Assallya

Saint's Row: A Return to Ass-Kicking

Carlos took the pistol and shotgun, shoving the pistol in his orange jumpsuit with the safety on. Definitely the safety, he didn't relish the idea of losing his "homeys" to an accidental discharge. The shotgun was a little unfamiliar to him. You didn't use the big guns very often to shake down someone when they missed a payment. Most of the time you just used a baseball bat and carried the pistol for backup.

Grabbing hold of a few tear gas grenades he shoved them into the hastily emptied gym bag. They'd come in handy for covering their escape and if necessary function like a weak smoke grenade.

"I..." Carlos said, swallowing, "I think so."

Raising his shotgun he pointed it at the closed door and steeled himself. He wasn't going to fail now.

Saint's Row: A Return to Ass-Kicking

Carlos, had paused, withdrawing around the corner outside the small office and hesitated when the other guard had started turning. He fingered his nightstick. This was decidedly different than shaking down a "client" for his payments. Most of the time you didn't have to lay a hand on them. You just flexed your biceps, said some scary things and they forked over everything they had. It was their own fault for accepting a loan from a criminal after all.

He could hear what was going down, recognized the standoff. He wasn't sure what to do until the former Saints lieutenant moved, taunting the guard in order to let Carlos know where she was. She'd maneuvered, backing away from the door so that the second guard wasn't looking in his direction. That's when he moved, slipping in silently and stepping up behind the guard. HIs nightstick snapped up and downwards, towards the spot where neck joined with shoulder. With a simple grunt the guard crumpled to his knees and then forward onto his face.

"And that's wha' you get for messin with the saints!" Carlos declared, shoving his extended forefinger and index finger towards the downed guard, "Eres un cerdo estúpido!"

Dimensional Tavern

Assallya could have done so much with her own illusions. Then the display became ever more increasingly complex. So many elements dancing, too many of them seemingly random. She could never weave something of such complexity. It was exceedingly impressive. His ability to conjure magic was so adept that Assallya feared to open her senses to the weave lest they be burned from her very skull. What she could do with such power, to pull at the very walls, hollow out space within greater spaces, to conjure food and drink that provided sustenance- She could rule a country at the very least, carve out even a place amongst the gods. Which drew out another question, what then was the source of his power? Magicians theorized that gods gained their vast reserves of power from their followers. Such talk was heresy, of course, but magicians had something of a reputation for upsetting the theocracy.

"Ostentatious," Assallya observed, fluttering a small lace fan at her neck while dwelling upon how she might steal away his power for herself, "You are quite adept."

Saint's Row: A Return to Ass-Kicking

Carlos was a little irked. While he'd hoped that she would have gone the way of the rooftop, using stealth and speed to get through the prison, he really knew that she'd want to take the direct approach. She had a reputation for wanton violence, for intimidation and incredible resilience. Quite simply put, when she wanted something, even if it was just to bust a few heads, she did it. It wasn't a question of if one should, or even could. You simply couldn't tell the woman something was impossible. She just out and did it.

-or at least, so the stories said.

Carlos nodded, trying to conceal the fear in his eyes, covering his insecurity with an adjustment of his purple beanie, the colour of the Third Street Saints. Bowing down low he grasped a ring of keys off the belt of the guard he'd taken out an tossed them in his new boss' direction. After all, when she returned to Stilwater she was going to put the gang back together. Which reminded him, he really should tell her about the state of the Saints at some point, that they had been disbanded. He didn't want to cause her to break stride however so that was going to have to wait.

Outlaws of Varisia (Pathfinder)

I certainly am not the GM and thus take my words with some modicum of hesitation. Assuming a target number of 10 + the guards' perception skill + wisdom bonus I would assume that's a failure.

The big question is how are the guards going to react to the failed attempt :)

I'm also uncertain if one should post the attempt to hide the object before letting our GM resolve the action or if we just post the die rolls in the OOC without writing the character making the attempt. *ponders*

Dimensional Tavern

Assallya, surprisingly wasn't a good dancer. At least, not in a tandem sense. She'd been taught a wide variety of dances but they had been singular affairs, more intended for the entertainment of others while they ate or to stoke their ardor. She, however, was catching on quickly. Several quick corrections kept her feet out from underneath Sin's and prevented them from tumbling across the floor. Then, with growing confidence, her slender legs began moving of their own accord, hips swaying to the movement. This, of course, provided more difficulty as she hadn't been taught that in the culture of ball room dancing, a woman's place was to follow a man's lead.

"So said the fox to the chicken," Assallya replied in response to her host's statement, using a rather quaint colloquial northerner's phrase she'd picked up in her travels.

Then came the twirl. She hadn't been expecting that, nor the dip that followed nor the prosthetic fangs. She almost wailed in outright terror, the sound only dying as she remember that, with his power, he could likely slay her with a single thought. Her fear was further quenched when his wide grin revealed the rim of the plastic insert, revealing the fangs to be false. Pressing her black painted finger nails against her bosom, she told herself to be stop breathing so heavily.

"So... you're supposed to be one of the Weyr people?" she asked, "one of those that turns into a beast, a weyrwolf?"

Outlaws of Varisia Pathfinder Campaign Interest Check

Whooot!

Fellowship-esque, Depressing, Fantasy Roleplay

Quite interested, particularly in grim nature of the premise.

On a divergent note, I question the literal interpretation of the "thousand times worse" statement. The Bubonic Plague killed fifty percent of the world. A thousand times worse than fifty percent would basically leave us with one or two people left on the entire planet. *grins* Maybe 1.8 or 1.9 times worse instead of a thousand? :)