Hellis

The Last Kings of Orion

Fair enough. Had to ask!

The Last Kings of Orion

Is this full up?

Fairytale Noir: New Arcadia

Annnd we are running people! Get your asses into gear. Downtown arcadia is currently a mess. Police, flashing sirens, terrified onlookers, shady shadowy figures watching from afar. Lets' do this right :D

Fairytale Noir: New Arcadia

”Do you know what i Hate Mr Pigg?” Spat the man pacing back forth on the concrete floor of the downtrodded, abandoned factory in the declining industrial outskirts of New Arcadia. The place was a proletarian nightmare, a testiment to the brutal reality of capitalism. The building was once the workplace of a solid 500 boots of man power, 500 people let go in ons swift motion of a pen and a company changing hands. Years of decline in the local clothing production was due to cheaper labor overseas, That had been the culprit behind all those crushed dreams, along with old fasioned western greed of course. And now it housed around 60 boots, all leather and metal like the old days. The difference was that these were not factory workboots but the soles of the ultra violent Giants gang. Another self contained unit in the ever larger crew of madmen who followed the Fox.

The Fox was of course, the one pacing back and forth infront of Mr Pigg. Mr Pigg himself was a obese, middle management kind of person. You know the kind, the underachiever who somehowe got the job above you and who spend every waking moment yelling at you and others for incompetence. There was a great amount of bile that his position came with and usually he could at the most expect to get fired. The problem, and the reality of the current situation, is that Mr Pig was one of three brothers and his family buisness was in fencing goods. And now, he had run afaul of the men you didn't survive crossing. The Fox, Mr Fox, Kitsune, Räven, Fusch. A dear child have many names, but a feared monster have plenty more so. He was the menace of the streets, a serial killer made head of the most volitile group of people to ever breathe. A mastercriminal with the glee and enthusiasm of a 8 yearold with firecrackers. The reasons as to why people feared him where many and they were all very real. He was just that bad of a person. And now, Mr Pigg was sweating profusel as he sat, tied to a chair. At his feet was a pool of petrolium and between his lips were lit cigarr.

”I hate underachievers. I hate lazy, compliant, status que worshipping slugs like yourself. Why? Becouse you are all predicatable dullards.” Fox said as he stopped in his frantic pacing. He himself wasn't overly tall, 6'0 was a decent height from someone who so often claimed asian descent, sure. But his henchmen were all taller, all bigger then him. Yet none were close to being as menacing, more imposing, more dangerous. He was TNT in human form, liable to kill everyone in there the moment his fuse met the blackpowder that was his trigger. It was why they followed him, he was a destructive genius, a ruthless crimelord who consolidated his power by any means.

”I hate people like you Mr Pigg. Ronny the Middleman. Tommy the Brain. Connie the Corner. Ronny, Tommy and Connie Pigg., collectively known as the Three Piggies.” Fox said, to nobody in particular as he waved a ornate switch blade around in the air like the dirigents stick. In his head he was conducting a symphony. He stopped suddenly and tossed the knife at Pigg. It hit him square in the knee. To his credit, Mr Pigg didn't let the cigarr fall from his mouth.

”You see. You are so fucking predicatable. You saw the war and quietly retreated into your little apartment complex. You fortified yourselves, ran a tight crew and kicked out the local wolves as they were weakened by fighting my battles. You waited for the war to end and then prostated yourselves to the new Queen. But here is the kicker, yeah, you kept safe from the huffing, puffing big bad wolf. Becouse he was busy fighting on the streets at my orders. But I didn't forget about any of the ones who didn't come to our side when we called.” Fox eyes were large, like saucer plates, stretching his face in abominable ways, fis smile underneath mask was a grotesque display of teeth. He was so close to pig the poor man could smell him, a strange mix of gunpowder, blood and the plastic of his mask.

”You forgot that Foxes are smart, cunning animals. We don't care about your little pens. We dig under the fence, we make you see us in the shadows. We eat the hens, the kids, the whole fucking farm if you let us. And it was so fucking easy to just take over the neigbourhoods around you. You had nobody loyal left and you knew it. Now your use is gone. So I think it is time we have us grilled pork for dinner.” He grabbed the blade and yanked back and forth before pulling it out, causing Ronnie Pigg to bite trough the cigarr in pain. He looked as if in slowmotion as the lit cigarr fell towards the puddle at his feet. He screamed after Fox as the puddle lit up into a localized inferno at his feet.

”FUCK YOU PSYCHO: TOMMY IS GONNA KILL YOU!” Fox was allready on his way out as the words echoed along with screams of pain troughout the building. As he exited the old factory, men in red suits, some kids wearing fox hoodies and all kinds of other people joined at either side of him. He smiled beneath the mask. They all wore things like fox masks, hoodies or tattoes.

”Report.” Fox sounded incredibly bored. He motioned to one of kids to bring him a chair. They obliged with a big directors chair, complete with FOX graffited onto its back. He grabbed a cellphone from his jacket and

”The bomb is in place. The remaining Pigg brothers are currently sitting ontop of a box of c4 and gunpowder, none the wiser.” One of the men in red suits said, they all wore fox masks, but none as ornate or big as his. Theirs were cheap plastic things. Allegience, not identity.

”Let's see then.” He dialed a number on his phone. A voice crackled up on the otherside of the line. A helpfull female voice enquitred. ”This is 911, what is your emergency?”

”I believe you guys shoud send someone to the Ol'Boy pub.”

-Downtown Arcadia. Residential district.-

The Ol'Boy was the irish pub of choice for Tomas Pigg. He and his brother were having a war meeting in the back with some of their closest. They were all very angry. Their brother had gone missing. Nobody was taking the blame, nobody was talking. That generally meant one thing, the Fox had him. But why? They could not understand it. They had never lifted a finger against him. Sure, they had chased off some wolves off at the first days of the conflict between Fox and the rest of the city. But they had preyed on his enemies more then anything. But now, now they were feeling hunted. Tommy was about go over the plan with his closest when a knock was heard on the door. They all stopped. Eyes nailed to the door as it slowly opened. A kid wearing a plastic fox mask could be seen head outside the door running. At the opening of the door was really old tvset, heavy and obstructing. It flickered on and showed Fox. They all stood there as if glued to the floor, unable to move.

”I huffed. And I puffed.” The recording began. ”But then I remembered I was a fox, not a wolf. So I just rigged your place to explode. Neat.” and then the tape flickered off into a recording of Ronny being captured and beaten. And then, everything exploded. The Ol'Boys Pub went out in agush of flames. A giant heatwave exploded outwards as billowing flames and sotclouds pushed outwards with the shockwave. The windows became a massive wall of shrapnel that shout outwards. People close to the blast were perforated, clothing torn along with skin and flesh. Every carmalarm nearby began to shreek and complain as the Irish Quarters of downtown Arcadia was turned into a blazing inferno.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

That should tie up Henrys bit before the Epilogue. Ended his last post on the type of quip Henry is adored for! YOu guys are the best. It was a honor. I hope you run a chapter 3 in the future Heroes. You have my respect, true and fully.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

He felt death take Max. He felt atticus leave. He felt emptyness, void where people should be. And yet he was still serene. He had to be. Atticus had relied on him for years to be this, and in his boss absence, things needed to carry on. He hoped Veti would take Max, no, take Thads words to heart. To move on this time. Death had claimed him now, real death. He had given her the last, ultimate gift, life. To give up had never been her style, and it would have been such a waste of such gift. He knew that this time, Max and Thads sacrifice would not destroy them like it did the first time. This time, it was the way things went, a choice taken by them, and nobody else. He would never forget them, hell he would make sure their names would be whispered in every river, in every flood.

He collected the now fragile form of Jay Jay into his arms fully. ”Indeed. The world keeps spinning, bur for us it is forever changed. It is the way of things. Nothing is constant, nothing is more fragile then our perception of the room.”

”We wait for the last ones to arrive, pray that they actually do. And then we go home. There are repairs needed to be done, healing to take place. We all lost something today.” His eyes fell upon Veti and let his confidence waver ”Some of us more then others. But we are a family, we stick together. We make it trough.” As to cheer himself up just as much as Jay-Jay, he noted.”

I am sure we will see Siya and Atticus again somehow. I felt no last breath from Either.” He said the last part with conviction. For him, the struggle was not over. He had to finish this with the ice witch once he had healed, he had to make her pay. And he would, in time. He was stronger now. He would help rebuild the company. Help heal those that needed healing. Henry would not let this be in vain. A new beginning, needed a proper end.

”Besides.” He started suddenly, a smile braving his otherwise concerned features. He was looking at Jay Jay. ”I owe you a date don't I?”

Legend of Renalta 2: Reborn

Child, The Ether pre-resurrection-
--
Child was never a magician of any great sort. Her or his talents were not so much conscious efforts as they were terribly forced upon etheral fuckery and poorly managed spiritual links into a broken, fractured mind. She was a shoddy piece of work, a experiment to contact gods that were gone and unreachable. A open invitation to all sorts of magical spirits and creatures. IT was in short, shot to hell inside her head, a vortex of voices cursing her existence.. And here she was, drifting among the realm that wasn't, yet was. A manifestation of magic and souls, of the lost. A place where words held no meaning, yet defined you. A place so strange her words were seemingly plucked from her mouth and given meanings she didn't understand whenever she contemplated it for more then a second. She was not in control but it was strangely nostalgic for the spirit medium. She had dragged minds from here before, she was pretty sure. Yet now she was one of those spirits. A wandering lost soul adrift on a strange sea. The irony was not lost on her and she would have laughed If her etheral form wasn't screaming in pain from the effort of staying coherent.

Her end had been quick, merciful. She could of course, only remember fractions of it. That was usually the case when someone got crushed by a war hammer. Her moves had been slow back there, she had hesitated. She had been sloppy. Perhaps she had wanted it? Wanted to die? Such questions was dangerous in a place like this. She could already feel her soul try and split itself into smaller parts, convert into etherical energy. She composed herself and crawled up. Her knees pulled up to her chest, as she floated. She was dead, but she wanted to take in this strange stillness she felt before she was ready to get eaten by the ether. IT was during this moment that something impossibly bright manifested near her. Shielding her eyes in a vain attempt to look at the creature, she was in front a angel. The light was like the sun, yet she felt no heat. And yet, she felt as if she should have been burned from it none the less.

“Ironic. I find peace and here you are. The gods chosen. Have you come to laugh at me, I who was made in attempt to reach the gods. Yet all I became was another notch in the belt for some brute?” Her sords held no real rancor, just a modicum of spite that she resigned to anything not Herself. She breathed slowly, eyeing the angel wearily.

"No. I've come to spare you. To give you a second chance, as your comrades need you." The angels voice played with her mind, it was so pure, so impossibly clean of intent. She didn't trust it for a second.

“Second chance?” Child, void of her mask here in the ether, had a confused look upon her marred face. She contemplated this for a second or two. This second chance that was given her, could she accept it in good faith. Did she deserve it? And nothing was without a price. “And what is the price?” She said, weary of the Angels true motives.

"Your life is connected to mine." The angel spoke to her and she nodded. Another voice in her head it seemed, another great power tugging at her. She wanted to live, she realized this with staggering intensity and desire growing where her heart should be. Her ethereal body screaming for her to take the deal.

“Deal” She spoke and then there was a flash of light.

Intermission - Infirmary - Child

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, painfully. Her body felt strange. The collapse lunge was no longer collapsed, but breathing was strange to her now. The time in ether had made for her to have to remember how to breathe at first. Shallow breaths as she realized she was without her mask, in the flesh and alive. The first feeling was relief at being back alive. The second was panic over not having her mask. She sat up suddenly. Her nostrils flared, her eyes wide.

“THE MASK. WHERE IS THE MASK!” Her panic was interrupted by a coughing fit of the likes she never had before. She felt her eyes water and she looked around at the surpised looking healers that had tended to her. Likely there to make sure she was stable, angel or no angel.

“Get.. me.. a mask.. any.. mask.” She said, covering her face in her hands. The voices began to taunt her, sing songs of mockery in her mind. Tear at her sanity. Of course, there was no mask to be found, she she was reduced to holding her face in her hands and scream until someone provided her with her mask. It was blemished, likely from falling onto the ground at the time of her death. But as soon as she put it on, she calmed down. Her eyes were still wide.

“Where.. Am I..."

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

I got dust in my eyes reading these last few posts. Damn sudden dust storms localized to only my room ;_;

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

It was a real pleasure RPing alongside you Tiger.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

I will be waiting for part three ;_;

There are so many more stories to be told. So much potential still!