Anderson Quest: Killing Vampires and Werewolves and Leprechauns (Hellsing/Bloodborne)
- Thread starter Tricia
- Start date
- Location
- A Place Miserably Bereft of Cats
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Well, key word being active. Of those three, only Gwyndolin actually does anything, and that more seems to be desperately denying that everyone he knows is dead or worse and the cosmological conditions that ensure his powers are rapidly vanishing than actually trying to accomplish any sort of objective.
- Location
- A Place Miserably Bereft of Cats
Uhhh Gwyndolin is literally why the Chosen Undead is even on that adventure. He's the one orchestrating the whole 'Link the Fire' thing. I'd wager that he's probably one of the most active divinities in DS1.
Entropy Judge
Recurring Bouts of Misanthropy
Don't people do things in the Armored Core series? Or did that stop after Last Raven?
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Wait, is he?
*reviews what story DS1 has*
Huh. Guess he's the exception, then.
Knight-Radiant
Recovering Rageaholic
[X] Summon Maria
The Fourth Monado
S U B A R A S H I I
- Location
- Away
[X] Summon Maria
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Or she'll be happy to have a new chance to rip it apart...nah, she's not gonna be happy I bet.
ChildishChimera
A umbran summon
- Location
- New York
[X] Summon Maria
AnonymousRabbit
Rabbit Faced
[X] Summon Maria
noahgab1133
Fluffy?
[x] Summon Maria
burningclaw2
The Power of the Tomato!
[jk] Attempt to summon Maria, get Alucard instead.
[x] Summon Maria
- Location
- Postcard from the Root
[X] Summon Maria
Not that it's really in question at this point.
Not that it's really in question at this point.
Boss Battle: vs. Martyr Logarius
Thinking back, Maria sure seemed like she needed a pick-me-up and nothing breaks a funk like wanton violence. Plus, Simon said she was descended from Cainhurst royalty, so maybe she'd enjoy seeing her home again.
The home which you've just finished vandalizing.
On second thought, just sticking to the fight sounds good.
You ring the massive, ancient bell the Messengers gave you, its rusted boom bashing aside the ubiquitous hiss of wind. About a minute passes before her familiar form coalesces into being, shining faintly white rather than the throbbing red of Yahar'gul's minions. She's almost difficult to see amid the blizzard of a backdrop, which will hopefully work to camouflage her for the upcoming smackdown.
She takes slow, deliberate steps, seemingly savoring the crunch of snow beneath her boots. She casts her gaze about, taking in the familiar stone bearded with ice, before walking to the edge nearest the lake and looking over it. Her hat threatens to make a break for it and she's forced to hold it down as it flutters furiously.
"Why are you here?" she says after some moments' reflection.
"Got invited; Queen Annalise herself wanted the pleasure o' my company. Odds are, somethin's waitin' between me and her, so I figured you and I could give it a right thrashin' together."
"What makes you think there's something waiting?"
"It's been somethin' of a recurrin' theme tonight. Plus the whole crusade thing."
"What crusade?"
Oh. Shit. Awkward.
"Guess it musta happened after ye left. See, there was this group called the Executioners and their boss Logarius may have kinda sorta purged the castle with genocidal fervor. Met one o' his fanboys earlier, he told me the whole story."
She very slowly rounds on you, eyebrow in a full upright and locked position.
"Guess Queenie's unpurgeable or somethin'," you helpfully continue.
"The nobles told stories of Great-Grandmother Annalise, about how she could rend men asunder with her hands and laugh at blows that would have felled fully-armored knights. It would not surprise me," she replies before sighing. "I suppose there's no point in dwelling on it. I left the castle behind long ago; it would not control me then and it will not control me now. Lead the way, Father Anderson."
Lead the way you do, marching through the archway with bayonets flashing and a bevy of quips sitting cocked and loaded at the forefront of your mind. When no colossal monstrosity drops from the sky or claws its way over the battlements, you slow your advance and look about the lengthy walkway. Tile slopes sit on either side, dotted with miniature towers and featuring no guardrails whatsoever between you and a much larger fall than you're comfortable taking. Two side-paths, which terminate in spiked dome structures, give the whole arena a pleasing cross shape.
A third spikey dome caps the end of the path, the torches upon it barely revealing a sizable throne through the curtain of furious snowfall. As you continue your approach, the figure atop it stirs.
Ice shatters with unexpected thunder as skeletal, frostbitten limbs peel themselves from the throne. Wild white hair writhes and coils beneath a golden crown, accompanied by a beard so thick that the bloodless skin of his face and the empty sockets within are only visible in the briefest flashes of torchlight. Towering in his robes, he staggers forward, leaning on a staff taller he with a crude, scythelike blade at its head.
The years haven't managed to kill him yet. Now you get to try.
[] Write in...
The home which you've just finished vandalizing.
On second thought, just sticking to the fight sounds good.
You ring the massive, ancient bell the Messengers gave you, its rusted boom bashing aside the ubiquitous hiss of wind. About a minute passes before her familiar form coalesces into being, shining faintly white rather than the throbbing red of Yahar'gul's minions. She's almost difficult to see amid the blizzard of a backdrop, which will hopefully work to camouflage her for the upcoming smackdown.
She takes slow, deliberate steps, seemingly savoring the crunch of snow beneath her boots. She casts her gaze about, taking in the familiar stone bearded with ice, before walking to the edge nearest the lake and looking over it. Her hat threatens to make a break for it and she's forced to hold it down as it flutters furiously.
"Why are you here?" she says after some moments' reflection.
"Got invited; Queen Annalise herself wanted the pleasure o' my company. Odds are, somethin's waitin' between me and her, so I figured you and I could give it a right thrashin' together."
"What makes you think there's something waiting?"
"It's been somethin' of a recurrin' theme tonight. Plus the whole crusade thing."
"What crusade?"
Oh. Shit. Awkward.
"Guess it musta happened after ye left. See, there was this group called the Executioners and their boss Logarius may have kinda sorta purged the castle with genocidal fervor. Met one o' his fanboys earlier, he told me the whole story."
She very slowly rounds on you, eyebrow in a full upright and locked position.
"Guess Queenie's unpurgeable or somethin'," you helpfully continue.
"The nobles told stories of Great-Grandmother Annalise, about how she could rend men asunder with her hands and laugh at blows that would have felled fully-armored knights. It would not surprise me," she replies before sighing. "I suppose there's no point in dwelling on it. I left the castle behind long ago; it would not control me then and it will not control me now. Lead the way, Father Anderson."
Lead the way you do, marching through the archway with bayonets flashing and a bevy of quips sitting cocked and loaded at the forefront of your mind. When no colossal monstrosity drops from the sky or claws its way over the battlements, you slow your advance and look about the lengthy walkway. Tile slopes sit on either side, dotted with miniature towers and featuring no guardrails whatsoever between you and a much larger fall than you're comfortable taking. Two side-paths, which terminate in spiked dome structures, give the whole arena a pleasing cross shape.
A third spikey dome caps the end of the path, the torches upon it barely revealing a sizable throne through the curtain of furious snowfall. As you continue your approach, the figure atop it stirs.
Ice shatters with unexpected thunder as skeletal, frostbitten limbs peel themselves from the throne. Wild white hair writhes and coils beneath a golden crown, accompanied by a beard so thick that the bloodless skin of his face and the empty sockets within are only visible in the briefest flashes of torchlight. Towering in his robes, he staggers forward, leaning on a staff taller he with a crude, scythelike blade at its head.
The years haven't managed to kill him yet. Now you get to try.
[] Write in...
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Strike from above. Decent enough room to put your parkour skills to use.
-[X] "I'll take high, you take low."
Like that time Anderson lept up the side of a building to comment on the coming terror of Alucard's Level 0.
And it's not like Anderson hasn't had badass midair strike moments before, like when he attacked Alucard right after he'd reunited with Integra and Seras.
-[X] "I'll take high, you take low."
Like that time Anderson lept up the side of a building to comment on the coming terror of Alucard's Level 0.
And it's not like Anderson hasn't had badass midair strike moments before, like when he attacked Alucard right after he'd reunited with Integra and Seras.
Last edited:
burningclaw2
The Power of the Tomato!
[X] Chuck a kitchen sink at him while attempting to make small talk.
-[X] Mix it with the occasional throw of random junk you collected.
-[X] Mix it with the occasional throw of random junk you collected.