Rolen von Keng
Sleeping Green Bear
- Location
- The Wilderness
- Pronouns
- Reader
[X] Execute - Take down the older brother first, letting him approach and then knocking his lights out.
[X] Activate Brawler of Midwood - Doubles the odds of success of the action taken above.
[X] Activate Brawler of Midwood - Doubles the odds of success of the action taken above.
OctarineShrike
Avatar of Mandos
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Has anybody considered the fact that activating Brawler locks it for the rest of the story arc??????
ThatGuyWithIdeas
Treize died for our sins
- Location
- Romania
[X] Evade and Escape - Run out of the alleyway as fast as you can, and hopefully, you'll break line of sight before either of them can use their supernatural powers?
[X] Do Not - No doubled odds, but if you would die as the result of a bad roll, you are instead assured to survive.
[X] Do Not - No doubled odds, but if you would die as the result of a bad roll, you are instead assured to survive.
Rolen von Keng
Sleeping Green Bear
- Location
- The Wilderness
[X] Write-in: Execute - Take down the younger brother first, enrage the older to recklessly approach and then knocking his lights out.
[X] Do Not - No doubled odds, but if you would die as the result of a bad roll, you are instead assured to survive.
I'd say we take the risk, but keep the ability for emergency situations.
[X] Do Not - No doubled odds, but if you would die as the result of a bad roll, you are instead assured to survive.
I'd say we take the risk, but keep the ability for emergency situations.
Hw far apart are the brothers in relation to Zane? Given that this is an alley, we can have an advantage depending on how large the alley area is, the amount of detrius present nearby among other features. Tangling with the powerless brother before aerokinesis boi gets smart also nullifies his powers somewhat.
Hmmm...
More to think about later.
Hmmm...
More to think about later.
[X] Write-in: Execute: See what is his dominant arm and stance. Essentially, a brawler without adequate training is 90% going to start swinging the basic caveman flail: An obvious whooping hook that even if with his aerokinetic powers, will be coming in straight towards your face with that power arm. You will be expecting that he'll be cheating you by amping this move up with his aerokinesis, same basic move but just sped up for power and speed. But jokes on him that you're used to seeing faster paced combat in the form of weapons training courtesy of Eskrima (as an extension of your Jeet Kun Do) and HEMA (The Buff History nerds at school). From them you've learned the hard way that no matter how fast you are, it won't matter if you know the exact move and trajectory that they'll make by the very stance and twitch of their bodies. Disguise the movement by going into the classic boxing stance, the moment the enemy toes the line into prepping the swing ,counter immediately. He can't exactly hit you as you leaned slightly back out of hitting range, base leg weight heavy while you're lead foot shoots to literally take the roots off from the enemy in either a crouching sweep or a spear kick straight into his nuts. Follow this up into a transition to boxing: hook to the noggin if he's still standing from the pain and (a)nother crushing stomp to the nuts as you immediately fly to the younger brother before he makes any moves.
Essentially a less acrobatic variation of the Zuko Comeback leg sweep:
OR a variation of the classic leg kick (MukJung poster boi classic)
Essentially a less acrobatic variation of the Zuko Comeback leg sweep:
OR a variation of the classic leg kick (MukJung poster boi classic)
Last edited:
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
Alright, votes are locked. Given the overall disorderliness, some of the tactics mentioned but not voted on may be implemented depending on their actual use and the outcome of the initial roll. Brawler of Midwood has been spent for this Story Arc.
Chapter 2 - Nipped In The Bud
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
Nipped In The Bud
It was a relatively simple affair to lean out of the telegraphed punch, then move back in and respond in kind. The look on the older Zuchezzi's face was priceless when he realized the sheer level of fist-shaped retribution that was approaching him at thirty-five miles an hour.
There was a sickening crunch, like someone biting through a loaf of air-dried, hardened bread, as the older man's nose crumbled under the blow; he cried out in anguish and was probably about to fall over, had Zane not caught the back of his collar and then thrust him forward, interposing him like a human shield to prevent his brother from activating whatever fearsome voodoo bullshit he wielded.
His brother scrambled with a scrape of his boot on the concrete underfoot, to move or to act in some other way, maybe to regain line of sight and do to Zane whatever he'd done to Spike only moments prior, but it was too late for him to have the chance.
Zane had already propelled the older brother in a rough, powerful shove, and both of the Zuchezzis promptly collapsed on the floor of the alleyway in a wild, pained tangle of limbs, too busy flailing around on each other to properly react to his own actions. This initial violence had lasted scarcely two or three seconds.
The following beat-down lasted for several minutes. Zane had systematically applied his knowledge of the human body's vulnerabilities to beat down the brothers until they were black and purple on the face, and afraid to even breathe. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, not even to a pair of adults with a decade of seniority over him, and given their cocky bravado and clear intent to do the same to him only moments earlier, he didn't feel much remorse.
As Zane stood in the afterglow, he reached into the mumbling, grunting older Zuchezzi's pockets and fished around in there, pulling out his cigarette pack.
Zane normally didn't smoke, but damn if this didn't call for a smoke.
He utilized the borrowed lighter. It was a cheap, flimsy thing of plastic, likely purchased very recently at a local kiosk. A few clicks later and a strong inhalation, and the cigarette in Zane's mouth was flaming orange at the tip. Zane drew in the smoke through his lungs and leaned over to blow it in their faces.
"Well, shit, old man," Zane finally said. "It looks like being the Last Airbender isn't that fucking helpful in the hood."
With a dismissive sneer, Zane pushed and then smeared the cigarette into the man's neck, producing a deep, pained hiss from the man as the fiery stick was put out. He didn't shuffle away or, for that matter, open his eyes, though. He was still rather out of it.
Zane delivered one strong kick to the side of his face, in a way that clipped his cheek against his teeth with a loud clack. The Zuchezzi's face practically snapped to the other side, with a slight, sputtering moan of pain.
The interior cheek tearing was sure to fill his mouth with blood, give him a distinctive flavor to remember this moment in the future.
If anyone asked, it'd be a true statement that Zane made the man taste his own blood.
After he was done, Zane elegantly robbed both of them of their possessions, deeming turnabout as fair play in this situation; he claimed their jewelry, phones, wallets, and even considered grabbing their coats but reasoned he didn't have any way to carry those off to the pawnshop without looking overtly suspicious.
The Zuchezzis also had a pair of strange black playing cards of some kind, covered in foil pockets.
After he was done mercilessly exacting vengeance, it was prime time to leave.
Zane roused both of his companions to a state that resembled a drunken stupor, rather than near-complete unconsciousness, and then unceremoniously dragged them out of the alleyway and marched them in the direction of their neighborhood. It was a very sluggish and very unpleasant walk; every few moments, Spike would abruptly slow down and hyperventilate while supporting himself on a wall, forcing Zane to move back to hurry him up. Brick seemed to be in a relatively better state, but other than a few curses and reassurances of their health, none of the boys spoke about what happened.
Just to be sure, Zane performed a few cursory check-ups on their state on the way back home to make sure neither of them had some kind of critical brain damage that'd result in them getting home safely and then dying anyway.
Alas, the trio had the desperate honor of living in the United States. If one of them had a lethal injury, they'd have to choose between the relatively fast and painless option of dying to the internal hemorrhaging, or the relatively agonizing and prolonged option of calling an ambulance and drinking themselves to death after the hospital bill arrived.
In the end, though, it seemed like Spike and Brick were fine.
A couple of bruises, maybe a fractured rib on Brick, and Spike's wounds appeared almost exclusively psychological, but it was all rather understandable - and in fact, rather lucky, given their opponents were a pair of fucking wizards from the same freaky Neverlandia the Mangler probably crawled out of.
Brick's small, cluttered apartment was closer, so both of them delivered him there and left with a brief goodbye. After that, Spike and Zane proceeded to walk through the streets, with the former stopping every few moments and closing his eyes and moving erratically, refusing to explain when Zane asked what was wrong.
As they approached Spike's apartment, the boy stopped for a moment, and dryly noted, "You didn't kill them."
"No," Zane said. "I beat them senseless. And you know the rules. No murder. I don't want that shit on my record, especially if the cops discovered they were fucking wizards."
"But you made it hurt," Spike extrapolated. When Zane picked them up, they hadn't lingered for long on the scene, but Spike probably caught the sight of a pair of shadowy figures mumbling in pain on the ground of the alleyway.
"Yes."
There was a brief moment, as Spike breathed in deeply, and then breathed out. To Zane's immense surprise, a few tears had rolled down his cheeks as he sniffled and breathed shudderingly. Zane was tempted to raise an eyebrow but didn't.
"Good. At least we have that much. Any good stuff?" Spike blinked the tears out of his eyes and then used his sleeve to wipe them off, as he sniffed.
"A ring and a bracelet, phones," Zane said with a shrug. "Common stuff, but good quality."
"Keep them, pawn them," Spike instructed, voice sounding increasingly breathless.
"What happened to you?" Zane decided to ask, at that moment, repeating his earlier questions and hoping their brief conversation might nail some chink in Spike's reluctance. It was clear that something was wrong.
"I don't fucking know," Spike admitted with a defeated voice. "I'm not sure. It was- I saw some shit. It was like he threw me into a dream - a nightmare, but a really vivid one. I don't want to talk about it. It was some fucked up shit, upper case. No one should have to see things like that, or hear about them."
There was a sudden hardness to his tone, that implied he really didn't want Zane to inquire more, punctuated with a brief, daring look.
Spike always prided himself on being tough and determined, unafraid, and Zane could grant him that he usually was.
At that moment, he didn't sound like any of that.
He sounded like a grown man who'd gotten lost in the woods on a hiking trip and was forced to cannibalize his family for sustenance a few months in, continuing to survive for years until finally being rescued after having already gone slightly feral.
He sounded like he was glad that whatever happened was finally over, quite literally as if waking up from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll see you later," Spike said. He started to turn, intending to move up the stairs to his apartment. "Keep the stuff you took, or pawn it. You deserve it for kicking their shit."
Zane nodded. He'd planned to do that anyway, given his friends' lack of contribution to the fight. Law of the streets in their gang dictated loot of any kind was divided based on merit and contribution, with the potential to be vetoed by whoever led a particular group or pack. In conventional terms, since Zane was the only person who showed any kind of significant resistance and defeated the enemy, he'd get the majority if not all of the stolen goods.
"Later, then."
Sighing deeply, Zane turned around and massaged his raw knuckles as he started walking in a random direction.
---
Current Ambrosia: 3.2
By the courtesy of some very lucky rolls, and activating Brawler of Midwood, Zane has not only survived his ordeal, but came out of it with some impressive loot - at the moment, he's not even aware the pair of cards in his jacket's pocket hold immense power, worth far more than any common trinket...
Where should he go for the night?
[ ] Uncle Shen's Place
Shen, Zane's slightly estranged uncle and his ex-martial arts teacher is the landlord of a small number of oriental lodging houses, cheap studio apartments, as well as a traditional Chinese restaurant in Chinatown of Lower Manhattan. Although they haven't spoken in over two years, except via occasional phone call (the man was Zane's legal guardian, so there were some matters they needed to converge on,) it seems like meeting a pair of gangster sorcerers is a good reason to speak with the man. It also gives Zane a valid reason to ask him for permission to spend the night, away from the gangs.
Frankly, given some of the old man's feats, Zane is half-convinced the man's probably a sorcerer himself. He once saw Uncle Shen punching a rude patron literally through a window when the man refused to leave his restaurant, and somehow, with no grievous injury to the patron himself.
Anyway, if anyone would know about freaky voodoo shit, it's probably Uncle Shen.
[ ] The Demons' Crib
A safehouse of the Demons, in which Zane regularly stays. The upside is that he doesn't get another lecture from Uncle Shen about his lifestyle; the downside is that it's a place filled to the brim with Zane's fellow scumbags - people that he's hopefully going to be trying to cut contacts with, going forward.
It's not a quiet or friendly environment for meditation by any means. Another upside is that you avoid notoriety.
[ ] Write-in - It's completely valid for you to tough it on the streets, or seek out a pawnshop that's still open and sell the loot first, or even find a hotel room to mull the night's events over.
It was a relatively simple affair to lean out of the telegraphed punch, then move back in and respond in kind. The look on the older Zuchezzi's face was priceless when he realized the sheer level of fist-shaped retribution that was approaching him at thirty-five miles an hour.
There was a sickening crunch, like someone biting through a loaf of air-dried, hardened bread, as the older man's nose crumbled under the blow; he cried out in anguish and was probably about to fall over, had Zane not caught the back of his collar and then thrust him forward, interposing him like a human shield to prevent his brother from activating whatever fearsome voodoo bullshit he wielded.
His brother scrambled with a scrape of his boot on the concrete underfoot, to move or to act in some other way, maybe to regain line of sight and do to Zane whatever he'd done to Spike only moments prior, but it was too late for him to have the chance.
Zane had already propelled the older brother in a rough, powerful shove, and both of the Zuchezzis promptly collapsed on the floor of the alleyway in a wild, pained tangle of limbs, too busy flailing around on each other to properly react to his own actions. This initial violence had lasted scarcely two or three seconds.
The following beat-down lasted for several minutes. Zane had systematically applied his knowledge of the human body's vulnerabilities to beat down the brothers until they were black and purple on the face, and afraid to even breathe. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, not even to a pair of adults with a decade of seniority over him, and given their cocky bravado and clear intent to do the same to him only moments earlier, he didn't feel much remorse.
As Zane stood in the afterglow, he reached into the mumbling, grunting older Zuchezzi's pockets and fished around in there, pulling out his cigarette pack.
Zane normally didn't smoke, but damn if this didn't call for a smoke.
He utilized the borrowed lighter. It was a cheap, flimsy thing of plastic, likely purchased very recently at a local kiosk. A few clicks later and a strong inhalation, and the cigarette in Zane's mouth was flaming orange at the tip. Zane drew in the smoke through his lungs and leaned over to blow it in their faces.
"Well, shit, old man," Zane finally said. "It looks like being the Last Airbender isn't that fucking helpful in the hood."
With a dismissive sneer, Zane pushed and then smeared the cigarette into the man's neck, producing a deep, pained hiss from the man as the fiery stick was put out. He didn't shuffle away or, for that matter, open his eyes, though. He was still rather out of it.
Zane delivered one strong kick to the side of his face, in a way that clipped his cheek against his teeth with a loud clack. The Zuchezzi's face practically snapped to the other side, with a slight, sputtering moan of pain.
The interior cheek tearing was sure to fill his mouth with blood, give him a distinctive flavor to remember this moment in the future.
If anyone asked, it'd be a true statement that Zane made the man taste his own blood.
After he was done, Zane elegantly robbed both of them of their possessions, deeming turnabout as fair play in this situation; he claimed their jewelry, phones, wallets, and even considered grabbing their coats but reasoned he didn't have any way to carry those off to the pawnshop without looking overtly suspicious.
The Zuchezzis also had a pair of strange black playing cards of some kind, covered in foil pockets.
After he was done mercilessly exacting vengeance, it was prime time to leave.
Zane roused both of his companions to a state that resembled a drunken stupor, rather than near-complete unconsciousness, and then unceremoniously dragged them out of the alleyway and marched them in the direction of their neighborhood. It was a very sluggish and very unpleasant walk; every few moments, Spike would abruptly slow down and hyperventilate while supporting himself on a wall, forcing Zane to move back to hurry him up. Brick seemed to be in a relatively better state, but other than a few curses and reassurances of their health, none of the boys spoke about what happened.
Just to be sure, Zane performed a few cursory check-ups on their state on the way back home to make sure neither of them had some kind of critical brain damage that'd result in them getting home safely and then dying anyway.
Alas, the trio had the desperate honor of living in the United States. If one of them had a lethal injury, they'd have to choose between the relatively fast and painless option of dying to the internal hemorrhaging, or the relatively agonizing and prolonged option of calling an ambulance and drinking themselves to death after the hospital bill arrived.
In the end, though, it seemed like Spike and Brick were fine.
A couple of bruises, maybe a fractured rib on Brick, and Spike's wounds appeared almost exclusively psychological, but it was all rather understandable - and in fact, rather lucky, given their opponents were a pair of fucking wizards from the same freaky Neverlandia the Mangler probably crawled out of.
Brick's small, cluttered apartment was closer, so both of them delivered him there and left with a brief goodbye. After that, Spike and Zane proceeded to walk through the streets, with the former stopping every few moments and closing his eyes and moving erratically, refusing to explain when Zane asked what was wrong.
As they approached Spike's apartment, the boy stopped for a moment, and dryly noted, "You didn't kill them."
"No," Zane said. "I beat them senseless. And you know the rules. No murder. I don't want that shit on my record, especially if the cops discovered they were fucking wizards."
"But you made it hurt," Spike extrapolated. When Zane picked them up, they hadn't lingered for long on the scene, but Spike probably caught the sight of a pair of shadowy figures mumbling in pain on the ground of the alleyway.
"Yes."
There was a brief moment, as Spike breathed in deeply, and then breathed out. To Zane's immense surprise, a few tears had rolled down his cheeks as he sniffled and breathed shudderingly. Zane was tempted to raise an eyebrow but didn't.
"Good. At least we have that much. Any good stuff?" Spike blinked the tears out of his eyes and then used his sleeve to wipe them off, as he sniffed.
"A ring and a bracelet, phones," Zane said with a shrug. "Common stuff, but good quality."
"Keep them, pawn them," Spike instructed, voice sounding increasingly breathless.
"What happened to you?" Zane decided to ask, at that moment, repeating his earlier questions and hoping their brief conversation might nail some chink in Spike's reluctance. It was clear that something was wrong.
"I don't fucking know," Spike admitted with a defeated voice. "I'm not sure. It was- I saw some shit. It was like he threw me into a dream - a nightmare, but a really vivid one. I don't want to talk about it. It was some fucked up shit, upper case. No one should have to see things like that, or hear about them."
There was a sudden hardness to his tone, that implied he really didn't want Zane to inquire more, punctuated with a brief, daring look.
Spike always prided himself on being tough and determined, unafraid, and Zane could grant him that he usually was.
At that moment, he didn't sound like any of that.
He sounded like a grown man who'd gotten lost in the woods on a hiking trip and was forced to cannibalize his family for sustenance a few months in, continuing to survive for years until finally being rescued after having already gone slightly feral.
He sounded like he was glad that whatever happened was finally over, quite literally as if waking up from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll see you later," Spike said. He started to turn, intending to move up the stairs to his apartment. "Keep the stuff you took, or pawn it. You deserve it for kicking their shit."
Zane nodded. He'd planned to do that anyway, given his friends' lack of contribution to the fight. Law of the streets in their gang dictated loot of any kind was divided based on merit and contribution, with the potential to be vetoed by whoever led a particular group or pack. In conventional terms, since Zane was the only person who showed any kind of significant resistance and defeated the enemy, he'd get the majority if not all of the stolen goods.
"Later, then."
Sighing deeply, Zane turned around and massaged his raw knuckles as he started walking in a random direction.
---
Current Ambrosia: 3.2
By the courtesy of some very lucky rolls, and activating Brawler of Midwood, Zane has not only survived his ordeal, but came out of it with some impressive loot - at the moment, he's not even aware the pair of cards in his jacket's pocket hold immense power, worth far more than any common trinket...
Where should he go for the night?
[ ] Uncle Shen's Place
Shen, Zane's slightly estranged uncle and his ex-martial arts teacher is the landlord of a small number of oriental lodging houses, cheap studio apartments, as well as a traditional Chinese restaurant in Chinatown of Lower Manhattan. Although they haven't spoken in over two years, except via occasional phone call (the man was Zane's legal guardian, so there were some matters they needed to converge on,) it seems like meeting a pair of gangster sorcerers is a good reason to speak with the man. It also gives Zane a valid reason to ask him for permission to spend the night, away from the gangs.
Frankly, given some of the old man's feats, Zane is half-convinced the man's probably a sorcerer himself. He once saw Uncle Shen punching a rude patron literally through a window when the man refused to leave his restaurant, and somehow, with no grievous injury to the patron himself.
Anyway, if anyone would know about freaky voodoo shit, it's probably Uncle Shen.
[ ] The Demons' Crib
A safehouse of the Demons, in which Zane regularly stays. The upside is that he doesn't get another lecture from Uncle Shen about his lifestyle; the downside is that it's a place filled to the brim with Zane's fellow scumbags - people that he's hopefully going to be trying to cut contacts with, going forward.
It's not a quiet or friendly environment for meditation by any means. Another upside is that you avoid notoriety.
[ ] Write-in - It's completely valid for you to tough it on the streets, or seek out a pawnshop that's still open and sell the loot first, or even find a hotel room to mull the night's events over.
Tyrant_Rayne
Probably Not Evil… Maybe
- Location
- Canada
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
[X] Uncle Shen's Place.
ALWAYS talk to a potential mystic after some magic shit happens to you, and you can't go wrong with family.
ALWAYS talk to a potential mystic after some magic shit happens to you, and you can't go wrong with family.
- Location
- Ostren
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
I wonder how the card system works. Is it a dream quest type of thing, are the powers we get always the same, or tailored for each different wielder? Are the gods which are apparently hosting this old mythology type stuff, or new mashup stuff?
Would probably be useful for omakes and stuff, if it isn't a spoiler going forwards.
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
Would probably be useful for omakes and stuff, if it isn't a spoiler going forwards.
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
Fellow Muscle Wizards Unite!
Fellow Muscle Wizards Unite!
- Pronouns
- He
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
Can you please write out the plan that is chosen? I don't want to read through pages or find a tally to know the final decision. Also the rolls too if it's not too much trouble.
Can you please write out the plan that is chosen? I don't want to read through pages or find a tally to know the final decision. Also the rolls too if it's not too much trouble.
- Location
- a place
[X] Uncle Shen's Place
- Location
- Abu Dhabi or Manila depending on the time of year
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Uncle Shen's Place