@merrrrideth Who did Darla Ann bump into? INITIALLY there are two well dressed men in expensive suit.
Is it Pierre or Nathan?
After re-reading the post in question I think it was Nathan, but I could be wrong.
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After re-reading the post in question I think it was Nathan, but I could be wrong.
<Snipped quote by aladdin_sane>
Indeed! They should be most entertaining! Particularly when Rich man Mc Frenchie realizes it's just a bunch of other survivors instead of a small army of pet agents or whatever out to save the rich.
I'm also looking forward to when the apparent evidence of changes start getting noticed. That'll be a wild ride prob'ly. not to mention reactions to anyone recognizing something someone's turning into.
What is going rattle Pierre is not the fact that he is stuck with other survivors of a lesser pedigree or even that rescue is an impossibility, but the eventual realization that the collapse of global society renders him historical irrelevant as those around him...characterwise once he comes to terms with the idea his actions are only going to effect those in his general vicinity It will eventually put him on the road to redemption. I have a feeling that the most of the humor will derive from the player characters "growing into their powers and just character interactions in general; it will be a light spot in an otherwise grim setting.
<Snipped quote by aladdin_sane>
Of course some will clearly be arriving at different times from the look of things. I generally intend to wait about 2 days between each of my posts, unless of course everyone present gets their posts in quicker.
That is a good policy..gives everyone a chance to contribute. Can't wait for the character introductions to start.
Hector:
Crows...crows poured out of every orifice of the once proud lodge, a black horde engulfed the floor pecking the flesh from the bones of dead and eating away at the injured who were unable to defend themselves. Hector was lucky enough to retain use of one of his arms and used his gigantic hand to snap the neck of any crow inquisitive enough to venture too close to him; however, the radio host intrinsically knew his strength was fading fast and it would not be long before those filthy scavengers overtook him.
Hector was not a man who frightened easily, but the sense of powerlessness when confronted with the inevitability of his certain demise filled him with a sense of unease. He felt the beady little eyes of numerous crows staring at him, watching and waiting for the precise moment to strike; it would be a painful death as crows strike at the eyes first slowly ripping them form the sockets before pecking away at the body proper.
Hector thought of how Pierre betrayed not only him, but his entire organization and anger radiated across his entire body; while, anger dilutes the cognitive processes of others it has always made things clearer for Hector and suddenly the solution to his predicament was crystal clear like it was sent from the Lord upon high. It was clear his right arm would have to be amputated as it was indefinitely stuck, but the bones would have to be broken first otherwise he could not use his dagger to cleanly cut through the flesh.
He gritted his teeth as he began the painful process of breaking his right arm; it was eerily quiet as he did this thought as the plethora of crows had stopped what they were doing and were now unnaturally watching. Only after the arm was completely amputated did the crows return to devouring the dead. The next step for Hector was cauterizing the wound before he lost too much blood, however, much to his surprise the wound was already sealed; one second it was gushing blood and now it was sealed...even the pain of losing a limb had abruptly faded. He intently regarded his crucifix shaped dagger in awe at the power of his Lord. He always knew he was an instrument of God put on this Earth to violently cleanse the filth from society, but this was the first time that divine intervention saved his life. His chapped lips mouthed the Lord's Prayer as he made his way to the exit. Arriving to late to see or hear the flare Hector merely stumbled into the woods; hell bent on revenge.
Crows...crows poured out of every orifice of the once proud lodge, a black horde engulfed the floor pecking the flesh from the bones of dead and eating away at the injured who were unable to defend themselves. Hector was lucky enough to retain use of one of his arms and used his gigantic hand to snap the neck of any crow inquisitive enough to venture too close to him; however, the radio host intrinsically knew his strength was fading fast and it would not be long before those filthy scavengers overtook him.
Hector was not a man who frightened easily, but the sense of powerlessness when confronted with the inevitability of his certain demise filled him with a sense of unease. He felt the beady little eyes of numerous crows staring at him, watching and waiting for the precise moment to strike; it would be a painful death as crows strike at the eyes first slowly ripping them form the sockets before pecking away at the body proper.
Hector thought of how Pierre betrayed not only him, but his entire organization and anger radiated across his entire body; while, anger dilutes the cognitive processes of others it has always made things clearer for Hector and suddenly the solution to his predicament was crystal clear like it was sent from the Lord upon high. It was clear his right arm would have to be amputated as it was indefinitely stuck, but the bones would have to be broken first otherwise he could not use his dagger to cleanly cut through the flesh.
He gritted his teeth as he began the painful process of breaking his right arm; it was eerily quiet as he did this thought as the plethora of crows had stopped what they were doing and were now unnaturally watching. Only after the arm was completely amputated did the crows return to devouring the dead. The next step for Hector was cauterizing the wound before he lost too much blood, however, much to his surprise the wound was already sealed; one second it was gushing blood and now it was sealed...even the pain of losing a limb had abruptly faded. He intently regarded his crucifix shaped dagger in awe at the power of his Lord. He always knew he was an instrument of God put on this Earth to violently cleanse the filth from society, but this was the first time that divine intervention saved his life. His chapped lips mouthed the Lord's Prayer as he made his way to the exit. Arriving to late to see or hear the flare Hector merely stumbled into the woods; hell bent on revenge.
I figured that everyone was going towards the flare; I was just making sure before we get into the thick of it. :D
Huh, slow day it seems...oh, well ce la vie. Am I safe to surmise that everyone is attempting to group by the flare.
Pierre was about to leave the remnants of the Roosevelt Lodge when he sensed the presence of someone in his general vicinity...well perhaps 'sensed' is not the right word as Pierre literally felt the emotional state of this person even though he could not see or hear them; the odd sensation washed over him and he felt rather ill as the longer he focused on this person's particular emotions the sicker he felt. Much to his amazement his mind was telling him that the emotions he was picking up correlated to anger; however, this emotional link evaporated as abruptly as it had appeared.
"Hector?!" Pierre said in bemusement.
"Piers..." A weak voice answered from his left before trickling off.
The lobbyist slowly walked towards the general location the voice emanated from firmly gripping the confiscated MP5 until he came across a human form lying prone on the wooden floor and there could be no denying that this was Hector Williams; the tacky suit and large form gave it away. The gigantic man must have noticed him approaching as he began to speak once again.
"Piers...thanks be to merciful God you m...made it out in one piece...would not want you to filled with holes...like some damn Swiss cheese. You need to help m...I am pinned under this fucking shit."
Pierre briefly regarded the hope in his associates voice and the rubble pinning the man's right arm to what could be loosely called the ground before responding
"That is quite a predicament you've gotten yourself in General, but I do not need to do anything."
"You swine, after all my organization has done for you...you refuse to lift a finger to help me. Listen here Piers you cannot walk all over me like this is 2018; I have ensured that. Recall that millions now swear fidelity to my organiz..."
"Yet here you are trapped under a faux piece of timbering unable to free yourself. Spare me the rambling, and learn to face facts my frie...good fellow your power was merely an illusion perpetuated by myself. What you could never realize is that the public tires of sectarian violence perpetrated by both the left and right; they are ready for order and this recent wave of carnage unleashed by your thugs will have the bourgeoisie place the reigns of power in my hands as sometimes capitalism requires a Bonaparte to be its savior. Trust me this new wave of Marxism will be repressed, but the counter-revolution now must be fought in congress no longer on the streets. As the old maximum goes, "The revolution eats it children."" With that Pierre turns to go, but refrains and quips in a sarcastic voice, "Au Revoir Hector" before leaving the gigantic buffoon for good; muffled insults and threats could be heard from behind him, but Pierre ignored them as he exited the lodge.
The direct sunlight ravaged his eyes, but once the temporary blindness cleared the true horror unfolded itself, humongous cracks and crevices littered the landscape; cooled magma even still bubbled up from some of them. Countless bodies littered the what used to be the Lodge's grounds and the groans of the dying were carried by the breeze; it seemed whomever escaped the madness inside were greeted by an equally unpleasant death outside as evidenced by the dying man in the Brooks Brothers' suit whose flesh was being picked off the bone by crows or were those ravens. Pierre presumed there was some kind natural disaster, but he could never imagine one of this magnitude; well at least it was not him.
The scenery suddenly shifted and Pierre found himself back in the hive from his dreams; however, this time he was not alone as he was surrounded by thousands if not millions of quadrupedal insectoids that bore a striking resemblance to small horses. They all seemed transfixed on some central location and Pierre came to the realization that was were the voice from before was originating. He pushed his way through the crowd of odd creatures in an attempt to make his way to whomever the voice belonged to; it was less to with the questions he had for it, but more about letting go of the "I" and following the commands of the voice. A figure unlike the others began to take shape, but before Pierre could focus on the specifics he was once again whisked back to the real world.
The remnants of a flare lingered above the treetops and it was just now Pierre realized the sun was out of place, he checked his Rolex in disbelief. It has an illusion caused by dust in the air or something; he tried to think back to a National Geographic program he saw on the Yellow Stone volcano a few months prior, but alas he couldn't mentally verify if his synopsis was correct and his cell phone was rendering no connections of any kind. It did not matter much as the flare indicated some type of government agency was here to pick up the elites of society; why else would the flare be relatively close? He slung the MP5 over his back, fixed his hair, put on his best "I tried to save them" face and began to power walk towards the location the flare came from. No need to run mind you, he did not want to look too exhausted for when the inevitable photograph was taken of him emerging from the chaos. He chuckled he might allow Hollywood to make a movie of this ordeal; provided that they begged him for the rights.
"Hector?!" Pierre said in bemusement.
"Piers..." A weak voice answered from his left before trickling off.
The lobbyist slowly walked towards the general location the voice emanated from firmly gripping the confiscated MP5 until he came across a human form lying prone on the wooden floor and there could be no denying that this was Hector Williams; the tacky suit and large form gave it away. The gigantic man must have noticed him approaching as he began to speak once again.
"Piers...thanks be to merciful God you m...made it out in one piece...would not want you to filled with holes...like some damn Swiss cheese. You need to help m...I am pinned under this fucking shit."
Pierre briefly regarded the hope in his associates voice and the rubble pinning the man's right arm to what could be loosely called the ground before responding
"That is quite a predicament you've gotten yourself in General, but I do not need to do anything."
"You swine, after all my organization has done for you...you refuse to lift a finger to help me. Listen here Piers you cannot walk all over me like this is 2018; I have ensured that. Recall that millions now swear fidelity to my organiz..."
"Yet here you are trapped under a faux piece of timbering unable to free yourself. Spare me the rambling, and learn to face facts my frie...good fellow your power was merely an illusion perpetuated by myself. What you could never realize is that the public tires of sectarian violence perpetrated by both the left and right; they are ready for order and this recent wave of carnage unleashed by your thugs will have the bourgeoisie place the reigns of power in my hands as sometimes capitalism requires a Bonaparte to be its savior. Trust me this new wave of Marxism will be repressed, but the counter-revolution now must be fought in congress no longer on the streets. As the old maximum goes, "The revolution eats it children."" With that Pierre turns to go, but refrains and quips in a sarcastic voice, "Au Revoir Hector" before leaving the gigantic buffoon for good; muffled insults and threats could be heard from behind him, but Pierre ignored them as he exited the lodge.
The direct sunlight ravaged his eyes, but once the temporary blindness cleared the true horror unfolded itself, humongous cracks and crevices littered the landscape; cooled magma even still bubbled up from some of them. Countless bodies littered the what used to be the Lodge's grounds and the groans of the dying were carried by the breeze; it seemed whomever escaped the madness inside were greeted by an equally unpleasant death outside as evidenced by the dying man in the Brooks Brothers' suit whose flesh was being picked off the bone by crows or were those ravens. Pierre presumed there was some kind natural disaster, but he could never imagine one of this magnitude; well at least it was not him.
The scenery suddenly shifted and Pierre found himself back in the hive from his dreams; however, this time he was not alone as he was surrounded by thousands if not millions of quadrupedal insectoids that bore a striking resemblance to small horses. They all seemed transfixed on some central location and Pierre came to the realization that was were the voice from before was originating. He pushed his way through the crowd of odd creatures in an attempt to make his way to whomever the voice belonged to; it was less to with the questions he had for it, but more about letting go of the "I" and following the commands of the voice. A figure unlike the others began to take shape, but before Pierre could focus on the specifics he was once again whisked back to the real world.
The remnants of a flare lingered above the treetops and it was just now Pierre realized the sun was out of place, he checked his Rolex in disbelief. It has an illusion caused by dust in the air or something; he tried to think back to a National Geographic program he saw on the Yellow Stone volcano a few months prior, but alas he couldn't mentally verify if his synopsis was correct and his cell phone was rendering no connections of any kind. It did not matter much as the flare indicated some type of government agency was here to pick up the elites of society; why else would the flare be relatively close? He slung the MP5 over his back, fixed his hair, put on his best "I tried to save them" face and began to power walk towards the location the flare came from. No need to run mind you, he did not want to look too exhausted for when the inevitable photograph was taken of him emerging from the chaos. He chuckled he might allow Hollywood to make a movie of this ordeal; provided that they begged him for the rights.
<Snipped quote by aladdin_sane>
True words, I know it is common courtesy to keep a constant pace when RPing, but whenever posting becomes more an obligation than something you would willingly do for fun, it stops being fun. The greatest writings tend to be produced at the oddest times really.
Anyway, I liked that you added a bit of history to the world in Hector's bio. Helps add more depth not only to his character but also to the overall feel of this world we are recreating.
Ok enough blabbering, back to my post haha.
I agree, thusly I do not rush anybody when it comes to posting...I have trust that whomever I am roleplaying with will respond when the inspiration strikes. Unless GM nerfs it I figured that a little pre-incident world building could not hurt; the thing to remember is we are not representing characters in a vacuum I like to think that the in game world existed before the roleplay started so therefore history exists...little things like the aforementioned adds flavor to the game.
[Double Posted Nothing To See Here]
It is chill @oakman as I figured you were preoccupied irl. Sometimes the greatest roleplay ideas come when I am dreaming or when I am bored at work/class.
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