Are we losing anyone due to school this fall?
I start at college tomorrow, but hopefully that shouldn't really impact my posting schedule. But, who knows? Maybe I'll get a social life get slammed with work.
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STATUS: I feel sorry for you if you let AI generate ANY of your prose. Real hack work. That goes for images too. 8 days ago
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I feel sorry for you if you let AI generate ANY of your prose. Real hack work. That goes for images too.
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17 days ago
They should give me the power to blow up homophobes with my mind, I think
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Dead internet theory doesn't really feel like a theory sometimes
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Walked along the sand dunes of the Sahara desert for 40 days and 40 nights with nothing but a pack of Newports and a fifth of Henny. I really do this shit
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These cops are interrogating me about an ounce of weed as if I didn't kill an Applebee's hostess two miles away
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Most Recent Posts
I start at college tomorrow, but hopefully that shouldn't really impact my posting schedule. But, who knows? Maybe I'll get a social life get slammed with work.
On the subject of costumes:
That’s all I care to list, for now. May post more later.
That’s all I care to list, for now. May post more later.
”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Riders on the Storm: Part Five
“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”
-Anonymous
Warpath, Texas
They were both jammed in the Saloon now, keeping them back from the windows as best as they could. Some part of the idea was make ‘em think that The Saloon was their last stand, like an old Eastwood picture; when in reality the thing was the biggest bomb Texas had ever seen.
"Cavalry's here." I stood up, twisting around to the entrance of the old saloon. "You got this place primed and ready to blow at a moment's notice?"
“It’s fixin’ to blow like The Alamo!” Vig hollered. He was down to his last two pistols, and it seemed Frank was, too. Thankfully, they kept up a tight enough wall of lead that none of ‘em had breached. Yet. He wasn’t sure how many of ‘em were left. Between him and Frank, they’d dropped several dozen, but who knows how many were left? Maybe his initial assessment was wrong. Maybe there were untold legions of ‘em, and he only saw a hundred from the get-go. But no matter how many there were, they had to stand and fight ‘em to the last man.
In the back of Vig’s mind The Spirit cowered, sequestered away behind whatever mental walls it found to hide behind, crying like a wounded animal. Vig would’ve thought that the thing would take pleasure in it. Unrelenting carnage and eradication of damned souls, no holds barred. Instead it hid from them. The role that The Spirit normally held in his mind had seemed to fade and be replaced by a primal animal made of fear. A mass of squealing souls reduced to a cat on a hot tin roof. Blaze had seemed afraid of them, too; but what was it? For all their darkness n’ the spirit-stuff they leaked, they were more or less ordinary folk with guns. A whole goddamn lot of ‘em, to be sure, but just men.
Regardless of what it was that kept it away, now would’ve been really goddamn good time for it to jump on outta the birthday cake. There wasn’t anything really human thing for it to hurt. Vig felt himself firing his guns on autopilot, but he reached into the back of his mind, clawing for The Spirit, trying to pull it out of its hiding place.
”No...” It whispered. For the first time it was like there was a great big wall between them. Any line in the sand Vig had tried to make The Spirit had gleefully crossed and played havoc with his mental defenses. But now it was obstinate, refusing to come out. It was like trying to drag an old racing horse out of the barn, when all the fight in him was gone. But for a moment there was a breach. As if a miniscule fragment of whatever The Spirit was floated across the breach to caress Vig’s face.
”Understand.” It begged. Vig felt his focus dragged back to reality, the rhythmic movement of his hands and his trigger pulls. Each Hunter that passed a window pulsed with arcane power. Wisps of purple and red weaved among the black, twisting together like thorns on a briar bush. They were ingrained up and down The Hunters arms and all up their bodies, even spiraling from their palms into their weapons themselves. They radiated an energy that Vig couldn’t place, it was neither Daemonic or Holy, but whatever it was, it burnt him to his very core. He felt it in every cell, pain stabbing through his sinuses and into the crevices of his brain. Whatever it was, it was engineered to kill him.
Vig heaved out a cough and stumbled backwards, missing an easy headshot. He shook his head to clear his vision. Some of them had started to burst through now, shattering a window only to be put down by a bullet to the head. Whatever that just was… Seemed The Spirit had a good enough excuse, time being. Now was time to focus on letting the place blow.
Nothing fancy, the explosives were tied to the tripwire that lead out the backdoor. Once that got sprung, all the boxes of dynamite and all the molotvs and frag mines in between would blow the ol’ Crossroads sky high. But there was a snag they hadn’t considered. There were so many of ‘em that it’d be hard to make sure the explosion wiped ‘em all at once. They’d been expecting a together knit group, a team, and that charge into the Saloon in one burst. Instead, a straggler might burst through and inadvertently save the rest of his friends. Someone would need to stay behind and make sure the house and nice and packed before they happened.
”Frank! End game time, compadre! Meet ‘cha out back!” Vig started taking his steps back as the horde started to pull in, inch by inch. It wasn’t much of a choice. Greg Saunders was more or less an old world cowboy with a demon camping in his soul and a head full of baggage. Frank Castle was a family man with a lot of pain in his heart. A pain that, whether he liked it or not, would let him save the whole goddamn world. And maybe Warpath along the way.
”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Riders on the Storm: Part Four
“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”
-Anonymous
Warpath, Texas
The firefight was like Hell on Earth, and in a way that was comforting.
The hordes of Bounty Hunters swirled after him, each taking another's place as they dropped. At least Frank had split 'em up; his guns worked a whole lot better in close quarters. Their horses didn’t much take to being crammed between tight rows of windows. But the closer the Black Riders got the further The Spirit seemed to recede, sparsely whispering in protest. Vig ignored it and focused on the rhythm of his guns.
“BLAM BA-BLAM KA-BLAM” His revolvers kicked in his hands as he fanned the hammer as fast as he could. He could feel the heat of the cylinders through his cowhide gloves. It was just like his Pap had taught him. Focus on the gun.
“The only things in the world are yer weapon and yer enemy. Know yer gun like you know yerself. Learn the beat of the hammer an the whistle of the rounds. Sight up n’ aim true. Look yer enemy in the whites of his eyes an’ pull the trigger.”
There was somethin’ about justice in there, too, but it didn't seem relevant to the screaming mass of spirits he faced now. Aim, shoot, kill -- er, disintegrate or whatever the hell was happenin’ to the things. Every head blown off or heart punctured was met by an inhuman screen and renewed fervor in their attacks. The bullets came faster and more and more plumes of sand jumped up around his ankles. At this point, the only real way to keep ‘em at bay was to kill them so fast that their fading bodies became makeshift barricades.
Not long to the Saloon now, anyhow. Just had to trick ‘em into going in and blow ‘em to kingdom come. They were packed in tight to one another, their horses struggling to breach the alleyway and advance on Vig’s position. A handful of shots went wide; sometimes they hit each other. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
“The bounty is collected!” A voice erupted from Vig’s left as a inky black form shattered and spilled out of the window, tackling Vig to the ground. Damn things had gone around. Vig squirmed as best he could, trying to bring his gun to bear. He felt two knees on his chest while the Hunter looming over him unsheathed a knife from its chest. The knife sailed for his head and Vig juked to the right and slammed his forehead into the Hunters chest.
The crack of its chest bone was masked by the shattering of windows all around. The Hunter hissed and drew its hand back to its injury. Vig jammed a gun into its mouth and had already sighted his next target before he pulled the trigger.
Black gore exploded over his face while his other gun barked and dropped another Hunter. The Spirit yelped like a cornered pup in the recesses of Vig’s mind. They were everywhere. Vigilante’s world was a sea of black bodies, advancing on him with knives and whips, wizened up on not hitting their buddies. Vig fired from his the ground anyways, pushing himself back to the nearest wall and forcing himself to stand up against it. He dropped his pair of revolvers and yanked a fresh set the instant he’d fired his last round.
The tips of whips brushed his skin instants before their owners detonated into plumes of viscera and knives near made holes in his new button up before a torrent of lead beat them back. Blood started to run down his body as their cuts got a little deeper every time, that much closer to cooking his gosh darned goose. Vig remembered what he’d said to Johnny Blaze.
“Sheriff Saunders didn’t raise no slouch.” Vig grunted. He brought one gun up to bear and fired indiscriminately, keeping them back as best he could while the other hand blew holes through the wall behind him. Greg threw himself back and smashed through the weakened wood, crashing through a precarious pyramid of knicknacks. He was in the general store.
Greg jumped to his feet while Hunters slashed their way through the walls and bashed through what windows there were. He pulled his lariat from his side and it shot to the other end of the store. He heaved a sent a case of soda pop crashing into the first Hunter through the breach.\
The second lunged at him, but he sidestepped it and fired. It was dead before it hit the floor. Vig twisted his arm and his lariat snapped the knife out of another Hunters hand. As he worked he retreated to the front of the store, hurling cheap goods and shooting as fast as he could cycle the revolvers.
Finally he shouldered open the store’s door and found himself in the main road. There, just a block down the road, The Crossroads Saloon seemed to beckon. Asking him to have one last drink before he blew the town’s most recognizable landmark to smithereens.
”I’ll give ya that y’all got gumption, but y’all’re already worn slap out!” He taunted them as he ran for it. He dropped his lariat and his gun and broke into a full tilt sprint for the bar. Jne set of pistols left between him and Frank being demon chow. Hopefully ‘The Punisher’ had done his bit and Vig wouldn’t end up stuck trying to throw the trap on his lonesome.
For me, there's really been a lot I intended to accomplish that I haven't gotten around to. Part of that it me joining late relative to a lot of you, but a lot of it is getting ready to go away to school soon and going on a "last hurrah" sorta thing with some friends that sucked away my time.
I originally intended Vig's arc this season to focus a lot more on his relationship with the Seven Soldiers, but I ultimately decided that going more intimate with what's happening with Vig would be the better way to to. Season Two will ideally see the reunion of the team and be a lot more about interpersonal relationships between them.
In terms of plot goals this season, I'm pretty short of the mark. Originally I wanted Vig to run through a gauntlet of ten villains, culminating in a showdown with The Hand himself. But what was supposed to be ten fleshed out villains turned into one and a half rushed ones close to seasons end, so the goal is now five with the showdown next season. To be fair to me, ten was a little high of a bar to set; I could probably do to manage my expectations better.
In terms of character goals, I definitely shot myself in the foot and didn't really think about Vig's character all too much. I had just kind of thought, "What plot elements would be cool?" and started thinking about The Council of Riders and the Ultimized Hand, Ultimized Dummy, etc., and who Vig was a person kind of got lost in all of that. A big goal for me in season two is to sit down and really think deeper about Vig as a character, explore what makes him tick, etc.
Anywho, I'll be back to my PC on Thursday and should have a post up then, starting to wrap up the thing I've got going on with Punisher.
EDIT: Shoutout to my phone for periodically correcting "Vig" to "Big".
I originally intended Vig's arc this season to focus a lot more on his relationship with the Seven Soldiers, but I ultimately decided that going more intimate with what's happening with Vig would be the better way to to. Season Two will ideally see the reunion of the team and be a lot more about interpersonal relationships between them.
In terms of plot goals this season, I'm pretty short of the mark. Originally I wanted Vig to run through a gauntlet of ten villains, culminating in a showdown with The Hand himself. But what was supposed to be ten fleshed out villains turned into one and a half rushed ones close to seasons end, so the goal is now five with the showdown next season. To be fair to me, ten was a little high of a bar to set; I could probably do to manage my expectations better.
In terms of character goals, I definitely shot myself in the foot and didn't really think about Vig's character all too much. I had just kind of thought, "What plot elements would be cool?" and started thinking about The Council of Riders and the Ultimized Hand, Ultimized Dummy, etc., and who Vig was a person kind of got lost in all of that. A big goal for me in season two is to sit down and really think deeper about Vig as a character, explore what makes him tick, etc.
Anywho, I'll be back to my PC on Thursday and should have a post up then, starting to wrap up the thing I've got going on with Punisher.
EDIT: Shoutout to my phone for periodically correcting "Vig" to "Big".
<Snipped quote by Eddie Brock>
And then some Russian hackers come in and just rig the thing, anyway.
Разве это не так, Владимир?
@Hexaflexagon Translate, please.
I'm not sure I'd be able to swing MME for the end of this season. I've got two more villains to go through after my current arc with SImple, and then a season ender with Simple again. I could maybe make it work? It could be interesting to just have the MME at the start of S2.
”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Riders on the Storm: Part Three
“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”
-Anonymous
Warpath, Texas; Two Days Later
Vigilante could see them coming in the distance. Seemed like this was a recurring theme, danger heralded by a big ol’ dust cloud rising the distance. He could almost laugh about it. But all he could do was set his jaw and tighten up his grip on the lever-action of his rifle, setting it to his shoulder.
He’d spent the last few days shoring up the defenses with Frank Castle’s kit,and thanks to him they were really cookin’ with gas. Across the town they’d lain out wooden boxes filled with molotovs and a little nitroglycerin for that extra kick when he or Frank shot one. Then there were the traps; a few tree springs from rotted out second floor balconies, and three or four punji stick holes with thin covers of sand. Using Frank’s arsenal they’d lined up a few grenade bouquets and tripwires, not to mention a handful of makeshift landmines. But the thing they were prouder of than a pup with his first flea was The Saloon; they’d rigged it to blow. If they could lure whatever was coming up on the horizon into the ol’ Crossroads, the sons of bitches’d be scattered from Hell to breakfast.
But that relied on the pair of them not gettin’ killed first. The cloud in the distance was just about bigger than any Vig had ever seen, and he couldn’t even resolve whatever was making it. Whatever it was, the closer it got the more the Spirit set to squirming in his mind like a worm in hot ashes. It wasn’t united anymore, it was like he could feel the mass of lost souls rioting in his mind. Blaze had warned him for a reason. Maybe The Rider didn’t like coming out against these punks. Whatever the case, Vig just had to hope that a dose of frontier justice would be enough to put them down.
As the cloud advanced on the northmost wall, Vig set his sights on the first of the traps they’d set. They’d rigged up as much explosive as they could hide in spots around each of the four walls. Whichever way the enemy tried to come in from, Vig could take a shot at the explosives and blow a nice chunk of their raidin’ party apart. While Vig sat up on the wall, Frank lie in wait in the town. Hopefully they wouldn’t realize they had two opponents before it was too late.
He was starting to make them, now.There were six… No, a dozen… Two dozen… Three… God, there were more and more spilling out of the dust cloud. Black riders with ethereal wisps of darkness whipping off of them and into the howling wind. They rode on Shrine Horses and Clydesdales that had the same inky black smoke trailing off of them. They had all kinds of armament slung off their horses -- repeater rifles, revolvers, sticks of dynamite. It was like they leapt out of Hell and into a perversion of a Clint Eastwood movie.
”And no one disrespects Mr. Eastwood in my town, no sir.” Vig mumbled to himself. He put his cheek to the gunsight and sighted up on the bulge in the sands. They hadn’t opened up on him yet; maybe they couldn’t see the form of a prone cowboy against the twisted metal of the wall. Just a little closer now…
The man body of their force moved over the hidden explosive. Vig’s rifle cracked in his hands and rolled off the wall as an explosion rippled through the countryside. Vig shot a glance skyward and his hat was near blown away by the shockwave, he could feel his eardrums rattling in his head. A plume of fire towered way up into the heavens, and he could hear the baying of wounded horses. Through the sublest of cracks in the wall he could see the injured were fading away into dust. Whatever stuff of spirit had composed them, it was all boiling away. But the rest?
Aside from the chunk he’d blown out of the column, the others seemed fit to be tied. Bullets started plinking off the armor of the wall, and Vig could barely hear the report of their guns over the ringing in his ears.
”Frank! We got incomin’! Seventy-five or a hunnred’ mean sonsofbitches! Git to cover!” Vig sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, sliding around the mines they’d placed and ultimately diving behind a collection of water-filled barrels. He grabbed his shotgun off his back and pumped the forend. The ‘Bounty Hunters’ were about to get deader than a doornail.
Bruce will bring the camera.
And just... brood in the corner.
Batman:
I too do this, which is why I get all like-centric and worried. When some people just like things when they read them and others try not to hand them out all the time to maintain ratios like Wraith. The strange thing is, I never see likes passed out in ic threads at the rate they are in these comic book games.
I like super inconsistently. I came to RPGuild from board RPs where likes weren't really a thing, and I've never gotten used to it. At the moment I think I've only liked posts from Simple because I physically cannot get enough Punisher from him(and I had to suck up to ensure a team-up), and Superboy, because Blue Beetle is great and SB is my homie. I would like more, but then I'd like everything, because it's all great, and that'd be crimping Superboy's style.
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