Assallya

Saint's Row: A Return to Ass-Kicking

The second guard was almost finished. Carlos kept up the pressure on the makeshift garrotte he had made of the telephone wire he had appropriated. The guard's face was purpling, drool was spilling out from the corner of his mouth and his arms were pumping with decidedly less vigor. Capable of nothing more than gurgles the guard was completely unable to yell for help. Carlos smirked, his own face red from exertion, his biceps taut with holding the wire tight. He did have some experience recovering money from those that were "in arrears" after all. Such activities involved doling out a little pain.

Once the guard collapsed unconscious, Carlos lowered the man to the ground and then stooped over him to change up his weapon, sliding the nightstick from the guard's belt.

"Sorry homes. Didn't mean to take so long," the young Hispanic replied, "I ain't some super chica ball buster. You got some mad skillz yo. Don't worry though. I got yo back. Which way we going? You want to sneak across the roof or bust through the front gate?"

Dimensional Tavern

A masquerade, Assallya had heard of such things in lavish lands amongst the jaded gentry. She'd never been in such lands however. She'd heard that the masks allowed the lords and ladies to engage in activities one might not dare pursue in public, impromptu liaisons, the spreading of pernicious, slanderous rumours, and all manner of sordid political maneuvers.

Taking the mad god's hand for fear of what he might do should she the audacity to refuse Assallya allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Shoes? She was wearing shoes of some sort. She had tried them on a pair once and hadn't liked the experience. The first few decades of her life she had never once worn them. They weren't necessary in a marble palace strewn with luxurious carpets and rugs. She'd worn sandals in the past but of late she'd resorted to a ring of magic that protected her feet as if she wore heavy boots.

Peering away from Sin for a moment she reached out for silver platter of masks being proffered and chose one that, at first glance, appeared to be a unicorn. It was a white face, a lady's face that was caricatured horrifically in a permanent rictus of pain and shock. That which she thought to be a horn was instead what appeared to be a golden dagger that had been wrought in such a way that it looked as if it was lodged within the forehead.

Good Old Fashioned Wizards Academy

One could go with a racist Empire of humanity that is determined to conquer the entire continent and subjugate all other races. They've already created concentration camps in their country for their 'undesirables". Maybe they tattoo the foreheads of those they allow to serve as their slaves?

Meanwhile, our country is composed of all sorts, possibly allied with others and is hoping to resist them.

Alternatively, we could be moral beings in the "evil empire country", conscripted into this school though not believing in its teachings. We'd much rather be on the other side but escaping the country would be nigh impossible.

Saint's Row: A Return to Ass-Kicking

Carlos was shocked by the casual brutality. He'd head things about this woman, how she'd taken down all the other gangs in Stilwater almost single handed. Seeing her blatant brutality with his own eyes made the legend real.

"Dayumn homes..." Carlos drawled.

Turning his attention to the nurse he spun her around. Carlos made the attempt to look stern, narrowing his brow and peering out through eye slits. He even lowered his voice an octave but it was piss poor attempt. The youth simply was too kind to pull it off convincingly. The kid may have been tough and had heart, he had to in order to take a shiv, but that heart was acting against him here.

"Listen here chica," he said in his most intimidating fashion, "Ye don't want to get yer ass whupped then you stay here."

Luckily the nurse was fairly timid. She cowered easily and when Carlos ushered her into the corner she remained there, curled into a small ball. Just to be safe, however, Carlos moved over to where the telephone was and ripped the cord out of the wall before looping the thin wire around his forearm.

Dimensional Tavern

Nothing stopping you. The tavern becoming a ball room is reason enough to post.

I just didn't want to speed post with our GM and have you guys wake up to twenty posts of our characters interacting

Dimensional Tavern

While I long to post... I believe that would be most unfair to our other players. I'm going to wait for a couple of posts before posting again.