Can someone fill me in on what's going on in the story thus far? I really want to join this.
Afro Samurai
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Like a Raisin in the Sun
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Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I missed the whole 'abandoned city' thing. My bad, lol.
@Raineh Daze I think Reinhardt and Wolverine would enjoy a nice drink together.
His head still rung from the punch, he was sure he saw a few stars. After the rainbows subsided and he re-gained orientation, his first somber conscious thought was retaliation. Swift, sweet retaliation lay soft along the tips of his fingers--he saw it all in his head. He'd draw back and slap Lucille! BAM!. There was one problem: he was a) outnumbered b) he didn't know what this girl was capable of and c) his feet hurt and he didn't fancy running anywhere. Then, a new arrival. Mazone was somewhat suspicious, but he'd seen his share of robots. He'd even seen talking cats--the list of things he hadn't seen dwindled by the minute. He was a bit annoyed but these idiots were all he had right now, and he'd stick with them.
"Quinn, love, how do you do?"
@Yomojo @tex @Patches
"Quinn, love, how do you do?"
@Yomojo @tex @Patches
All in jest! He'd had himself a good laugh, and antagonized the first talking creature he'd ever come across. Yes, yes this was a fine beginning to an adventure! But the soft playfulness distilled into quiet focus within a moment. Something had crossed his mind, the weight of cat's words did strike him, no matter how silly:
"Were you brought up alongside pigs and monkeys?" a strange thing to make a man's mood switch, but it had its own poeia to it.
He began to feel like an outsider now. Purr-face's slander only amplified the sensation. More eyes fell on him, and he knew it. Kokotha's commoners had foreign flesh in their presence, and something told Mazone it wouldn't be long before somebody wanted a cold cut. No more laughter, his cocoa skin lost the wrinkles of smiles and his hazelnut eyes drained the mirth. It was all business now, he had to stay on his toes. Could he be sure he could trust Lucille? He couldn't trust the cat, he knew that much. He kept a steady hand's rest on the hilt of his rapier for the rest of the traipse to the Inn.
@Yomojo @tex
"Were you brought up alongside pigs and monkeys?" a strange thing to make a man's mood switch, but it had its own poeia to it.
He began to feel like an outsider now. Purr-face's slander only amplified the sensation. More eyes fell on him, and he knew it. Kokotha's commoners had foreign flesh in their presence, and something told Mazone it wouldn't be long before somebody wanted a cold cut. No more laughter, his cocoa skin lost the wrinkles of smiles and his hazelnut eyes drained the mirth. It was all business now, he had to stay on his toes. Could he be sure he could trust Lucille? He couldn't trust the cat, he knew that much. He kept a steady hand's rest on the hilt of his rapier for the rest of the traipse to the Inn.
@Yomojo @tex
He was bound to find one! After all these years, a talking cat! Not quite his style of speaking animal, though... this one had flare, he shouted elegant curses not even Mazone heard before. Brambles? What in the starred heavens are those? There was a tinge of insult reared across Mazone's entire body for all of five seconds. This insult fell to a wave of amusement. For all of it's curses and swears upon Mazone's place of origin--which Mr. Sprinkles here didn't even know and had no business disrespecting, in Mazone's honest opinion--it was just a cat. Lower on the bio-organic food chain than whales, dogs, dolphines even. Tetu had thoughts about returning his own volley of insults at the noble kitten, but then he figured he'd look just as idiotic as fluffykins.
"Hahahahaahahhahahahahahaahah! You're the pretty kitty, yes you are" Mazone shoved his compliment into mockery. After all, what could a cat do to him?
@Yomojo @tex
"Hahahahaahahhahahahahahaahah! You're the pretty kitty, yes you are" Mazone shoved his compliment into mockery. After all, what could a cat do to him?
@Yomojo @tex
(Rögdûl the Red Chief, Main. Fortress Gloria, Praelium.)
"Keep your men. You have a deal. We will return in two days ready to collect the stock."
And with that, the three Orcs got on their warhorses. They were not a people who dallied much in drawn out interactions or long conversations. Once their objective was achieved, they moved on to the next--it was how one had to operate in the northern hills lest he be feed for the starkok. As soon as they reached the camp, there was raucous debauchery. An unruly large fire burned up to the tips of the heavens, visible all across the deserts and even to the people of Praelium.
In two days, the conquest of the northern hills would begin--and so would the beginnings of the Red Claw's sovereign reign in the north.
"Keep your men. You have a deal. We will return in two days ready to collect the stock."
And with that, the three Orcs got on their warhorses. They were not a people who dallied much in drawn out interactions or long conversations. Once their objective was achieved, they moved on to the next--it was how one had to operate in the northern hills lest he be feed for the starkok. As soon as they reached the camp, there was raucous debauchery. An unruly large fire burned up to the tips of the heavens, visible all across the deserts and even to the people of Praelium.
In two days, the conquest of the northern hills would begin--and so would the beginnings of the Red Claw's sovereign reign in the north.
Black. Liquid Adamantium obfuscated his vision--one moment he was alive, present. The next, gone. Wolverine was dead. But then. . . it happened, a sudden burst of energy! A cascade of rage and fury he had never felt before!
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHRH!" Logan launched himself from beneath the cover of the unhardened tomb, claws shone against steaming yellow sun and sprouted a near-golden hue. It kept dripping off of him with every second until it pooled into its own small pit at the seams of his boots. But this wasn't New York. There were no taxis, no rude passerbys. . . where the hell was he? Still on a rooftop, that was for sure.
"What the @%&$?" he growled, his very being refreshed by the profanity. Whatever this place was, he had to find himself a new set of clothes and a cigar. He wasn't sure if all his faculties were there, yet--so he took the stairs. Logan was crass, some call him a killing machine--but he wasn't stupid. And he didn't quite enjoy rattling the metal skeleton in his body, it always hurt. After some time descending several flights, he was on the streets. Different streets than he knew, but the streets nonthesame. They'd have to do for now, 'cause he didn't know how he got here and he sure didn't know how he was getting back. This was home now. He did wonder how Jean was doing. If there's one thing he did regret now that he was here, it's leaving her in the hands of beam boy.
He barged his way into what appeared to be a clothes shop--he, of course, had no shirt on and his jeans had become jorts.
"Welcome, sir." a young freckle faced girl said.
"Fuck off, sweetheart." James hurled back. The girl was terrified.
He stole a shirt with a red heart on it and a pair of black pants; then he changed right in the store.
"Um, you can't do that in here, sir!"
James shot an impatient sneer. She spoke no more.
Of course, he wasn't one to expose himself to a young girl--that's indecent rape and at least one statutory rape claim no matter what dimension he was in. So, he turned away from her and proceeded to fully change. Then he left.
"But si--" the door slammed before she could finish.
Then Logan went on the hunt for the seediest bar he could find. He barged in, asked for a drink. No, twelve drinks. He couldn't get drunk, it wasn't like it mattered how many he ordered. He wasn't going to pay anyway.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHRH!" Logan launched himself from beneath the cover of the unhardened tomb, claws shone against steaming yellow sun and sprouted a near-golden hue. It kept dripping off of him with every second until it pooled into its own small pit at the seams of his boots. But this wasn't New York. There were no taxis, no rude passerbys. . . where the hell was he? Still on a rooftop, that was for sure.
"What the @%&$?" he growled, his very being refreshed by the profanity. Whatever this place was, he had to find himself a new set of clothes and a cigar. He wasn't sure if all his faculties were there, yet--so he took the stairs. Logan was crass, some call him a killing machine--but he wasn't stupid. And he didn't quite enjoy rattling the metal skeleton in his body, it always hurt. After some time descending several flights, he was on the streets. Different streets than he knew, but the streets nonthesame. They'd have to do for now, 'cause he didn't know how he got here and he sure didn't know how he was getting back. This was home now. He did wonder how Jean was doing. If there's one thing he did regret now that he was here, it's leaving her in the hands of beam boy.
He barged his way into what appeared to be a clothes shop--he, of course, had no shirt on and his jeans had become jorts.
"Welcome, sir." a young freckle faced girl said.
"Fuck off, sweetheart." James hurled back. The girl was terrified.
He stole a shirt with a red heart on it and a pair of black pants; then he changed right in the store.
"Um, you can't do that in here, sir!"
James shot an impatient sneer. She spoke no more.
Of course, he wasn't one to expose himself to a young girl--that's indecent rape and at least one statutory rape claim no matter what dimension he was in. So, he turned away from her and proceeded to fully change. Then he left.
"But si--" the door slammed before she could finish.
Then Logan went on the hunt for the seediest bar he could find. He barged in, asked for a drink. No, twelve drinks. He couldn't get drunk, it wasn't like it mattered how many he ordered. He wasn't going to pay anyway.
A cat. Nice. He always thought cats were decent animals--not as important or necessary on the food chain as dogs, but still serviceable creatures. He appreciated the natural allure cats had, especially the wild ones; the sleek walk, the silent purrs, the haunting eyes. Regardless of his preference toward dogs, he had always wished he found a talking cat and was rather suprised that in all his 31 years of living he hadn't encountered a single one. Not that it was common or anything, but in a world brimming with magic one assumes there are at least a few talking animals out there. He always wondered what kind of conversation he could have with one. Wishful thinking.
He did go and pet the cute little thing, though. His callous fingers set their course from the cat's head down the length of its tail in several steady strokes.
"Who's a pretty kitty?!?!" he cooed.
@Yomojo @tex
He did go and pet the cute little thing, though. His callous fingers set their course from the cat's head down the length of its tail in several steady strokes.
"Who's a pretty kitty?!?!" he cooed.
@Yomojo @tex
Mazone oozed comfort. Sure, he was in a foreign land--and he heard all the stories about how foreign folks are proverbially 'eaten alive' by townsfolk, but he wasn't too worried. He figured he could handle three or four rabble-rousers without a problem. At least he hoped he could. No medical insurance meant a whole lot of doctor's bills and probably some borrowing of money from some unsavory folks that he wouldn't be able to pay back in time. These kinds of things often lead to broken fingers, and how could he use his beloved swords if he had no thumbs?
"Well. There are rules: bow in the presence of a lord or lady; "Yes, m'lord", "No, m'lord." Military children like myself never dreamt of making friends with the king or queen's son. Sure, we were invited to the balls and treated like nobility, but that was only because our fathers had likely done a few favors for the kings--or even some upstart noble who thought she had claim to a royal seat--either way, we were a different kind of nobility. We weren't considered noble because of our birthright or our heritage, but because of our service. Once our usefulness to a certain king or queen was up, we were gone too. Most of 'noble' life is standing around at fancy balls talking pleasantries with someone who is likely to betray you once an opportunity comes. It makes one weary over time. My father grew old and shriveled before he was 50--his vigor, his youth, all stripped from him. I didn't want to live like that, so I left."
@Yomojo
"Well. There are rules: bow in the presence of a lord or lady; "Yes, m'lord", "No, m'lord." Military children like myself never dreamt of making friends with the king or queen's son. Sure, we were invited to the balls and treated like nobility, but that was only because our fathers had likely done a few favors for the kings--or even some upstart noble who thought she had claim to a royal seat--either way, we were a different kind of nobility. We weren't considered noble because of our birthright or our heritage, but because of our service. Once our usefulness to a certain king or queen was up, we were gone too. Most of 'noble' life is standing around at fancy balls talking pleasantries with someone who is likely to betray you once an opportunity comes. It makes one weary over time. My father grew old and shriveled before he was 50--his vigor, his youth, all stripped from him. I didn't want to live like that, so I left."
@Yomojo
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