaked as the devil plots stealing his soul for making coffee in Hell
- Location
- Hot Springs
Well, on the plus side, being the Maker of the Coffee, Armsmaster wouldn't have to worry about being tortured.
And you can bet your life and Immortal Soul that anyone foolish enough to interrupt Lucifer's Arms!Coffee supply would WISH Death was granted, as I can see the Lord of Hell taking a...personal interest in their...re-education? *Imagines what someone pissing off Lucifer enough he gets said Being's PERSONAL attention and shivers*
Yeah, I'd say Armsmaster would have little worries. Everyone else?
And you can bet your life and Immortal Soul that anyone foolish enough to interrupt Lucifer's Arms!Coffee supply would WISH Death was granted, as I can see the Lord of Hell taking a...personal interest in their...re-education? *Imagines what someone pissing off Lucifer enough he gets said Being's PERSONAL attention and shivers*
Yeah, I'd say Armsmaster would have little worries. Everyone else?
I will freely admit, it was just a few references meeting in the brain and going 'okay, this would be funny'. But yeah, in his quest for more hours in the day, he made a coffee whose Decaf alone is powerful enough to attract... attention. And potentially effect Dragon who is currently a digital life form.
First Bay Conclave
Saint Brenden's Cellar
(Background music)
For any that cared to look, Saint Brenden's Church for Sailors and Longshoremen (there was of course, a little arrow right before the man part, saying '& Wo' graffitied in, but the good father never made a fuss about that) was a humble church down in the docks of Brockton Bay that had been built decades ago to tend to the souls of those that worked the waves and shore of this New England city. It was made of wood, and to all the world actually resembled the hull of a ship flipped onto the earth, with the bell tower were the rudder would be.
And if one were to look at the ground floor, one would be hard pressed to see it as all that different from any other Catholic church, save that the décor was made of driftwood and sea glass, the scenes one the walls drawn by hand and almost alive as the waves danced, the storm clouds gathering as Jesus walks on the waves, arms stretched wide. It is there that the pastor would preach, the congregation safe on the ship of his love, moved by the spirit of Christ to feel themselves moving on the sea of the soul.
Now, when one looked at the basement, where of course they merely stored all the needed materials for mass there was of course no secret synagogue or library were the Jewish people of the bay could meet up, to pray and study in peace and quiet. No sir, there was no such thing at all. And if Father O'Malley should entertain guests from the other churches in the cellar, which was an entirely separate thing entirely of course, why, one could be forgiven if some of his guests were of the scholarly sort.
And so it passed that on a late Saturday evening, past the last Saturday Mass (and by entirely by coincidence past the last session of communal prayers for the Jewish faith) that Father Shamus O'Malley was holding a little weekly gathering of all those leaders of the faith in the city... that were not sell outs and 'complete and utter pricks'. Yet, as the three men and two woman made themselves comfortable, even as the host (one of the five), the aforementioned O'Malley spoke up from behind the bar.
"So me lads and lasses, what'll you be having this week?" There was amusement in the old mans eyes (while he was eighty years old, he was one of those men blessed to age like boot leather, having only gotten tougher, sprier and more ornery with age), jade green and still bright and sparkling, even as his hair was grey and skin tanned and leathery. To say nothing of how he had been a solider and longshoreman in his youth and still retained the build even in his old age, and dressed in the simple garments of a humble father. "Even if I'm guessing its coffee as always for you, eh?"
The last was said with a smile and a wink, a nod to one that much like him, was an elderly gentleman, hair gone silver twenty-one years ago and for all the world the very picture of a kindly old grandfather who sat by the fire in a rocking chair, a book on his lap from which he entertained curious children, feeding their love of learning as he helped equip them with the tools needed to explore the wonderful works which had sprung from the mind of god. His name was Dave Baum, and he was not a rabbi who did not maintain a secret synagogue just through a hidden door that did not exist.
Yet, he merely smiled. "You know me old friend." His tone was warm, even as the lady next to him, in whose body was the remnants of having been a great beauty in her youth, having gracefully faded as the years passed and her hair was still a rich and dark black, as she relaxed in her chair, an amused smile on her lips. Those lips were framed with many a laugh line, eyes sharp and merry, even if she was no longer as thin, muscles having gone soft long ago.
"I'll have a Rosehip Shamus. The lord finally called that self-righteous snake Koltz to judgement, so I am going to celebrate." Her speech was given with just a little sniff, as across the table Gregory Dane chuckled, the man having given his statement and been released not very long ago. He was a short man, his hair brown, brown eyes almost like warm honey as he smiled at Verity Pougher.
"That you do not have any classes before Sunday school at Immaculata my good sister? And I'll have what your having Shamus." At Verity sniffing in distain at the very thought, all at the table give good natured laughs, even as there are knowing smiles, even as the youngest at the table spoke up. Looking at her one would think her to be of Japanese or Chinese descent, and indeed, in her veins flowed the blood of both of those ancient lands. She was a young girl, maybe in her mid twenties, and who had the body of a dancer, whose form even when sitting seemed to be in movement, unbound and free.
"You know, I have always wondered what you did with those cherries and plums three years ago..." Megu Fukuyama (Fukuyama Megu in the manner of the lands of her ancestors) voice was teasing, as she raised an eyebrow, elbows carefully not on the table as she leaned in, looking at the elderly Irishman as if he held the secrets of deep mysteries. A revelation that came with a glass of wine placed before her, one whose taste somehow invoked a warm spring day, with traces of frost still in the air.
Still, as sips were taken of the beverages, all of the friends around the table spoke of the news of the week, of the things they had seen and witnessed, sympathy and congratulations offered in turn as needed, smiles and laughter as they talked around the table, drinks coming from behind the bar (mostly water, tea and coffee after the first round), with of course, good natured theological debate exchanged between friends. In many ways, their situation was one of necessity, of the Empire Eighty Eight exuding its influence over them all. And soon enough, the topic circled back to Andre Koltz.
Of course, O'Malley spoke of one of theirs that was no longer there was well. "Slimy little shit went to face Judgement terrified. Not like Olaf. Pagan fucker he may have been, but I ever tell you youngsters what he did when Hookwolf came into town?" Verity and Dave rolled their eyes, for it was an old story, one that the eldest among them was never tired of telling. "So, the tattooed ass just came barging in, axe and shotgun right out in the open, stole a beer, knocked me on my ass and told me Hookwolf was calling him out in front of all the Asatru in the city. He took a swing, smashed the bottle to the ground and said Valhalla was calling his name." The old man cackled. "Supposed to have given the fucker a scar at least."
There is a moment of quiet, before Gregory speaks up. "Worse has begun to appear." Quiet falls at his grim tone, as he relays the events of just hours past, of the dead that invaded the church, of their leader wreathed in shadow and darkness, a profane chill about him, even if God had seen fit to rebuke and ward off the creature. Yet.... "This is not the first time such a creature has been seen." The table nods, as murmurs abound of the 'Memorial Street Clash'.
Yet, Gregory's eyes are firm, as he looks at Dave. "My friend, is there anything in the archives?" It was a slim hope, as the most scholarly among them seemed to be lost in thought. "And Shamus, could you reach out to some of your contacts overseas?" After all, any help was better than none at all, as five friends, regardless of faith, spoke and pondered the darkness loose in the world.
(Background music)
For any that cared to look, Saint Brenden's Church for Sailors and Longshoremen (there was of course, a little arrow right before the man part, saying '& Wo' graffitied in, but the good father never made a fuss about that) was a humble church down in the docks of Brockton Bay that had been built decades ago to tend to the souls of those that worked the waves and shore of this New England city. It was made of wood, and to all the world actually resembled the hull of a ship flipped onto the earth, with the bell tower were the rudder would be.
And if one were to look at the ground floor, one would be hard pressed to see it as all that different from any other Catholic church, save that the décor was made of driftwood and sea glass, the scenes one the walls drawn by hand and almost alive as the waves danced, the storm clouds gathering as Jesus walks on the waves, arms stretched wide. It is there that the pastor would preach, the congregation safe on the ship of his love, moved by the spirit of Christ to feel themselves moving on the sea of the soul.
Now, when one looked at the basement, where of course they merely stored all the needed materials for mass there was of course no secret synagogue or library were the Jewish people of the bay could meet up, to pray and study in peace and quiet. No sir, there was no such thing at all. And if Father O'Malley should entertain guests from the other churches in the cellar, which was an entirely separate thing entirely of course, why, one could be forgiven if some of his guests were of the scholarly sort.
And so it passed that on a late Saturday evening, past the last Saturday Mass (and by entirely by coincidence past the last session of communal prayers for the Jewish faith) that Father Shamus O'Malley was holding a little weekly gathering of all those leaders of the faith in the city... that were not sell outs and 'complete and utter pricks'. Yet, as the three men and two woman made themselves comfortable, even as the host (one of the five), the aforementioned O'Malley spoke up from behind the bar.
"So me lads and lasses, what'll you be having this week?" There was amusement in the old mans eyes (while he was eighty years old, he was one of those men blessed to age like boot leather, having only gotten tougher, sprier and more ornery with age), jade green and still bright and sparkling, even as his hair was grey and skin tanned and leathery. To say nothing of how he had been a solider and longshoreman in his youth and still retained the build even in his old age, and dressed in the simple garments of a humble father. "Even if I'm guessing its coffee as always for you, eh?"
The last was said with a smile and a wink, a nod to one that much like him, was an elderly gentleman, hair gone silver twenty-one years ago and for all the world the very picture of a kindly old grandfather who sat by the fire in a rocking chair, a book on his lap from which he entertained curious children, feeding their love of learning as he helped equip them with the tools needed to explore the wonderful works which had sprung from the mind of god. His name was Dave Baum, and he was not a rabbi who did not maintain a secret synagogue just through a hidden door that did not exist.
Yet, he merely smiled. "You know me old friend." His tone was warm, even as the lady next to him, in whose body was the remnants of having been a great beauty in her youth, having gracefully faded as the years passed and her hair was still a rich and dark black, as she relaxed in her chair, an amused smile on her lips. Those lips were framed with many a laugh line, eyes sharp and merry, even if she was no longer as thin, muscles having gone soft long ago.
"I'll have a Rosehip Shamus. The lord finally called that self-righteous snake Koltz to judgement, so I am going to celebrate." Her speech was given with just a little sniff, as across the table Gregory Dane chuckled, the man having given his statement and been released not very long ago. He was a short man, his hair brown, brown eyes almost like warm honey as he smiled at Verity Pougher.
"That you do not have any classes before Sunday school at Immaculata my good sister? And I'll have what your having Shamus." At Verity sniffing in distain at the very thought, all at the table give good natured laughs, even as there are knowing smiles, even as the youngest at the table spoke up. Looking at her one would think her to be of Japanese or Chinese descent, and indeed, in her veins flowed the blood of both of those ancient lands. She was a young girl, maybe in her mid twenties, and who had the body of a dancer, whose form even when sitting seemed to be in movement, unbound and free.
"You know, I have always wondered what you did with those cherries and plums three years ago..." Megu Fukuyama (Fukuyama Megu in the manner of the lands of her ancestors) voice was teasing, as she raised an eyebrow, elbows carefully not on the table as she leaned in, looking at the elderly Irishman as if he held the secrets of deep mysteries. A revelation that came with a glass of wine placed before her, one whose taste somehow invoked a warm spring day, with traces of frost still in the air.
Still, as sips were taken of the beverages, all of the friends around the table spoke of the news of the week, of the things they had seen and witnessed, sympathy and congratulations offered in turn as needed, smiles and laughter as they talked around the table, drinks coming from behind the bar (mostly water, tea and coffee after the first round), with of course, good natured theological debate exchanged between friends. In many ways, their situation was one of necessity, of the Empire Eighty Eight exuding its influence over them all. And soon enough, the topic circled back to Andre Koltz.
Of course, O'Malley spoke of one of theirs that was no longer there was well. "Slimy little shit went to face Judgement terrified. Not like Olaf. Pagan fucker he may have been, but I ever tell you youngsters what he did when Hookwolf came into town?" Verity and Dave rolled their eyes, for it was an old story, one that the eldest among them was never tired of telling. "So, the tattooed ass just came barging in, axe and shotgun right out in the open, stole a beer, knocked me on my ass and told me Hookwolf was calling him out in front of all the Asatru in the city. He took a swing, smashed the bottle to the ground and said Valhalla was calling his name." The old man cackled. "Supposed to have given the fucker a scar at least."
There is a moment of quiet, before Gregory speaks up. "Worse has begun to appear." Quiet falls at his grim tone, as he relays the events of just hours past, of the dead that invaded the church, of their leader wreathed in shadow and darkness, a profane chill about him, even if God had seen fit to rebuke and ward off the creature. Yet.... "This is not the first time such a creature has been seen." The table nods, as murmurs abound of the 'Memorial Street Clash'.
Yet, Gregory's eyes are firm, as he looks at Dave. "My friend, is there anything in the archives?" It was a slim hope, as the most scholarly among them seemed to be lost in thought. "And Shamus, could you reach out to some of your contacts overseas?" After all, any help was better than none at all, as five friends, regardless of faith, spoke and pondered the darkness loose in the world.
Décor in the Dark
To the victors go the spoils, and in the wake of the fall of Coil's organization, or at least his death in the dark (which so happened to tear out the heart of his operations) and the securing of his core assets in two parts, with Tattletale making off with the greater portion of his electronic assets and yet it would be Taylor and her Bloody Hand that secured the base and its physical assets. Chief amongst them, at least from the perspective of those now living (for a certain use of the word) inside of its walls, the unfinished Endbringer shelter.
Oh, to be sure, there were still members of the living inside of the shelter, for the greater part kept bound where they had once imprisoned their victims and oh so close to where the corpse of the one once known as Victor was kept, rendered docile by means of their minds slipping away and being drained, lost and suppressed as their nightmares mewled and screamed, stalked in their dreams by figures of fangs, blood and shadow. Most of their dreams were simply that, fragments of terror and whispers of what was around them, but harmless and mundane.
But a handful of them, why they would find themselves in a rather more dangerous situation, where thanks to their former employer, they find themselves wraiths, hunted down endlessly in the dark and twisted tunnels of the base, sometimes only by the tall and pale queen whose smile promises pain and a swift end. Occasionally by red eyed and hungry ones, leaping as they train, as they work to grow accustomed to themselves, all under their queens dark eyes and to the music of her laughter, even as they wake gasping... only for the hunts to begin again, dreams devouring the dreamers without end.
The Prison-Farms
Blood dripped and swirled down into tubes and vessels, as those imprisoned lay dreaming beneath Johnny's gaze, several of the former mercenaries laying bound to the beds, even as tubes, implanted on the veins drew out the sweet fluid of life. For a part, as he watched, lips moving into a self-depreciating smirk, it was almost as if he was a doctor, a respectable member of society, even if his companion of the evening, was... complicated was the simplest way to put it.
One eye on the 'donors', mostly so that he could confirm the blood draw was going as expected, as the former Empire Cape worked her power on them, allowing them to experiment on them.... and how, hours later, they showed little sign of depletion, the power almost refilling the blood in their bodies as fast as it was drained. Almost, but not quite. As things stood, the harvest managed to yield a vessel's worth of blood, of the essence rich vitae each hour per patient, and with the eight prisoners in the medical bay.
Well, even if Othala flinched as he chuckled, as he looked on all of this with amusement and pride... the Bloody hand would have a great deal of blood to act and expand operations, to say nothing of sustaining those among them with particular dietary needs, this farm would mean they could fort up for some time, train and learn how to make use of their bloody gifts without needing to strike out of the base... at least until the supplies to keep the patients alive ran out.
Or, as he looked over the inventory, even as he planned on heading back to do more study soon, they could remain hidden here for a month, maybe a bit longer. Still, it was news to report to his queen, and so he would, as he walked down into the base, whispered instructions for Oathala to keep a watch on the prisoners.
The Dead Court
The room was originally intended to be one of the mess halls, a cafeteria in which Coil's forces would gather to eat and drink... and now, now it had been transformed into the rudiments of a throne room, of a court where the bloody hand could gather and report to their mistress, could gather and speak to each other... and from the plans of their mistress, it could even be expanded in the future. Yet for now, it was simple a hall with some carpets, a crude dias that held a sofa and a few small tables scattered around.
There was no light here, for none was needed by those that would come to the court (though in the ether that was yet to be, dreams of appeal, of calling whispered, still buried in the shadows of their mind, but slowly rising with the heartbeat of the tides), even as pinpricks of witch lights glowed. Some were red, as Nasreen lounged on cushions, awaiting the dusk that she could go out and listen, or Jim as he lurked near the throne, a bodyguard for the corpse queen whose hands lay on a serpents head.
Still, he strode fearlessly through the dark, each footstep echoing into a rolling drum beat, chimes and bells far off in the distance, growing with each step closer to the throne, where the drums thundered like the droning of countless wings stirring the chimes into a discordant screech from the force of their wind, even as vast church bells echoed and rung to be not afraid. Telling in some ways, as he stood at the foot of the dias looking upwards into her closed eyes, that there was the feeling of fingers running through his hair, and a unspoken invitation to speak.
"Taylor, the harvest goes well, and we should be able to support the current members of the hand from the current prisoners. However, we only have the supplies to keep them healthy and productive for a month at best. As for the other matters, the research continues, even if I have not been able to look on the stars these last few nights. As it stands..." There is nervousness on his face, before he speaks, gathering to mind what scraps of mad and forbidden lore that he was able to wrest from the uncaring stars. "I may not be able to master the rites and angles swiftly enough."
There is a stillness in the air, the court becoming as all stiffen and quiet, a draconic eye opening that is darker than the pitch black of the underground, glowing with unlight as it casts its shadow into reality as on the ceiling angelic wings of steel drip with ancient blood, looming and questioning, each breath a scream of silence, a rolling thunder of inquiring harps and trumpets, forcing all to sway in a breeze that is not there as the sane would see it.
So what could he do, but bow his head before her shadow, as she dreamed and walked in hidden paths far from the vessel of meat and bone that sat on the throne before them? "I will however, dedicate more time to this." There is the sensation of falling, of a great beast nodding as all breathed in a breath they no longer needed, even as Johnny made his way to his library, He had work to do after all.
Crusader
Crusader had, in the last few hours, come to a simple conclusion. He hated dogs. Or rather, as he ran, screaming as they lept and moved behind him, hunting him down, he could even recognize the pair. They were, fairly recently creatures inside Hookwolfs dog fighting pit, where the brutes would tear at each other and kill, jaws slavering with hunger and hate as they were goaded on by humans. But, as their torn out throats might attest, to say nothing of the fact that they were chasing him, able to track and see him, they were also dead.
Granted, there was only one such source of the unnatural and the restless dead of late, as Crusader moved, trying to get back into a position to strike at the hounds. "Damn that Irish bitch!"
Oh, to be sure, there were still members of the living inside of the shelter, for the greater part kept bound where they had once imprisoned their victims and oh so close to where the corpse of the one once known as Victor was kept, rendered docile by means of their minds slipping away and being drained, lost and suppressed as their nightmares mewled and screamed, stalked in their dreams by figures of fangs, blood and shadow. Most of their dreams were simply that, fragments of terror and whispers of what was around them, but harmless and mundane.
But a handful of them, why they would find themselves in a rather more dangerous situation, where thanks to their former employer, they find themselves wraiths, hunted down endlessly in the dark and twisted tunnels of the base, sometimes only by the tall and pale queen whose smile promises pain and a swift end. Occasionally by red eyed and hungry ones, leaping as they train, as they work to grow accustomed to themselves, all under their queens dark eyes and to the music of her laughter, even as they wake gasping... only for the hunts to begin again, dreams devouring the dreamers without end.
The Prison-Farms
Blood dripped and swirled down into tubes and vessels, as those imprisoned lay dreaming beneath Johnny's gaze, several of the former mercenaries laying bound to the beds, even as tubes, implanted on the veins drew out the sweet fluid of life. For a part, as he watched, lips moving into a self-depreciating smirk, it was almost as if he was a doctor, a respectable member of society, even if his companion of the evening, was... complicated was the simplest way to put it.
One eye on the 'donors', mostly so that he could confirm the blood draw was going as expected, as the former Empire Cape worked her power on them, allowing them to experiment on them.... and how, hours later, they showed little sign of depletion, the power almost refilling the blood in their bodies as fast as it was drained. Almost, but not quite. As things stood, the harvest managed to yield a vessel's worth of blood, of the essence rich vitae each hour per patient, and with the eight prisoners in the medical bay.
Well, even if Othala flinched as he chuckled, as he looked on all of this with amusement and pride... the Bloody hand would have a great deal of blood to act and expand operations, to say nothing of sustaining those among them with particular dietary needs, this farm would mean they could fort up for some time, train and learn how to make use of their bloody gifts without needing to strike out of the base... at least until the supplies to keep the patients alive ran out.
Or, as he looked over the inventory, even as he planned on heading back to do more study soon, they could remain hidden here for a month, maybe a bit longer. Still, it was news to report to his queen, and so he would, as he walked down into the base, whispered instructions for Oathala to keep a watch on the prisoners.
The Dead Court
The room was originally intended to be one of the mess halls, a cafeteria in which Coil's forces would gather to eat and drink... and now, now it had been transformed into the rudiments of a throne room, of a court where the bloody hand could gather and report to their mistress, could gather and speak to each other... and from the plans of their mistress, it could even be expanded in the future. Yet for now, it was simple a hall with some carpets, a crude dias that held a sofa and a few small tables scattered around.
There was no light here, for none was needed by those that would come to the court (though in the ether that was yet to be, dreams of appeal, of calling whispered, still buried in the shadows of their mind, but slowly rising with the heartbeat of the tides), even as pinpricks of witch lights glowed. Some were red, as Nasreen lounged on cushions, awaiting the dusk that she could go out and listen, or Jim as he lurked near the throne, a bodyguard for the corpse queen whose hands lay on a serpents head.
Still, he strode fearlessly through the dark, each footstep echoing into a rolling drum beat, chimes and bells far off in the distance, growing with each step closer to the throne, where the drums thundered like the droning of countless wings stirring the chimes into a discordant screech from the force of their wind, even as vast church bells echoed and rung to be not afraid. Telling in some ways, as he stood at the foot of the dias looking upwards into her closed eyes, that there was the feeling of fingers running through his hair, and a unspoken invitation to speak.
"Taylor, the harvest goes well, and we should be able to support the current members of the hand from the current prisoners. However, we only have the supplies to keep them healthy and productive for a month at best. As for the other matters, the research continues, even if I have not been able to look on the stars these last few nights. As it stands..." There is nervousness on his face, before he speaks, gathering to mind what scraps of mad and forbidden lore that he was able to wrest from the uncaring stars. "I may not be able to master the rites and angles swiftly enough."
There is a stillness in the air, the court becoming as all stiffen and quiet, a draconic eye opening that is darker than the pitch black of the underground, glowing with unlight as it casts its shadow into reality as on the ceiling angelic wings of steel drip with ancient blood, looming and questioning, each breath a scream of silence, a rolling thunder of inquiring harps and trumpets, forcing all to sway in a breeze that is not there as the sane would see it.
So what could he do, but bow his head before her shadow, as she dreamed and walked in hidden paths far from the vessel of meat and bone that sat on the throne before them? "I will however, dedicate more time to this." There is the sensation of falling, of a great beast nodding as all breathed in a breath they no longer needed, even as Johnny made his way to his library, He had work to do after all.
Crusader
Crusader had, in the last few hours, come to a simple conclusion. He hated dogs. Or rather, as he ran, screaming as they lept and moved behind him, hunting him down, he could even recognize the pair. They were, fairly recently creatures inside Hookwolfs dog fighting pit, where the brutes would tear at each other and kill, jaws slavering with hunger and hate as they were goaded on by humans. But, as their torn out throats might attest, to say nothing of the fact that they were chasing him, able to track and see him, they were also dead.
Granted, there was only one such source of the unnatural and the restless dead of late, as Crusader moved, trying to get back into a position to strike at the hounds. "Damn that Irish bitch!"
So... need to check some notes... but yes, Taylor is picking up the trick to bind some spirits to her service. Mostly for the ghostly hounds that are set to chasing Crusader. And Coil and Othala are both useful in different ways! The later of which is even in the updated Bloody Hand post and is mostly under control at the moment. Mostly.
Conclave of the Bay; Character Notes
Mostly just placing them here for notes in case anyone wanted to look them over.
Father Shamus O'Malley; Holy Warrior 9 (Body & Might Domains, Bull's Strength as Divine Gift, never summoned Celestial Motorcycle mount. Source; Green Ronin Holy Warrior Guidebook)
Dave Baum; Scholar 7 (Various religious books as bonus book feats, God-Touched, Divine Channeler, Minor Divine Spellcaster, Knowledge Devotion and Insightful feats. Scholar is from Mythic Vistas; Medieval Players Guide. Basically a budget Archivist)
Verity Pougher; Master 6 (Sage Focus, as she is a Teacher and Nurse. Drawing some knacks from d20 Modern/Future talents for teaching. Master is from Dragonlance; War of the Lance)
Gregory Dane; Priest 5 (Priests, from the Medieval Players Guide, can cast spells, but require performing a full Mass to prepare them. As it is, no domains, no innate turning undead. Instead gets the ability to perform sacraments, exhort following against committing sin and can impose a penance. As has been implied, he has God Touched and Divine Channeler feats)
Fukuyama Megu; Shaman 3 (Her animal companion is a pug. Domains are Ancestor and Purification. By and large, she knows the various rituals, and helps tend to several of the little shrines in the Asian part of the Bay, but is also the least experienced member of the conclave)
Father Shamus O'Malley; Holy Warrior 9 (Body & Might Domains, Bull's Strength as Divine Gift, never summoned Celestial Motorcycle mount. Source; Green Ronin Holy Warrior Guidebook)
Dave Baum; Scholar 7 (Various religious books as bonus book feats, God-Touched, Divine Channeler, Minor Divine Spellcaster, Knowledge Devotion and Insightful feats. Scholar is from Mythic Vistas; Medieval Players Guide. Basically a budget Archivist)
Verity Pougher; Master 6 (Sage Focus, as she is a Teacher and Nurse. Drawing some knacks from d20 Modern/Future talents for teaching. Master is from Dragonlance; War of the Lance)
Gregory Dane; Priest 5 (Priests, from the Medieval Players Guide, can cast spells, but require performing a full Mass to prepare them. As it is, no domains, no innate turning undead. Instead gets the ability to perform sacraments, exhort following against committing sin and can impose a penance. As has been implied, he has God Touched and Divine Channeler feats)
Fukuyama Megu; Shaman 3 (Her animal companion is a pug. Domains are Ancestor and Purification. By and large, she knows the various rituals, and helps tend to several of the little shrines in the Asian part of the Bay, but is also the least experienced member of the conclave)
Shadow Hunt
Glory Girl
For the most part, as she flew over the city, enjoying a patrol alongside her boyfriend (as he had not done anything of late that would have resulted in her revoking that status), eyes open even as they waved to the thinning late afternoon crowds along the boardwalk, it was good that things had gotten just a bit more quiet after the events of the last few days. Sure, she would always be up to punch and smash some Nazi's, but a zombie horde and all the blood? She shuddered faintly, as really, that had been more than a little disturbing.
In some ways, this brought to mind some of the tales of the Teeth and the 'bad old days' she had overheard, of the wild chaos and frequent clashes, of the blood flowing in the streets like rivers as the gangs mauled and tore at each other. Even with just isolated clashes, she thought she was beginning to understand why people said gang wars were bad... particularly with the Empire breaking out freaking war crime weapons they had smuggled into the city. But, she would admit that it was the fact some of the Empire's parahumans dying that disturbed her.
Like the rest of New Wave, she was aware of how in many ways they could not get the full coverage of the unwritten rules, and just how flimsy a cover those could be. Yet all that she saw, all that she read and heard and could infer? This new cape, Clíodhna did not play by the rules. Already her Gallant had mentioned how it was more than likely a kill order was in the works, because a cape willing to jump straight to this, to wage war? Yeah, the crazy bitch was not even a vigilante, she was just a villain targeting other villains.
So caught up in her thoughts, she missed him falling behind, staying still and shuddering, shivering as he looked out at nothing at all. "Gallant? You okay?" Worry laced her tone, as her Gallant, her Dean, began crying, the tears actually dripping from his visor despite it not working that way and very soon they began to be laced with red before rivets of sweet and sticky smelling blood coursed down the cheeks of his helmet and he let loose a scream. It was a howl that was torn from a dying beast, rasping with metal and reverbing in on itself, as she rushed to him.
"Gallant, calm down, Gallant!" Now, she was worrying and freaking out, as this was freaking horror movie shit, even as around them people were watching, taking out their phones and taking snap shots, some even filming for PHO later. Of course, PRT console was buzzing, Clockblocker calling out for him to reply, to speak to him and calm down, and that help was on the way, if his buddy could just hold on.
Yet, as he began to thrash in place, as he continued to cry those tears of blood, the faceplate of his mask began to tear, to crumple and part with a sound part way between a car crumpling and the tearing of a side of beef. It tore and transformed, and where there had been featureless chrome, there was instead a jagged maw of metal, pink and red flesh inside as he began to scream out music. There was no way for a human throat to make those sounds, and yet they ripped from him with a spray of bloody foam, the radio distorting and joining in, somehow more organic than the tortured sounds being torn from his bleeding throat.
And only a handful saw the shadow loom over him, that tall woman of the mists clad in a cloak of raven wings, with a great spear in hand.... save that all saw as Crusaders back arched, a scream ripping free as a nightmare blade punctured his dead heart and he began to melt away, leaving a pool of fetid water mixed with ash and blood. In something almost like black humor, Crusader met his second and final end in front of a stall selling NFL merchandise and another selling baked potatoes.
Yet, as Crusader faded, the hounds did but howl, and leap away into the mists, vanishing from mortal sight.
Taylor
She danced and moved with glee, spear in hand as her hounds bounded at her heels, tongues lolling even as they barked ever so playfully, her free hand moving to give the good boys scratches behind the ears as they ran through this land of mist and fog. This realm of spirits and shadows ever so quiet, a river which was a sea that drained into a place far larger and stranger and yet bound in the confines of reality. And yet, she had merely stepped through the ophidian gate to hunt down the naughty ghost that had been spying on her.
As he had been a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight in life, she would not put it past him to spy on her or her friends while they were in the showers at that! And yet, she would freely admit that at least some of what she did was for the pleasure of it, to hunt him down as a harbinger of the fate that awaited him, a laugh on her lips and a spear through his heart. Yet, this was not the hunt she was most looking forward to this eve, oh no. Granted, as she danced and swam through the earth and metal, she needed to pass through the gate again, from a different angle.
Idly, she wondered, moving down the streets that she knew all so well, just what she could do this eve? Humming, she considered, as she checked first on her home, to an empty abode. Her Father would be home in a little while, and so she could take care of other business first.
Business, as she looked over the napping figure of one of her tormentors, that would be ever so fun! After all, dear little Sophia was a predator, and so would she not enjoy being taken on a hunt?
Shadow Stalker
(Mood Music)
The dream began the same way it always had of late, of the burning venom in her blood, the fire as a pale moon (an eye torn from Taylors socket) looked down at her, back arching as she howled and began to change. She could feel her humanity there, slipping away between her fingers, slick and wet as her skin broke and bones snapped. Claws tried to hold onto herself, tearing and shredding it, desperate to keep as much as she could even as she burst free from herself.
Her dreaming self was STRONG, every muscle and bone ripping and built for power, her frame tall and sleek. In some respects, she was a mixture of human and wolf, stretched to eight feet tall and made of living and rippling shadows, as her claws flexed and she tried to drape herself with the torn and tattered fragments in her hands. Bits of her weak self, her human self fell down into the shadow, tainted and twisted, images and scents as she stretched... and her stomach growled.
She moved, at one with the dark of the apartment as her nose brought her scents, all of them making her mouth water and snap, muscles straining to not just rush forward in a flurry of claw and fang. No, she moved with careful tread to the den, where she tasted the salt of the sweat, felt the oil coming from their bodies and the sweet scent of rot, of sin dripping from him like the juices from a roast pig. And she pounced on his form, teeth gripping his neck as she twisted and tore, meat coming loose, swallowing as she knocked him over and out of the female below him (her mother, now covered with blood from her boyfriends torn throat).
With a snarl, she lowered her muzzle, claws ripping and opening the prey, opening up the flesh to the organs inside, as her mother screamed and flinched, blood stained muzzle moving to rip, tear and swallow the meat. And then her mother struck her, arms striking ineffectually. A part of her is annoyed that this prey was striking her while she was busy with her meal (a silent part of her was screaming for her mother to run, to flee and hide), the blows passing through the shadows that made up her flesh. So, with a casual swipe claws tear out the crying meats throat (inside, the fragments of herself scream and deny she would ever do it).
She is not sure why the fact that the sight of the meat looking at her with wide and betrayed eyes, afraid and pitying strokes the flames of rage inside of herself, as she howls, hate and anger clear as claws tear out the eyes, crush the skull and tear and tear until it cannot look and gurgle at her anymore! Something makes a noise at the door. A male, looking in, eyes wide (run Terry, run!), as he turns and moves. For a moment, she merely stands and breathes, even as there are more words, and a small females words... and feet moving outside.
The male took her sister. She is not sure why that was important, but the fury rose again from the embers, howling with hate and hunger. If he flees with her sister, if her brother escapes, if he leaves her... there is pain, as she runs, as she rushes and leaps, as he looks up at her, mouth spewing words she could not understand.
She woke up, heart pounding and the taste of copper and iron on her lips. Yet, as Sophia Hess checked the mirror, she was human. "It was a dream, just a dream..." She screams and falls on her ass when she thinks she sees a muzzle in the mirror in place of her face.
Taylor
She giggled, as she skipped away, the prank she pulled on Sophia a delightful one. She was going to have to consider just what kind of pranks and jests to play with Emma and Madison when she had some time free. As for the rest of the night? She slipped into a dream and into a memory, pulling her father along, laughing and dancing with her Mother, his wife. For the first time in a long while, they spent time together, a family. Soon enough though, she was tucked into bed, waking with a kiss to her forehead.
Even as she sighed, she made the resolution. She would have to try and spend some more time with her father soon enough, even if a good part of her... would he even recognize the monster she had become?
For the most part, as she flew over the city, enjoying a patrol alongside her boyfriend (as he had not done anything of late that would have resulted in her revoking that status), eyes open even as they waved to the thinning late afternoon crowds along the boardwalk, it was good that things had gotten just a bit more quiet after the events of the last few days. Sure, she would always be up to punch and smash some Nazi's, but a zombie horde and all the blood? She shuddered faintly, as really, that had been more than a little disturbing.
In some ways, this brought to mind some of the tales of the Teeth and the 'bad old days' she had overheard, of the wild chaos and frequent clashes, of the blood flowing in the streets like rivers as the gangs mauled and tore at each other. Even with just isolated clashes, she thought she was beginning to understand why people said gang wars were bad... particularly with the Empire breaking out freaking war crime weapons they had smuggled into the city. But, she would admit that it was the fact some of the Empire's parahumans dying that disturbed her.
Like the rest of New Wave, she was aware of how in many ways they could not get the full coverage of the unwritten rules, and just how flimsy a cover those could be. Yet all that she saw, all that she read and heard and could infer? This new cape, Clíodhna did not play by the rules. Already her Gallant had mentioned how it was more than likely a kill order was in the works, because a cape willing to jump straight to this, to wage war? Yeah, the crazy bitch was not even a vigilante, she was just a villain targeting other villains.
So caught up in her thoughts, she missed him falling behind, staying still and shuddering, shivering as he looked out at nothing at all. "Gallant? You okay?" Worry laced her tone, as her Gallant, her Dean, began crying, the tears actually dripping from his visor despite it not working that way and very soon they began to be laced with red before rivets of sweet and sticky smelling blood coursed down the cheeks of his helmet and he let loose a scream. It was a howl that was torn from a dying beast, rasping with metal and reverbing in on itself, as she rushed to him.
"Gallant, calm down, Gallant!" Now, she was worrying and freaking out, as this was freaking horror movie shit, even as around them people were watching, taking out their phones and taking snap shots, some even filming for PHO later. Of course, PRT console was buzzing, Clockblocker calling out for him to reply, to speak to him and calm down, and that help was on the way, if his buddy could just hold on.
Yet, as he began to thrash in place, as he continued to cry those tears of blood, the faceplate of his mask began to tear, to crumple and part with a sound part way between a car crumpling and the tearing of a side of beef. It tore and transformed, and where there had been featureless chrome, there was instead a jagged maw of metal, pink and red flesh inside as he began to scream out music. There was no way for a human throat to make those sounds, and yet they ripped from him with a spray of bloody foam, the radio distorting and joining in, somehow more organic than the tortured sounds being torn from his bleeding throat.
And only a handful saw the shadow loom over him, that tall woman of the mists clad in a cloak of raven wings, with a great spear in hand.... save that all saw as Crusaders back arched, a scream ripping free as a nightmare blade punctured his dead heart and he began to melt away, leaving a pool of fetid water mixed with ash and blood. In something almost like black humor, Crusader met his second and final end in front of a stall selling NFL merchandise and another selling baked potatoes.
Yet, as Crusader faded, the hounds did but howl, and leap away into the mists, vanishing from mortal sight.
Taylor
She danced and moved with glee, spear in hand as her hounds bounded at her heels, tongues lolling even as they barked ever so playfully, her free hand moving to give the good boys scratches behind the ears as they ran through this land of mist and fog. This realm of spirits and shadows ever so quiet, a river which was a sea that drained into a place far larger and stranger and yet bound in the confines of reality. And yet, she had merely stepped through the ophidian gate to hunt down the naughty ghost that had been spying on her.
As he had been a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight in life, she would not put it past him to spy on her or her friends while they were in the showers at that! And yet, she would freely admit that at least some of what she did was for the pleasure of it, to hunt him down as a harbinger of the fate that awaited him, a laugh on her lips and a spear through his heart. Yet, this was not the hunt she was most looking forward to this eve, oh no. Granted, as she danced and swam through the earth and metal, she needed to pass through the gate again, from a different angle.
Idly, she wondered, moving down the streets that she knew all so well, just what she could do this eve? Humming, she considered, as she checked first on her home, to an empty abode. Her Father would be home in a little while, and so she could take care of other business first.
Business, as she looked over the napping figure of one of her tormentors, that would be ever so fun! After all, dear little Sophia was a predator, and so would she not enjoy being taken on a hunt?
Shadow Stalker
(Mood Music)
The dream began the same way it always had of late, of the burning venom in her blood, the fire as a pale moon (an eye torn from Taylors socket) looked down at her, back arching as she howled and began to change. She could feel her humanity there, slipping away between her fingers, slick and wet as her skin broke and bones snapped. Claws tried to hold onto herself, tearing and shredding it, desperate to keep as much as she could even as she burst free from herself.
Her dreaming self was STRONG, every muscle and bone ripping and built for power, her frame tall and sleek. In some respects, she was a mixture of human and wolf, stretched to eight feet tall and made of living and rippling shadows, as her claws flexed and she tried to drape herself with the torn and tattered fragments in her hands. Bits of her weak self, her human self fell down into the shadow, tainted and twisted, images and scents as she stretched... and her stomach growled.
She moved, at one with the dark of the apartment as her nose brought her scents, all of them making her mouth water and snap, muscles straining to not just rush forward in a flurry of claw and fang. No, she moved with careful tread to the den, where she tasted the salt of the sweat, felt the oil coming from their bodies and the sweet scent of rot, of sin dripping from him like the juices from a roast pig. And she pounced on his form, teeth gripping his neck as she twisted and tore, meat coming loose, swallowing as she knocked him over and out of the female below him (her mother, now covered with blood from her boyfriends torn throat).
With a snarl, she lowered her muzzle, claws ripping and opening the prey, opening up the flesh to the organs inside, as her mother screamed and flinched, blood stained muzzle moving to rip, tear and swallow the meat. And then her mother struck her, arms striking ineffectually. A part of her is annoyed that this prey was striking her while she was busy with her meal (a silent part of her was screaming for her mother to run, to flee and hide), the blows passing through the shadows that made up her flesh. So, with a casual swipe claws tear out the crying meats throat (inside, the fragments of herself scream and deny she would ever do it).
She is not sure why the fact that the sight of the meat looking at her with wide and betrayed eyes, afraid and pitying strokes the flames of rage inside of herself, as she howls, hate and anger clear as claws tear out the eyes, crush the skull and tear and tear until it cannot look and gurgle at her anymore! Something makes a noise at the door. A male, looking in, eyes wide (run Terry, run!), as he turns and moves. For a moment, she merely stands and breathes, even as there are more words, and a small females words... and feet moving outside.
The male took her sister. She is not sure why that was important, but the fury rose again from the embers, howling with hate and hunger. If he flees with her sister, if her brother escapes, if he leaves her... there is pain, as she runs, as she rushes and leaps, as he looks up at her, mouth spewing words she could not understand.
She woke up, heart pounding and the taste of copper and iron on her lips. Yet, as Sophia Hess checked the mirror, she was human. "It was a dream, just a dream..." She screams and falls on her ass when she thinks she sees a muzzle in the mirror in place of her face.
Taylor
She giggled, as she skipped away, the prank she pulled on Sophia a delightful one. She was going to have to consider just what kind of pranks and jests to play with Emma and Madison when she had some time free. As for the rest of the night? She slipped into a dream and into a memory, pulling her father along, laughing and dancing with her Mother, his wife. For the first time in a long while, they spent time together, a family. Soon enough though, she was tucked into bed, waking with a kiss to her forehead.
Even as she sighed, she made the resolution. She would have to try and spend some more time with her father soon enough, even if a good part of her... would he even recognize the monster she had become?
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Nurses Report
Gallant
He screamed and he dreamed, or was it the other way around? As he fell through razor winds of soul churning terror, bone spurs of bloodlust puncturing his flesh to the sound of wailing flutes, he could not really tell any more. In either case, as he fell and rose, burning oil and sludge falling from a shining city so far above that just had to be pristine and perfect, frozen sheets of heart wrenching song ejected from a world that could not stand purity or beauty below him, battering and molding him between. Yet, he was not alone, not really, not entirely.
Dead flesh, crystals of silence and spires of thought bored into him, reaching out from his bone marrow, root like and grasping as they bloomed into the alloys of his armor, nerves stretching and twisting as the differences between skins, endo and exoskeletons twisted and broke, back arching with a wave of cold fire and lightning. Yet all of it came from eyes, eyes that watched, eyes that spoke, eyes on the inside of his eyes, skull and the tips of his fingers that blinked and crooned sweet songs with tongues torn from unspoken and heartfelt words.
The colors, they bled and twisted, placing masks and dresses on themselves and staging grand performances, a ballet that exploded with each foot across the tongue, stabbing needles of ice and acid that spoke of despair and loss, grief and budding madness as all was repressed and drowned, chained with self-loathing and duty. He reached behind himself, directly between the eyes, and spoke, his voice deep and rich, calm and soothing... and so, he vomited forth the greens of his affection, the reds and yellows of the passions of life and the joys of living, even as there was the browns of simpler times and blacks of all things come and go.
Still, as he gazed on the weeping angel, her flayed wings stained red, whip of chains scourging her own back as an idol of icy light shed its baleful hue, adding yet more chains laced in salt water to the lash as the idol struck with cruel indifference and sullen, unspoken suspicion. All while SHE watched on, the center of them all, that bright and vibrant dancer, that queen clad in fresh flowers and the delights of all the seasons, in whose crown was their hearts.
He was glad in a way, that that white and red clad angel had shelled him, broken apart his outermost layers of skin and bone, to tear out the grub that had laid inside. He was not ready, as he baked and melted in his own bloody juices, to become more, to enter the cocoon and to in devouring himself grant himself life anew.
Alas, his strength after that failed him, and he departed back into the buffeting storm, as he screamed in the dark so profound it devoured itself and shit out blinding light.
Panacea
She blinked, as she looked at Dean, and then Vicky, and then, she sighed. "So, good news. Your boyfriend was coherent enough to gurgle at me before puking all over my shoes." And because she mentioned that to her darling sister... she was likely going to be dragged out for new shoes after this. Inwardly, she sighed. She liked these shoes, and they could be cleaned. They were comfortable, they were practical... and they were steel toed just in case she needed to kick someone. Sadly, they were not boots however. Those would be good for stomping on toes in addition to other practical reasons for wearing them.
Yet, as she looked up, she desperately wished for a cigarette, or maybe something a little stronger. Sadly with all the Merchants having fled, it was not like she would be able to find a dealer to try experimenting with something a little stronger when dealing with this shit. Because this? This was freaky shit, even if... well, she there was more than one reason she was not really sorry that this happened to Dean, even as a wave of guilt rushed into her, quickly buried. After all, he was important to Vicky, and so...
Sighing, she nodded. "I'm just going to grab a coffee, then I'm going to guess you'll want me to give a report?" This was directed at the PRT trooper that was in the hospital room, keeping an eye on things, even as the radio cackled and he listened in, before nodding.
"Whenever your ready, director would like to have the report." Well, might as well.
Forty minutes later, she was in one of the conference rooms at the PRT headquarters, most of that due to traffic rather than any great amount of distance from Brockton General and the HQ. Still, of those that needed to be there, it was Piggot, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Renick, Aegis, Doctor Torres, Sarah and a few of the scientists whose names she had not really caught. Thankfully, Carol was not here, as things would be... annoying enough already.
"So, as far as I can tell, and I'm guessing from what my power is telling me, is that Dean should be able to recover." It was short, it was simple... and she needed to expand things. "However, you need to find what caused this, as it was... weird. Getting him out of the armor was tricky and more than a little disturbing and honestly I'm just hoping Armsmaster can analyze it." Because seriously, it was one of the freakier things she had seen.
Yet, eyes narrowed as Piggot spoke, voice hard. "I thought your power only worked on organic material?" There was suspicion in her tone, as if she was Carol either thinking she caught her in a lie, or trying to bait her into one. Just something so she had an excuse really. Well, that or an excuse to call her home life toxic enough that her power could have changed, so a chance to steal her away.
With a shake of her head, she reached down, pulling out her phone, and passed it to Armsmaster. A few quick questions, it was hooked up to the display system and now, there were pictures of the armor. "Yeah, thing is, the armor was in the process of becoming organic, something like an exoskeleton. There were veins, forming muscle tissue and his body was starting to dissolve skin while sprouting nerves that were burrowing into metal, and I've never seen anything like this before." Even if it was one of the more exciting things she had seen in a long while, as she tried to puzzle how HOW.
"As it is, there was additional nerves forming along his skull, and additional blood vessels and nerves connecting to growths among the skull that seemed to be similar to his gemma, with a thin coating of optical nerves. Thankfully, they were all on the outside of his skull, but..." She paused a moment, not entirely sure how to say it. "They seemed to be exuding something kind of similar to what I've seen on people that fought Newter." She shrugged, as they began to talk about the repercussions, the dangers....
And how it all boiled down to they had no idea what triggered this at all, nor did anyone have any idea of what to do if it happened again.
He screamed and he dreamed, or was it the other way around? As he fell through razor winds of soul churning terror, bone spurs of bloodlust puncturing his flesh to the sound of wailing flutes, he could not really tell any more. In either case, as he fell and rose, burning oil and sludge falling from a shining city so far above that just had to be pristine and perfect, frozen sheets of heart wrenching song ejected from a world that could not stand purity or beauty below him, battering and molding him between. Yet, he was not alone, not really, not entirely.
Dead flesh, crystals of silence and spires of thought bored into him, reaching out from his bone marrow, root like and grasping as they bloomed into the alloys of his armor, nerves stretching and twisting as the differences between skins, endo and exoskeletons twisted and broke, back arching with a wave of cold fire and lightning. Yet all of it came from eyes, eyes that watched, eyes that spoke, eyes on the inside of his eyes, skull and the tips of his fingers that blinked and crooned sweet songs with tongues torn from unspoken and heartfelt words.
The colors, they bled and twisted, placing masks and dresses on themselves and staging grand performances, a ballet that exploded with each foot across the tongue, stabbing needles of ice and acid that spoke of despair and loss, grief and budding madness as all was repressed and drowned, chained with self-loathing and duty. He reached behind himself, directly between the eyes, and spoke, his voice deep and rich, calm and soothing... and so, he vomited forth the greens of his affection, the reds and yellows of the passions of life and the joys of living, even as there was the browns of simpler times and blacks of all things come and go.
Still, as he gazed on the weeping angel, her flayed wings stained red, whip of chains scourging her own back as an idol of icy light shed its baleful hue, adding yet more chains laced in salt water to the lash as the idol struck with cruel indifference and sullen, unspoken suspicion. All while SHE watched on, the center of them all, that bright and vibrant dancer, that queen clad in fresh flowers and the delights of all the seasons, in whose crown was their hearts.
He was glad in a way, that that white and red clad angel had shelled him, broken apart his outermost layers of skin and bone, to tear out the grub that had laid inside. He was not ready, as he baked and melted in his own bloody juices, to become more, to enter the cocoon and to in devouring himself grant himself life anew.
Alas, his strength after that failed him, and he departed back into the buffeting storm, as he screamed in the dark so profound it devoured itself and shit out blinding light.
Panacea
She blinked, as she looked at Dean, and then Vicky, and then, she sighed. "So, good news. Your boyfriend was coherent enough to gurgle at me before puking all over my shoes." And because she mentioned that to her darling sister... she was likely going to be dragged out for new shoes after this. Inwardly, she sighed. She liked these shoes, and they could be cleaned. They were comfortable, they were practical... and they were steel toed just in case she needed to kick someone. Sadly, they were not boots however. Those would be good for stomping on toes in addition to other practical reasons for wearing them.
Yet, as she looked up, she desperately wished for a cigarette, or maybe something a little stronger. Sadly with all the Merchants having fled, it was not like she would be able to find a dealer to try experimenting with something a little stronger when dealing with this shit. Because this? This was freaky shit, even if... well, she there was more than one reason she was not really sorry that this happened to Dean, even as a wave of guilt rushed into her, quickly buried. After all, he was important to Vicky, and so...
Sighing, she nodded. "I'm just going to grab a coffee, then I'm going to guess you'll want me to give a report?" This was directed at the PRT trooper that was in the hospital room, keeping an eye on things, even as the radio cackled and he listened in, before nodding.
"Whenever your ready, director would like to have the report." Well, might as well.
Forty minutes later, she was in one of the conference rooms at the PRT headquarters, most of that due to traffic rather than any great amount of distance from Brockton General and the HQ. Still, of those that needed to be there, it was Piggot, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Renick, Aegis, Doctor Torres, Sarah and a few of the scientists whose names she had not really caught. Thankfully, Carol was not here, as things would be... annoying enough already.
"So, as far as I can tell, and I'm guessing from what my power is telling me, is that Dean should be able to recover." It was short, it was simple... and she needed to expand things. "However, you need to find what caused this, as it was... weird. Getting him out of the armor was tricky and more than a little disturbing and honestly I'm just hoping Armsmaster can analyze it." Because seriously, it was one of the freakier things she had seen.
Yet, eyes narrowed as Piggot spoke, voice hard. "I thought your power only worked on organic material?" There was suspicion in her tone, as if she was Carol either thinking she caught her in a lie, or trying to bait her into one. Just something so she had an excuse really. Well, that or an excuse to call her home life toxic enough that her power could have changed, so a chance to steal her away.
With a shake of her head, she reached down, pulling out her phone, and passed it to Armsmaster. A few quick questions, it was hooked up to the display system and now, there were pictures of the armor. "Yeah, thing is, the armor was in the process of becoming organic, something like an exoskeleton. There were veins, forming muscle tissue and his body was starting to dissolve skin while sprouting nerves that were burrowing into metal, and I've never seen anything like this before." Even if it was one of the more exciting things she had seen in a long while, as she tried to puzzle how HOW.
"As it is, there was additional nerves forming along his skull, and additional blood vessels and nerves connecting to growths among the skull that seemed to be similar to his gemma, with a thin coating of optical nerves. Thankfully, they were all on the outside of his skull, but..." She paused a moment, not entirely sure how to say it. "They seemed to be exuding something kind of similar to what I've seen on people that fought Newter." She shrugged, as they began to talk about the repercussions, the dangers....
And how it all boiled down to they had no idea what triggered this at all, nor did anyone have any idea of what to do if it happened again.
The Endbringers (WIP)
| Name; | Behemoth |
| Size/Type: | Gargantuan Construct (Living) |
|---|---|
| Hit Dice: | 40d10+800*4 (4800 hp) |
| Initiative: | +4 |
| Speed: | 30 ft. (4 squares), Burrow 30ft |
| Armor Class: | 32 (-8 Size, +20 natural, +10 Deflection), touch 12, flat-footed 32 |
| Base Attack/Grapple: | +30/+76 |
| Attack: | Claw +57 (8d12+32) or Bite +57 (12d12+48) |
| Full Attack: | Two Claws +57/+57 and Bite +52 |
| Space/Reach: | 20ft ft./20 ft. |
| Special Attacks: | Energy Attacks, Shockwave, Kill Aura, Irradiated Energy |
| Special Qualities: | Living Construct, Endbringer Traits, Darkvision 300ft, Tremorsense 1200ft, Blindsight 600ft, Earth Glide, DR 50/Epic, Fast Healing 10, Energy Redirection |
| Saves: | Fort +36, Ref +16, Will +15 |
| Abilities: | Str 75, Dex 10, Con 50, Int 6, Wis 8, Cha 6 |
| Skills: | Concentration +63, Jump +52 |
| Feats: | Power Attack, Cleave, Great Cleave, Improved Sunder, Ability Focus (Kill Aura), Improved Bullrush, Stamp, Epic Prowess, Epic Sunder, Leap Attack, Awesome Blow, Skill Focus (Concentration), Epic Skill Focus (Concentration), Improved Initiative |
| Environment: | |
| Organization: | Solitary |
| Challenge Rating: | 30 |
| Treasure: | None |
| Alignment: | Always True Neutral |
Endbringer Traits (EX); Endbringers are powerful creatures created by the entities to be conflict engines, and the sheer power they have on display showcases that. Firstly, an Endbringers hitpoints per HD are not just maximized, but multiplied by four. Secondly, while Endbringers have the living Subtype, they retain all the immunities of the Construct type. Third, Endbringers are immune to Divination and Clairsentience spells and powers, and effects that mimic those abilities. This includes effects that provide other creatures with bonuses to attack or damage rolls, AC or saving throws.
However, Endbringers also have a weakness to effects that cross dimensional boundaries, or restrict access across dimensions. Against attacks or effects that take place in more than one Dimension, Endbringers lose any energy resistance, fast healing or damage reduction. They lose these in addition to losing access to Supernatural and Psionic abilities when under the effect of a dimensional lock effect. While under the effect of a dimensional lock effect, they also only have a quarter of their listed maximum hit points.
Irradiated Energy (EX); Behemoth can, at will, substitute Radiation damage for any of his energy attacks and can irradiate his Shockwaves.
Kill Aura (EX); Inside of 35ft of Behemoth, he deals 30d10 Fire damage (Fort DC 54 Half) at the beginning of each round. However, if he concentrates as a full round action, the damage for the round is maximized. When this ability is subject to Irradiated Energy, it deals the listed amount of radiation damage and the area inside the aura is treated as Severe Radiation Exposure, the area up to 70ft away being High exposure, and 71-100ft away inflicting Moderate exposure.
Shockwave (EX); Behemoth can cause a localized tremor centered on him as a swift action. The tremor has a radius of 260 feet, every creature within this radius must win a resisted strength check against Behemoth or be knocked prone by the shockwave. Behemoth (and anyone attempting to resist the effect) gains a +4 bonus on this check for each size category above medium (+12 for Behemoth).
Additionally, all creatures and objects in the area of the shockwave suffer 26d4+64 bludgeoning damage. A DC 62 reflex save halves this damage.
While Irradiated Energy is active, areas inside of the Shockwave become Highly irradiated. If Behemoth has been in the radius of the shockwave for at least ten minutes, it is instead Severely irradiated, with an area three times as large being Highly Irradiated around the shockwave.
Stamp (EX); 200ft line, 1d20+57. Objects take 1d6+64+Hardness (Max 5) damage.
Energy Redirection (EX); In many ways, this functions as per the Energy Conversion power, save that Behemoth maintains a passive twenty points of absorption for all energy types except for kinetic (Damage Reduction). As a standard action Behemoth can bring the absorption to one particular energy type up to the full fifty points. Energy stored in this way may be released as bonus physical damage for natural attacks, Stamp or Shockwaves.
Energy Attacks (Psi); Behemoth can manifest the following psionic powers at will- Control Flames, Control Light, Control Sound, Create Sound, Energy Ray (25d6 damage), Energy Push (17d6, DC 47), Energy Stun (16d6, DC 47), Energy Bolt (35d6, DC 48), Energy Burst (35d6, DC 48), Energy Conversion (50 points), Energy Wave (35d6, DC 48), Energy Missile (30d6, DC 49). Behemoth can apply two of the following metapsionic feats to any power; Burrowing, Chain, Enlarge, Empower, Maximize or Widen.
| Name; | Leviathan |
| Size/Type: | Huge Construct (Living) |
|---|---|
| Hit Dice: | 40d10+400*4 (3200 hp) |
| Initiative: | +40 |
| Speed: | 300 ft, Swim 600ft, Climb 200ft |
| Armor Class: | 59 (-4 Size, +32 Dex, +10 natural, +10 Deflection, +1 Dodge), touch 49, flat-footed 26 |
| Base Attack/Grapple: | +30/+54 |
| Attack: | Claw +59 (4d8+20, Crit 12-20,*5), Tail Whip +59 (3d12+20, Crit 16-20, *3) |
| Full Attack: | Two Claws +59/+59/+59/+54 and Tail Whip +54/+49 |
| Space/Reach: | 15ft ft./15 ft. (Tail 45ft) |
| Special Attacks: | Hydrokinesis, Water Echo, Pounce |
| Special Qualities: | Living Construct, Endbringer Traits, Darkvision 300ft, Blindsight 600ft, Watersight 2 Miles, DR 20/Epic, Fast Healing 10, Evasion |
| Saves: | Fort +26, Ref +48, Will +18 |
| Abilities: | Str 50, Dex 75, Con 30, Int 6, Wis 14, Cha 6 |
| Skills: | Concentration +63, Jump +60, Climb +60, Swim +60 |
| Feats: | Weapon Finesse (Claws), Weapon Finesse (Tail Whip), Weapon Focus (Claws), Improved Critical (Claws), Ability Focus (Tsunami), Improved Initiative, Evasion, Superior Initiative, Permanent Emmenation (Haste), Skill Focus (Concentration), Epic Skill Focus (Concentration), Tenacious Magic (Create Water), Rapidstrike (Claws & Tail Whip) |
| Environment: | |
| Organization: | Solitary |
| Challenge Rating: | 30 |
| Treasure: | None |
| Alignment: | Always True Neutral |
Water Echo (SU); Leviathan can, as part of every action he takes, uses his Create Water ability. In addition, whenever he moves, he can use his Create Water ability for every thirty feet of movement. If Leviathan is dimensionally locked, he cannot use this ability.
Hypokinesis (Psi); Leviathan can use the following abilities as psi like abilities; Waterwalk, Haste Constant. Control Weather, Create Water (2,000 Gallons), Hypokinesis 1-5, Transmute Rock to Mud at will. Tsunami once every 1d4 Minutes. Every time Leviathan uses Tsunami in an hour, the effect doubles in size.
Hydrokinesis I
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 1
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target: 20 gallons of water
Duration: Concentration, 1 round/level or instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates (object); Fortitude prevents
knock down (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
You can control up to 20 gallons of water (the amount in 2 standard fish tanks), moving it in any direction to the extent of the spell's range, for a duration of 1 round per level. Or you can instantaneously hurl it at a single foe (after which the spell ends), using an attack roll (your base attack bonus + Intelligence modifier) to hit for 1d4 points of impact damage; the target must also make a Fortitude save on a successful attack roll to keep from being knocked down. Other than during this kind of impact attack, the water manipulated by hydrokinesis has the consistency of normal water ... creatures can pass through it with no damage other than getting a little wet. A creature made of water can be affected by this spell, providing it is of a size that is within the caster's target limits, but it is allowed a Will save to negate the effect. The spell will end if the distance between you and the water ever exceeds the spell's range.
Note: Water weighs about 8 pounds per gallon. One cubic foot of water contains roughly 8 gallons and weighs about 60 lbs.
Hydrokinesis II
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 3
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target: 200 gallons of water
Duration: Concentration, 5 rounds/level or instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates (object); Fortitude prevents
knock down (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
As hydrokinesis I, except that you control up to 200 gallons of water (the amount in a small hot tub), and can do up to 3d6 points of impact damage per foe by hurling it at foes in a spot 10 feet in diameter (the player has the option of using less water for the attack, and so can specify any die amount of damage up to the maximum given here). Also, you can now move it for 5 rounds per level.
Hydrokinesis III
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 5
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Medium (100 ft. + 10 ft./level)
Target: 2000 gallons of water
Duration: Concentration, 1 minute/level
Saving Throw: Will negates (object); Fortitude prevents knock down (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
As hydrokinesis II, except that you control up to 2000 gallons of water (the size of a wading pool), and can do 4d10 damage per foe by hurling it at foes in a spot 20 feet in diameter. You can also move water for 1 minute per level, and using the spell to make an attack no longer ends the spell. You can move it for 1 minute per level.
Hydrokinesis IV
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 7
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Long (400 ft. + 40 ft./level)
Target: A small lake
Duration: Concentration, 1 hour/level
Saving Throw: Will negates (object) (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
As hydrokinesis III, except that you control up to a small lake full of water, and can do 8d10 damage per foe by hurling it at foes in a spot 40 feet in diameter; targets hit by this attack are automatically knocked down, with no Fortitude save allowed at this level. You can control individual droplets in a rainstorm, causing driving rains to strike your enemies, and you have the power to control the form the water takes, changing rain to snow or hail, or freezing part of a lake solid to create a wall of ice; you can move clouds and fog, snow and rivers, for 1 hour per level.
Hydrokinesis V
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 9
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Line of sight
Target: An unlimited amount of water
Duration: Concentration
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
As hydrokinesis IV, except you can control as much water as you can see at one time. Creatures made of water are no longer allowed Will saves. Attacking with the full force of this spell causes damage equivalent to flash floods and hurricanes or stronger. You can control the water for as long as you concentrate on it.
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 1
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target: 20 gallons of water
Duration: Concentration, 1 round/level or instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates (object); Fortitude prevents
knock down (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
You can control up to 20 gallons of water (the amount in 2 standard fish tanks), moving it in any direction to the extent of the spell's range, for a duration of 1 round per level. Or you can instantaneously hurl it at a single foe (after which the spell ends), using an attack roll (your base attack bonus + Intelligence modifier) to hit for 1d4 points of impact damage; the target must also make a Fortitude save on a successful attack roll to keep from being knocked down. Other than during this kind of impact attack, the water manipulated by hydrokinesis has the consistency of normal water ... creatures can pass through it with no damage other than getting a little wet. A creature made of water can be affected by this spell, providing it is of a size that is within the caster's target limits, but it is allowed a Will save to negate the effect. The spell will end if the distance between you and the water ever exceeds the spell's range.
Note: Water weighs about 8 pounds per gallon. One cubic foot of water contains roughly 8 gallons and weighs about 60 lbs.
Hydrokinesis II
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 3
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target: 200 gallons of water
Duration: Concentration, 5 rounds/level or instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates (object); Fortitude prevents
knock down (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
As hydrokinesis I, except that you control up to 200 gallons of water (the amount in a small hot tub), and can do up to 3d6 points of impact damage per foe by hurling it at foes in a spot 10 feet in diameter (the player has the option of using less water for the attack, and so can specify any die amount of damage up to the maximum given here). Also, you can now move it for 5 rounds per level.
Hydrokinesis III
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 5
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Medium (100 ft. + 10 ft./level)
Target: 2000 gallons of water
Duration: Concentration, 1 minute/level
Saving Throw: Will negates (object); Fortitude prevents knock down (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
As hydrokinesis II, except that you control up to 2000 gallons of water (the size of a wading pool), and can do 4d10 damage per foe by hurling it at foes in a spot 20 feet in diameter. You can also move water for 1 minute per level, and using the spell to make an attack no longer ends the spell. You can move it for 1 minute per level.
Hydrokinesis IV
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 7
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Long (400 ft. + 40 ft./level)
Target: A small lake
Duration: Concentration, 1 hour/level
Saving Throw: Will negates (object) (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object) (see text)
As hydrokinesis III, except that you control up to a small lake full of water, and can do 8d10 damage per foe by hurling it at foes in a spot 40 feet in diameter; targets hit by this attack are automatically knocked down, with no Fortitude save allowed at this level. You can control individual droplets in a rainstorm, causing driving rains to strike your enemies, and you have the power to control the form the water takes, changing rain to snow or hail, or freezing part of a lake solid to create a wall of ice; you can move clouds and fog, snow and rivers, for 1 hour per level.
Hydrokinesis V
Aquamancy
Level: Elm 9
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Line of sight
Target: An unlimited amount of water
Duration: Concentration
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
As hydrokinesis IV, except you can control as much water as you can see at one time. Creatures made of water are no longer allowed Will saves. Attacking with the full force of this spell causes damage equivalent to flash floods and hurricanes or stronger. You can control the water for as long as you concentrate on it.
| Name; | Simurgh |
| Size/Type: | Large Construct (Living) |
|---|---|
| Hit Dice: | 40d10+200*4 (2400 hp) |
| Initiative: | +20 |
| Speed: | 30 ft, Fly 120ft (Perfect) |
| Armor Class: | 49 (-1 Size, +10 Dex, +10 natural, +10 Deflection, +10 Inertial Armor), touch 39, flat-footed 39 |
| Base Attack/Grapple: | +30/+39 |
| Attack: | |
| Full Attack: | |
| Space/Reach: | 10ft ft./10 ft. |
| Special Attacks: | The Song, Telekinetic |
| Special Qualities: | Living Construct, Endbringer Traits, DR 20/Epic, Fast Healing 10, Models of Past and Future, Shard Draw (Tinker & Thinker), A Thousand Threads, Telepathy One Mile |
| Saves: | Fort +21, Ref +36, Will +21 |
| Abilities: | Str 20, Dex 30, Con 20, Int 75, Wis 20, Cha 6 |
| Skills: | Concentration +58, Craft (Tinker Tech) +72 |
| Feats: | Skill Focus (Concentration), Improved Unarmed Strike, Deflect Arrows, Combat Expertise, Silver Tongue, Skill Focus (Bluff), Improved Feint, Mindsight, Infinite Deflection, Epic Skill Focus (Concentration), Epic Combat Expertise, Zero-G Training, Craft Tinkertech, Skill Focus (Perform; Song) |
| Environment: | |
| Organization: | Solitary |
| Challenge Rating: | 30 |
| Treasure: | None |
| Alignment: | Always True Neutral |
A Thousand Threads (EX); The Simurgh is able to divert much of her attention to many paths and threads of action at once. This functions as if constantly under the effects of nine Schism powers.
Telekinetic (Psi); The Smiguh can use the following psionic abilities at will; Control Object, Enlarged Telekinetic Maneuver (+37), Enlarged Telekinetic Thrust (2,250 pounds), Enlarged Telekinetic Force (2,250 pounds), Inertial Armor (+10 AC). The Simurgh can apply the Twined, Chained or Delayed Power metapsionic feats to her telekinetic abilities.
Shard Draw (SU); The Simurgh gains access to shards close at hand, and may use parahuman Thinker powers in one mile, and access the blueprints for Tinker shards in the same radius.
Models of Past and Future (Psi); The Simurgh is blind in the present, yet it can perceive the past and future in great detail. The exact effects are up to the DM/GM, however remember, this effect is based on advanced models.
The Song (SU); The most feared power of the Simurgh, as she sings and warps the mind of all that listen to her baleful song, she leaves inside a number of triggers, some of them much easier to spot than others. Several of her threads can work together, as to craft a more potent plan, she needs additional time and effort. At the end of each required period of time that the target is inside three miles of her, the target may make a Will DC 35 save to fight off the influence. These are mind affecting effects. Suggestion (3 Minutes of Song), Modify Memory (5 Minutes of Song), Programed Instruction (15 Minutes), Shatter Mind Blank (30 minutes), Concealed Instruction (One Hour of Song).
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AldariSiradla
Knight of the Fountain Pen
Nice...
I for one bow before the Dread Queen...
Ruler of the Dead...
And Keeper of Regrets.
Excited for the next chapters of this...
Delightfully macabre tale.
I for one bow before the Dread Queen...
Ruler of the Dead...
And Keeper of Regrets.
Excited for the next chapters of this...
Delightfully macabre tale.
Bloody Tidings
Max Anders
He had done things he was not proud of. Despite the fact that he was the leader of the Empire, that he had so many capes following him, there remained the simple fact that in order to hold onto power, one had to do what was necessary rather than what one would like all the time. For instance, when dealing with his overseas business associates and their camps for the awakening and training of parahumans. He may have written Theo off for the most part (he was nothing like he was, nothing like his mother either), but he would not send him to the camps.
The reason why this came to mind, as he looked over the report, as he pondered... He got up, moving to the cabinet right in the corner and unlocking it, taking out a bottle of brandy and pouring himself a shot. Walking to the windows, that he could look over the city, over his empire... the drink burned as he wondered if Constantine would be worth it, and if giving him the dagger and book had been a mistake or not. The fact that just over a thousand refugees and illegal immigrants were to be slaughtered in the coming week....
Really, their lives did not even really register to him. In a way, the fact blood was going to flow in rivers at a hidden altar and the only price was going to those he regularly derided as subhuman anyway? A benefit, even if they were imported, to try and keep things quiet. Because in the privacy of his own head, he would admit to a thrill of sorts, a part of him delighting in having creatures torn from the depths of Hell to strike down his rivals, to consume his foes. And yet. That terrible and unspeakable yet.
He was not sure just why he was ordering this, what did he stand to gain that he could not gather on his own? And what more, given the fact that since demons existed, methods that might have less dreadful consequences for his soul. And yet, it was far too late in many respects. The order given, and he would see this through, if for no other reason than to see his enemies burn. A part of him snorted, as he took a long sip, eyes on the Rig in the middle of the bay.
"In the end, old enemy, an iron crown will rule here," If any were close at hand, they may have been disturbed the the laughter that came from his lips. He would win. There was no other outcome he would accept.
Nasreen el-Pashia
It was funny in some ways, she reflected, that while she might have lost all of her old mortal life thanks to the party scene, she was making one hell of a comeback, all in the name of gathering information, of learning how to use her new powers and blend in... and of course, experimenting with said powers, as she ground against other dancers, the fever heat washing over her, the sweat oh so minor compared to the tastes of fear, anxiety and desperation. And as she gave a yummy young man (a lovely looking slab of beef and muscles) a wink and giggle, she could understand why, sort of.
But all in all, even as she moved through the crowds, admirers looking on as she strode like a queen through the masses of humanity (even if she was at best a lesser queen compared to the boss), or a shark through bloody waters. Another night and she might hold court on one of the sofas close at hand, as they looked at her, as a few words, some smiles and subtle gestures that just seemed to flow kept the eyes of the boys on her, and even several of the girls looked on in something akin to envy and desire. Yet, it was not to greet them that she was here this eve.
A fun and open secret was that many of the teens that partied here were prospective members of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Sure, it meant that those who did not meet certain criteria were encouraged to go elsewhere, yet... she was hardly the only one here whose skin was not quite pale, and yet given her nightlife, one could suspect her tanned or bronzed rather than arabic. Something that made visiting with her contact, at least when he was able to send a discreet message.
"Adam! Eve! How are you?" Granted, she spoke as she walked right into the side room, the one that all the other teens avoided due to one figure. After all, when one of the Empires capes wants a room to be alone with his 'girlfriend'? To say nothing of the fact that while he was a bad boy in his trench coat, there was no mistaking the aura of raw evil radiating from him, the sense of wrongness, corruption and madness. Those dark eyes were less organs to see and more tiny portals to realms of screaming and razors as winds scoured souls up and down. "You called me up?"
Compare and contrast to the classic nordic beauty next to him? Tall, toned, obviously athletic and with the kind of breasts you could lose a weapon in. Which made the fact she was really something from an MMO that got imported from Alpeh surprising once you got past the illusion. After all, he had no called up creatures that were sticking around, even as she was draped all over him. Yet, the demon merely smiled and waved, arm and leg moving over him possessively.
But, he nodded. "Yeah, boss gave me a big order, so not going to be able to be on time for the research. And before you ask," his hand rose, the one not pinned between smooth mounds of flesh, "I'm likely going to need to be calling up someone to buy the research notes from if you want it done in something like the timetable we had discussed." His tone is firm, as abyssal eyes locked on bloody ones. Still, aside from a brief urge to try reaching out to poke his mind, a thought discarded as it was more than likely 'Eve' would notice and take offense. Yet... there are questions that need to be asked.
"Alternatives?" Because there always were with this guy. Granted, there was the burning question of what would be interrupting his damn research time, in no small part because he had already given a month or two on the 'time it might take to develop this' that came with the exploratory chats, because really, a cape that wanted to be free of the empire? Easy enough to ignore some of his lesser sins, if it gave them bigger prey.
Still, he stroked Eve on her shoulder, blonde head moving on his shoulder, and from a shadow something like a tail was wagging as she sniffed at him. "I might be able to strike a deal to buy the requested items directly. Granted, it will cost, and no, they don't take cash or credit cards." There was sarcasm laced in his tone, as the damned demon giggled and winked, licking her lips. "And you want to know the worst thing, at least from my own standpoint? Whoever I call up, getting the item across my ass at risk." His eyes narrowed, and the real threat came up. "But hey, I can at least give you a little something else."
There was a dark smile on his face, a perfect mirror to the feline one on his companions. "You'll have limited time, no guarantee of safety and I might not be able to get you back. Its also why I'm going to be really busy for the next week or so." He rolled his eyes, even as Eve gave him a playful swat, speaking a word in a language that seemed foul and wrong. "So, I might have better chances of providing a way out, but hey, if the boss wants me to build him a gate to Hell, I'm going to make sure I can control the door."
He had done things he was not proud of. Despite the fact that he was the leader of the Empire, that he had so many capes following him, there remained the simple fact that in order to hold onto power, one had to do what was necessary rather than what one would like all the time. For instance, when dealing with his overseas business associates and their camps for the awakening and training of parahumans. He may have written Theo off for the most part (he was nothing like he was, nothing like his mother either), but he would not send him to the camps.
The reason why this came to mind, as he looked over the report, as he pondered... He got up, moving to the cabinet right in the corner and unlocking it, taking out a bottle of brandy and pouring himself a shot. Walking to the windows, that he could look over the city, over his empire... the drink burned as he wondered if Constantine would be worth it, and if giving him the dagger and book had been a mistake or not. The fact that just over a thousand refugees and illegal immigrants were to be slaughtered in the coming week....
Really, their lives did not even really register to him. In a way, the fact blood was going to flow in rivers at a hidden altar and the only price was going to those he regularly derided as subhuman anyway? A benefit, even if they were imported, to try and keep things quiet. Because in the privacy of his own head, he would admit to a thrill of sorts, a part of him delighting in having creatures torn from the depths of Hell to strike down his rivals, to consume his foes. And yet. That terrible and unspeakable yet.
He was not sure just why he was ordering this, what did he stand to gain that he could not gather on his own? And what more, given the fact that since demons existed, methods that might have less dreadful consequences for his soul. And yet, it was far too late in many respects. The order given, and he would see this through, if for no other reason than to see his enemies burn. A part of him snorted, as he took a long sip, eyes on the Rig in the middle of the bay.
"In the end, old enemy, an iron crown will rule here," If any were close at hand, they may have been disturbed the the laughter that came from his lips. He would win. There was no other outcome he would accept.
Nasreen el-Pashia
It was funny in some ways, she reflected, that while she might have lost all of her old mortal life thanks to the party scene, she was making one hell of a comeback, all in the name of gathering information, of learning how to use her new powers and blend in... and of course, experimenting with said powers, as she ground against other dancers, the fever heat washing over her, the sweat oh so minor compared to the tastes of fear, anxiety and desperation. And as she gave a yummy young man (a lovely looking slab of beef and muscles) a wink and giggle, she could understand why, sort of.
But all in all, even as she moved through the crowds, admirers looking on as she strode like a queen through the masses of humanity (even if she was at best a lesser queen compared to the boss), or a shark through bloody waters. Another night and she might hold court on one of the sofas close at hand, as they looked at her, as a few words, some smiles and subtle gestures that just seemed to flow kept the eyes of the boys on her, and even several of the girls looked on in something akin to envy and desire. Yet, it was not to greet them that she was here this eve.
A fun and open secret was that many of the teens that partied here were prospective members of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Sure, it meant that those who did not meet certain criteria were encouraged to go elsewhere, yet... she was hardly the only one here whose skin was not quite pale, and yet given her nightlife, one could suspect her tanned or bronzed rather than arabic. Something that made visiting with her contact, at least when he was able to send a discreet message.
"Adam! Eve! How are you?" Granted, she spoke as she walked right into the side room, the one that all the other teens avoided due to one figure. After all, when one of the Empires capes wants a room to be alone with his 'girlfriend'? To say nothing of the fact that while he was a bad boy in his trench coat, there was no mistaking the aura of raw evil radiating from him, the sense of wrongness, corruption and madness. Those dark eyes were less organs to see and more tiny portals to realms of screaming and razors as winds scoured souls up and down. "You called me up?"
Compare and contrast to the classic nordic beauty next to him? Tall, toned, obviously athletic and with the kind of breasts you could lose a weapon in. Which made the fact she was really something from an MMO that got imported from Alpeh surprising once you got past the illusion. After all, he had no called up creatures that were sticking around, even as she was draped all over him. Yet, the demon merely smiled and waved, arm and leg moving over him possessively.
But, he nodded. "Yeah, boss gave me a big order, so not going to be able to be on time for the research. And before you ask," his hand rose, the one not pinned between smooth mounds of flesh, "I'm likely going to need to be calling up someone to buy the research notes from if you want it done in something like the timetable we had discussed." His tone is firm, as abyssal eyes locked on bloody ones. Still, aside from a brief urge to try reaching out to poke his mind, a thought discarded as it was more than likely 'Eve' would notice and take offense. Yet... there are questions that need to be asked.
"Alternatives?" Because there always were with this guy. Granted, there was the burning question of what would be interrupting his damn research time, in no small part because he had already given a month or two on the 'time it might take to develop this' that came with the exploratory chats, because really, a cape that wanted to be free of the empire? Easy enough to ignore some of his lesser sins, if it gave them bigger prey.
Still, he stroked Eve on her shoulder, blonde head moving on his shoulder, and from a shadow something like a tail was wagging as she sniffed at him. "I might be able to strike a deal to buy the requested items directly. Granted, it will cost, and no, they don't take cash or credit cards." There was sarcasm laced in his tone, as the damned demon giggled and winked, licking her lips. "And you want to know the worst thing, at least from my own standpoint? Whoever I call up, getting the item across my ass at risk." His eyes narrowed, and the real threat came up. "But hey, I can at least give you a little something else."
There was a dark smile on his face, a perfect mirror to the feline one on his companions. "You'll have limited time, no guarantee of safety and I might not be able to get you back. Its also why I'm going to be really busy for the next week or so." He rolled his eyes, even as Eve gave him a playful swat, speaking a word in a language that seemed foul and wrong. "So, I might have better chances of providing a way out, but hey, if the boss wants me to build him a gate to Hell, I'm going to make sure I can control the door."
...Well... That escalated quickly. The revelation that the Nazis are creating a dimensional gateway should get the PRT off their plush leather office chairs and dealing with the Nazis. The real question is, do you reveal this before or after you have dealt with the problem? A mutual front is nice, but humiliating them while building your own base for the long war to come also has benefits...
Well, as it is I'm just going to say that Taylor and the Bloody Hand want to either recruit Constantine, or at least, since he is willing to sell out the Nazi's, to not have him work for them. Same time, they don't want him going to the Protectorate. As it is though... there is a strong temptation to allow it to be made, to make use of things before informing the PRT about it.
Might not turn out so well, but thats a risk she is willing to take.
Might not turn out so well, but thats a risk she is willing to take.
Blood in the Streets
A fact often overlooked by many considering only their odious personal habits, general appearance and nature as addicts and pushers getting high off their own supply, was that the Archers Bridge Merchants formed an important and often overlooked part of the Brockton Bay criminal environment. To put it simply, they were the most common buffer zone between the the Empire Eighty-Eight and the Azian Bad Boys. This was not a position of any great prestige, nor was it an enviable role, as it usually meant that instead of fighting each other, both gangs pressed, squeezed and brutalized them instead of directing violence towards each other.
There were of course, places were that was not as true, and yet with the departure of the Merchants to safer waters (as they left on what seemed to be a stealth boat), it would be that the E88 and ABB would have found themselves circling and watching each other carefully anyway, both having reasons why they had supported the previous arrangement, both wary of the others strengths and unwilling to extend far enough to reveal weakness, particularly when the authorities were watching.
And then the night of bloody glass happened, the Black Eye opened and soon after the Empires Healer vanished along with their cyber war office being turned into more zombies to maul at the underbelly of the empire as several safehouses, drug storages and armories had been hit. While far from a knockout blow, it was one that staggered the Empire. And four of their capes having perished in the attacks, and so many foot soldiers turned into weapons against them... was it any wonder that the Dragon of the bay smelled blood and dispatched his forces?
The first forays were simple and barely attracted attention, scouts moving into the old Merchant territory, even as gang signs started to be overwritten and small groups of men and women showing the colors could be seen. By the end of the day second day, even as the empire launched its strike against the dead with its demon of ash, green and red clad men made it known in many business establishments that the proper respects should be shown, the tribute given to their new overlords. There were of course, also examples to be made, and more than one family had their women grabbed and hauled off into vans, destined for The Farm... unless their families would like to offer an apology and pay their respects of course.
By the middle of the third day, whispers went out among the police and PRT troopers, as guns were readied and nobody sat easy, as the wounded wolf that was the Empire moved to strike back, loose groups of skinheads (most so very young, still teenagers or barely more than teens) who were in truth little more than punks with patches, leather jackets, a tattoo among the bolder and a number of baseball bats and crowbars. The first altercation was between one of these groups and a band of 'junior punks' of the ABB, associates they would be recruiting when they were adults. Both groups knew and hated each other from Winslow.
Yet it was then that the fact this was no small push, but the opening moves in an actual war, something meant and planned to have moved beyond a skirmish, as the Bōsōzoku were unleashed. They were not the tinker tech vehicles that Squealer could provide to the Merchants, but the simple fact was, they did not HAVE to be. While some of the older members used actual motorcycles, there was an interesting and often overlooked fact. While twenty-five miles per hour certainly was not impressive compared with motorized vehicles, it was in fact faster than most peoples ability to run, and was more than compensated by not needing a licence. Combined with the fact that the bikes were maneuverable and the Bōsōzoku trained to operate at speed, having appeared to ride their bikes in stunt courses?
Chasing down those skinheads were what amounted to be light cavalry, even as lengths of chain came out, wrapping around screaming victims, knocked off their feet and hauled behind the bikes, dragged along the concrete pavement to the laughter and jeers of the riders, who let them go when they were screaming piles of broken bones and meat. And yet, they did not have it all their own way, as the gangs clashed openly in the streets of the city.
In several locations, the BBPD patrolled, tensions high as all looked at each other, even if things were held to a quiet by the police officers presence, a quiet that was delicate and could be breached at any moment. In others, Skinheads took out pistols and opened fire on the cyclists, who wore little armor to preserve speed, and several went down to cries of anger and calls to bloody vengeance.
And then the PRT and Protectorate arrived. In truth, the two that could be said to be best for the subduing of the many scattered pockets of violence were Velocity and Vista in different ways. In the former, all some could see was a red flash before explosions of foam covered them, pinning them in place and neutralizing them. To others, space warped and twisted, as they found themselves ambushed in impossible ways before being foamed and captured. Swooping down from the skies, Aegis was able to grab one or two at a time, dropping them to be captured, even as in other parts of town New Wave moved, joining in on the Nazi Hunt.
In many ways, the city could be said to have entered a state of wild anarchy, of battles and shifting skirmishes, as forces of law and crime met, the borders shifting and melting as villians struck at each other and at those looking to uphold the status quo. In many ways, the city had descended into madness. Which of course, only made the appearance of new creatures from the Empire all the worse.
Many described them as men whose skin had turned rough, all of their body hair having fallen out even as their hands were stained a bloody red. Wild eyed and laughing, they entered into the fray on the second day of the skirmishes, even if there had only been three of them. Yet a most fearsome shaker effect was at play, as they rushed into the ABB lines, as the Empires own forces were told not to worry about friendly fire... injuries that healed on them quickly finding themselves on all too close to the madmen.
Laughing as they moved and spreading chaos and carnage in their wake, one could be forgiven for not noticing the faiths of Brockton Bay preparing for war, as they felt it creeping like a miasma, a putrid fog of rotting blood sinking onto the city, as screams echoed like thunder in the distance.
There were of course, places were that was not as true, and yet with the departure of the Merchants to safer waters (as they left on what seemed to be a stealth boat), it would be that the E88 and ABB would have found themselves circling and watching each other carefully anyway, both having reasons why they had supported the previous arrangement, both wary of the others strengths and unwilling to extend far enough to reveal weakness, particularly when the authorities were watching.
And then the night of bloody glass happened, the Black Eye opened and soon after the Empires Healer vanished along with their cyber war office being turned into more zombies to maul at the underbelly of the empire as several safehouses, drug storages and armories had been hit. While far from a knockout blow, it was one that staggered the Empire. And four of their capes having perished in the attacks, and so many foot soldiers turned into weapons against them... was it any wonder that the Dragon of the bay smelled blood and dispatched his forces?
The first forays were simple and barely attracted attention, scouts moving into the old Merchant territory, even as gang signs started to be overwritten and small groups of men and women showing the colors could be seen. By the end of the day second day, even as the empire launched its strike against the dead with its demon of ash, green and red clad men made it known in many business establishments that the proper respects should be shown, the tribute given to their new overlords. There were of course, also examples to be made, and more than one family had their women grabbed and hauled off into vans, destined for The Farm... unless their families would like to offer an apology and pay their respects of course.
By the middle of the third day, whispers went out among the police and PRT troopers, as guns were readied and nobody sat easy, as the wounded wolf that was the Empire moved to strike back, loose groups of skinheads (most so very young, still teenagers or barely more than teens) who were in truth little more than punks with patches, leather jackets, a tattoo among the bolder and a number of baseball bats and crowbars. The first altercation was between one of these groups and a band of 'junior punks' of the ABB, associates they would be recruiting when they were adults. Both groups knew and hated each other from Winslow.
Yet it was then that the fact this was no small push, but the opening moves in an actual war, something meant and planned to have moved beyond a skirmish, as the Bōsōzoku were unleashed. They were not the tinker tech vehicles that Squealer could provide to the Merchants, but the simple fact was, they did not HAVE to be. While some of the older members used actual motorcycles, there was an interesting and often overlooked fact. While twenty-five miles per hour certainly was not impressive compared with motorized vehicles, it was in fact faster than most peoples ability to run, and was more than compensated by not needing a licence. Combined with the fact that the bikes were maneuverable and the Bōsōzoku trained to operate at speed, having appeared to ride their bikes in stunt courses?
Chasing down those skinheads were what amounted to be light cavalry, even as lengths of chain came out, wrapping around screaming victims, knocked off their feet and hauled behind the bikes, dragged along the concrete pavement to the laughter and jeers of the riders, who let them go when they were screaming piles of broken bones and meat. And yet, they did not have it all their own way, as the gangs clashed openly in the streets of the city.
In several locations, the BBPD patrolled, tensions high as all looked at each other, even if things were held to a quiet by the police officers presence, a quiet that was delicate and could be breached at any moment. In others, Skinheads took out pistols and opened fire on the cyclists, who wore little armor to preserve speed, and several went down to cries of anger and calls to bloody vengeance.
And then the PRT and Protectorate arrived. In truth, the two that could be said to be best for the subduing of the many scattered pockets of violence were Velocity and Vista in different ways. In the former, all some could see was a red flash before explosions of foam covered them, pinning them in place and neutralizing them. To others, space warped and twisted, as they found themselves ambushed in impossible ways before being foamed and captured. Swooping down from the skies, Aegis was able to grab one or two at a time, dropping them to be captured, even as in other parts of town New Wave moved, joining in on the Nazi Hunt.
In many ways, the city could be said to have entered a state of wild anarchy, of battles and shifting skirmishes, as forces of law and crime met, the borders shifting and melting as villians struck at each other and at those looking to uphold the status quo. In many ways, the city had descended into madness. Which of course, only made the appearance of new creatures from the Empire all the worse.
Many described them as men whose skin had turned rough, all of their body hair having fallen out even as their hands were stained a bloody red. Wild eyed and laughing, they entered into the fray on the second day of the skirmishes, even if there had only been three of them. Yet a most fearsome shaker effect was at play, as they rushed into the ABB lines, as the Empires own forces were told not to worry about friendly fire... injuries that healed on them quickly finding themselves on all too close to the madmen.
Laughing as they moved and spreading chaos and carnage in their wake, one could be forgiven for not noticing the faiths of Brockton Bay preparing for war, as they felt it creeping like a miasma, a putrid fog of rotting blood sinking onto the city, as screams echoed like thunder in the distance.
ABB Bōsōzoku
An auxiliary branch of the Azian Bad Boys, the bays Bōsōzoku gang was created by Lung through his subordinates to have what amounted to be an urban light cavalry wing available as needed. Operating primarily as scouts until the January 2011 gang war, they were able to avoid scrutiny primarily due to being teenagers riding bikes. And a biking teen with a cell phone was hardly a threat, or even something to really remark on for the most part in many parts of the bay.
Once the gang war started, they were called into service as scouts and skirmishers and given permission to openly fly the ABB colors and to add additional gear to their loadouts. Of course, there were a few variants to the common Bōsōzoku member seen at this time. Their standard load out was as follows.
Bike; Kuberg Freerider
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, Pepper Spray, Metal Staff
With red flame decals, the Sanshō̄o (Salamander) chapter made their debut in the gang war, and quickly earned a reputation for lightning fast strikes and ruthlessness. With a load out of Molotov Cocktails, they made a name for themselves firebombing Empire held buildings, police cars and PRT transports, only slowing down to throw the lit explosives.
Bike; KTM Freeride E-XC
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, Baseball Bat, four Molotov Cocktails
Another of the chapters that made their debut in the gang war, the Liàn bāng (Chain Gang) chapter made brutal and bloody examples, as their favored tactic was to grip a target with their chains (they had practiced to use them as lassoes) before dragging their victims behind their bikes, releasing them bloodied and broken to jeers and laughter.
Bike; Alta Motors Redshift
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, Drag Chain, Metal Staff
The last of those that made their bloody debut as violence rocked the city was a testament to the fact that the ABB had an abundance of explosives (a given considering Oni Lee's typical tactics) and the Jeonjaeng kateu (War Cart) riders serve that role well. While it was undeniable that the Empire had MORE heavy weapons, the ABB compensated by making their weapon platforms more mobile. Here, the bike pulls a trailer, the cart, which has the gunner and their ammunition inside. There were three noted variants, all variations on the weapon emplacement in the cart.
Bike; Stark Varg
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, 'War Cart'
War Cart Load Outs; Launcher Cart (Potato Launcher (Hair Spray Fuel) and assorted grenades (2-3 Boxes). Gunner Cart (Tripod mounted M60 machine gun, 3 boxes of ammunition). Flamer Cart (Homemade Flamethrowers, swivel mounted. Drum of fuel in armored part of cart).
Once the gang war started, they were called into service as scouts and skirmishers and given permission to openly fly the ABB colors and to add additional gear to their loadouts. Of course, there were a few variants to the common Bōsōzoku member seen at this time. Their standard load out was as follows.
Bike; Kuberg Freerider
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, Pepper Spray, Metal Staff
With red flame decals, the Sanshō̄o (Salamander) chapter made their debut in the gang war, and quickly earned a reputation for lightning fast strikes and ruthlessness. With a load out of Molotov Cocktails, they made a name for themselves firebombing Empire held buildings, police cars and PRT transports, only slowing down to throw the lit explosives.
Bike; KTM Freeride E-XC
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, Baseball Bat, four Molotov Cocktails
Another of the chapters that made their debut in the gang war, the Liàn bāng (Chain Gang) chapter made brutal and bloody examples, as their favored tactic was to grip a target with their chains (they had practiced to use them as lassoes) before dragging their victims behind their bikes, releasing them bloodied and broken to jeers and laughter.
Bike; Alta Motors Redshift
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, Drag Chain, Metal Staff
The last of those that made their bloody debut as violence rocked the city was a testament to the fact that the ABB had an abundance of explosives (a given considering Oni Lee's typical tactics) and the Jeonjaeng kateu (War Cart) riders serve that role well. While it was undeniable that the Empire had MORE heavy weapons, the ABB compensated by making their weapon platforms more mobile. Here, the bike pulls a trailer, the cart, which has the gunner and their ammunition inside. There were three noted variants, all variations on the weapon emplacement in the cart.
Bike; Stark Varg
Armor; Motorcycle Helmet, Riding Boots, Leather Coat
Gear; Cell Phone with built in Camera, 'War Cart'
War Cart Load Outs; Launcher Cart (Potato Launcher (Hair Spray Fuel) and assorted grenades (2-3 Boxes). Gunner Cart (Tripod mounted M60 machine gun, 3 boxes of ammunition). Flamer Cart (Homemade Flamethrowers, swivel mounted. Drum of fuel in armored part of cart).