AtomicNut

Into the Harsh Light of Day

Whew. Took a while but it's finally done. Cut cable and writer blocks aren't funny.

Into the Harsh Light of Day

"Mmemgh". Caroline grumbled as she lazily rose from her messed up bed, stretching out like an overgrown cat. Catching up had been nice, but both her and Klaus had now things to do. Flipping her cellphone, eyes lingering in the message, she let out a small grunt. "So, the top dog wants to snap his whip and summon us, uh? Why doesn't it surprise me?" She said rethorically, as no one else was around to hear her.

After a quick, refreshing shower and some fast dressing, she then headed out to the meeting. Or at least intended to, as she noticed a shambling figure down the street, converging on her position. Hands reaching quickly for her silver needles, she suspected of a crazed feral vampire sneaking up on her.

Until she recognized his face.

"¿Lord Ehren?" She asked, curious as to why he had decided to show up precisely now.

The Three Kings (High Casual)

((OOC: The fight can be toned down if it's excessive. I just wanted to set a terminator reference))

Miro

Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19

Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.

Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.

Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).

Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.

Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.

However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.

Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.

Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.

She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."

She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.

Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.

A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.

The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.

Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister.

Into the Harsh Light of Day

Brain melted. And gonna have a downtime. Someone cut the cable.

Blood, Riches and Glory: Ghosts of Iron Coast

Pyria

Child of the Flame

Location:Actium

And then, chaos unfolded. Pyria kept aloft above a considerable height by batting her wings furiously, eyes fixated in Luca. Sensing some sort of icy magic gathering around the man. All while he was perfectly willing to stay in the middle. Brave, but not very wise. And humans begin to bleed inside the place, with weapons in tow, looking mightyly pissed. In her deluded eyes, a clear sign of betrayal. They had been planning to do this from the very start.

"NOT EVEN THE GARRISON WILL SAVE YOU, LUCA." Pyria bellowed once more, and then several things happened in quick succesion. Someone made a draconic sound, which made Pyria turn her face in hope and antipacipation. She was not alone! But... it turned to be quite a trick. No other dragon was there. More human trickery, they all wanted to fight her. Have a piece of her hide. She couldn't trust any of them. They all were with Luca!

And then, the funny elf from before decided to jump on top of her as arrows rained. She arched under the weight, quickly losing altitude, as she shook the perp off. Even the elf wanted to make her taste the pain. There wasn't a single soul in the world who would help her. She didn't any help. And then a deafening song struck her senses, images of death and pain weakening her mind. Shaking her head, she winced slightly as she struggled to keep aloft, more arrows being thrown in her direction.

And then a manacle -her own manacle- collided against her snout, drawing blood in the process, and knocking a couple of teeth out. She reeled back, stunned, and almost fell to the ground, coming dangerously close to the garrison's blade's reach, before finally shaking him off. All while the song kept sapping her strenght. Pyria was feeling being quickly overwhelmed. She may not win this fight. She may not live through this ordeal. Her short life could end at any moment.

But...there were so many things to do. She couldn't die just yet. Not without a last blaze of glory. Fire ignited inside her mind. Washing all thoughts. Washing all traces of the ugly song. Newfound power coursed through her veins. Wrath. Desperation. Hatred. A true inferno inside the confines of her mind. Powering through the arrows, the storm, and whatever lame attacks the humans threw at her, Pyria managed to rise above once more.

ROAAAAAAR!!!!!

A deafening powerful roar, full of vindictiveness and hatred overpowered momentarily the song, the yells of men and orders, and even the thunders of the storm. Whelp or not. Young or not. She was still a dragon. A force of nature in her own. She stood aloft for the briefest moment, before ascending. Climbing. Higher. Into the clouds of the storm even.

Only some fool would take this for a retreat. She was preparing something much, much worse. Abandoning all hesitation, doubt and grief, Pyria braced herself. If she was to end up dead, battered and bleeding because of the attack, she would not care. When enough altitude was gained, she then flipped overself and began her dive. Gaining speed. What she lacked in physical maturity, she would use the speed of the flight to compensate. Faster. And faster. And then, in a deft move, she levelled her flight horizontally, just above the reach of people's blades.

Flames flickered in her mouth as she chose her central target. She exhaled deeply, and the whole scene was set on fire quickly around her, a fierce strafe run quickly carving a trail of destruction with Luca as the main target, threatening to burn him to the bone.

---

Tsabal

The Dark Whisperer

Location:Campus Magnus

"Human arrogance is certainly something." Tsabal shook her head as the mage quickly vanished after spewing some vague threats at her. Not like she feared the fool anyway. His lack of better judgement had cost him allies. If he was just as deft with his magic as he was with recruiting potential allies, he would have a hard time not smacking himself in the face with the staff. Tsabal gripped the pommel of her weapon slightly.

"I think this is how far we go with the attempts to form a powerful group to venture forth into the tower. Haa, it showed quite some potential. A waste." Tsabal elaborated on, before pondering on something. Her eyes went back and forth to the mixbreed and the elf. One is an abomination and the other one of the eternal enemies. Still both do have considerable restraint.

"Hm. Or maybe not. Three of us remain. We could do it on our own. It'll be a far shot, but I have to admit, I have no guarantee that the next people to come over will be even worse. At least you two are elves. Hatred enemies aside, It'll make you less prone to rush into things like that mage just did." She put a hand on her hip.

"So, I'll join you, if you wish to make a shot at it." The cleric hummed in a slightly singsong voice, as she took care of her donkey. All while the guards frowned at her.

Blood, Riches and Glory: Ghosts of Iron Coast

I think these attempts at helping might only make her madder...

And off to bed.

Edit: And done. The combined effect of all attempts... was quite the contrary. It was this or being comically knocked to the ground.

youtu.be/r_WxpjhzKHI - Funny how it both fits and It has a similar title.

Blood, Riches and Glory: Ghosts of Iron Coast

Ill cook up a post soon. I was waiting for THM to do a tandem post .

But be my guest if you want to post.

Blood, Riches and Glory: Ghosts of Iron Coast

Not to poop any parties, but can the whelp support someone on its back like that?

Also, Wal has just condemned himself to Imperial justice... I hope he has a plan, besides hoping the whelp can support him/doesn't throw him to his death.

@Frengo

Actually...no. If it was Serpica yes, but anything heavieer...

Blood, Riches and Glory: Ghosts of Iron Coast

Could be worth it.

Blood, Riches and Glory: Ghosts of Iron Coast

@AtomicNut Which brings me to the topic of Magnor Dragonblade. I mean, it's not certain that the "wraith" is him, although Gripus seems pretty sure. However, if it is him, I'm gonna need to add some flesh to that bone. He may even become playable, which might actually be the best way to go with it. Early days though atm, and he or his replacement doesn't need to make their way into things yet. However, I'll put it out there now:

Those who wish to take up the mantle of Magnor Dragonblade, a merchant-turned-Necromancer of legendary strength, may submit their proposals to me.

Alternatively, those who wish to create something in Magnor's stead i.e the initially mentioned wraith, who could well be a Lich or something even greater, then I'm all ears.

With regards to the undead players, Magnor/Replacement's entry into the game will have far reaching concequences for you guys, but I'll make sure you are all thoroughly informed in advance of any plans, and you'll all get to have a say in how things should go down. Truth be told, I'm happy letting you all do your thing at the moment, outside of Magnor's/Replacement's influence.

And on that note, Axis III may as well be made playable too. I literally have no concept for him, so there is a totally blank canvas there.

I think the best way to proceed, to anyone of you that are interested in the above, would be to PM me your proposals so that we can iron out any creases that I might foresee

@Frengo

So, if i get it right, you want us to make a baddie /high impact character profile?