Holy Soldier

Who Believes In Fairytales?

@DragI didn't make his background relying on her existence. It just gave the option that she could exist. I want to believe that Cap is around. There were probably a lot of people just waiting for this game to move. I'm sure a Mass Mention would resummon them but I would suggest doing that if you have the IC up.

World Warriors: The Nomadic Fist (Quirky Fighting Game Influenced Roleplay)

@Mr Allen JYeah I don't see this game having any real central theme. The general theme is just for those who appreciate martial art-themed games. I think in the future, the plot shouldn't just solely exist around a tournament. I know you were literally trying to make it cliche like how 90% of all video game fighters are, but I like, and this is just my personal opinion I'm not trying to dictate anything, when not everyone is jumping on the same wagon. Some characters have a bigger story than those who are linear (fighting solely in the tournament with not much else to offer in regards to story). I don't think you want to become the Arena thread. You cut it very close to the Arena thread with this game and how it could have easily been published there if all you got going is a tourney. Then again...with there being so many characters. The tournament almost seems necessary because I don't know how else you'd coordinate them all because they aren't all united under a single goal.

Maybe going away from the tournament for a future idea, you could have them transported to some crazy lair. It could be some evil fictional government, cyberpunk/alien attack or alien opponents, other dimension, etc. (I'm just throwing ideas out there) Something where they are united with a common purpose and there's a sort of fight-to-survive idea? This is starting to sound like Mortal Kombat except we're not putting each other's characters through fatalities.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

@UnknownScarlet4Yes. New people start with one character slot. I awarded the last batch of new people a second character slot because they literally waited 2 months to get into this game when I had temporarily halted admissions.

Just drop your CS in the

OOC

here. I made sure to make that big because special people like to approve their own CSes and place them in the character area. Don't do it. It is automatic rejection.

Average Joes of the Verse

@Ink BloodI think your title is perfectly fine as it is because the title alone is what brought my attention here.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

@Etherean FireNope. I just misread.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

@Etherean FireI'll fix it.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Day/Time: Day Two - Noon
Location: Mama's All You Can Eat Restaurant
Tagging: @Lmpkio@Bright_Ops@DracoLunaris@Etherean Fire@Lugubrious@ToadRopes@Zarkun@Guardian Angel Haruki@WingsOfBronze@RokkuHoshi@Nerevarine@Crosswire

---

The Lumas raised a pointy salute to Naija when she thanked them and the three launched back into the sky to go tracking the cat thief. Cloud watched the Lumas take off again and his attention shifted over to the fish girl who proved to be just as agile on land as one would expect in the water. The ex-SOLDIER straightened his bike and was about to take off after the flying stars when the girl hopped back down and asked him for a ride.

“Get on,” Cloud directed. “And hold on tight.”

Once Naija was on, Cloud raised his booted feet and darted around the building to his right. He leaned right, dropping a boot onto the pavement and swerved his motorcycle into a sharp right down an alley. The Lumas were able to find the restaurant their magic last detected the cat thief before he disappeared. They hovered over the restaurant, high enough for any heroes to see them and rotating in a circle like a fancy billboard. Cloud pulled up right outside the restaurant and set the stand for his bike. Already from what he could hear outside, the situation well…it sounded ridiculous.

Cloud would walk with Naija inside if she chose to do so and stand behind Luigi and Fox. His blonde brows rose in an expression of surprise and his nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight of Wario. He had to resist walking out. Whatever the troublemaker was up to was usually stupid and a waste of time. Had he not embarrassed himself enough in the Smash Arena? Luigi and Fox seemed to ask the questions they all wanted to know. Now all they needed were answers.

Wario arched a brow at Luigi’s confused and stupid question. He wasn’t too surprised about it seeing as the Mario brothers were dumber than him. “Hired? What do you take me for? I didn’t hire anyone.” He then puffed out his chest and grinned proudly. “I sold Mario’s remains to King DD, thus this nice spread! What DD doesn’t know is that I’m about to join the heroes to get the dead chump’s remains back. It’s a win-win deal for me. Free money and glory!”

Waluigi nodded. “Ingenious, wah!”

As Fox insisted on accusing Wario of being a thief, the villain rolled his eyes. “It was probably King DD who hired the cat burglar. Ha! Cat burglar!”

Mama darted from the kitchen again with a large bowl of spaghetti. The noodles were stacked into a spiraling tower covered in spaghetti sauce with meatballs mixed in. Wario clapped his hands together and rubbed them greedily before he requested, “Bring the cheese will ya?”

“Coming up!” Mama replied before she raced back into the kitchen.

Wario grabbed a fork and slipped a few ropes of noodles into his mouth and started inhaling the endless locks of carbs. He slurped loud and obnoxiously, shrinking the mountain of noodles down to half its size before he paused to take a breath. He then narrowed his eyes nonchalantly at the gaggle of heroes who were starting to gather.

Don't think that we've all forgotten what you've done.

“Look here fox-brain, Mario’s my greatest rival. I wouldn’t be Wario without Mario,” Wario explained and then smirked when he gazed at Luigi. “Besides, it seems to me you guys need all the help you can get seein’ his own brother was the one who I heard was in charge of the mission that got him killed. And everyone says I’m evil, huh. The Mushroom Kingdom’s gonna be needin’ a new hero. Seein’ as I’ve played the hero game a few times, I don’t mind wearing the red hat and blue suspenders for a while.”

Mama returned with some parmesan cheese and shook it over the noodles. Wario didn’t say “when” until there was a mountain of shredded cheese on top. He resumed inhaling the noodles until the lost lock disappeared behind his lips and then picked up the bowl to dump the pile of meatballs into his mouth. Munching away with swollen cheeks and a mouth smeared in red sauce, he handed the empty spaghetti bowl back to Mama and grinned.

“Just give it up! I am the eatin’ champ!” Wario declared.

The Koopa waiter begged. “Mama, just give him what he wants! They won. If he gets any fatter, he won’t be able to leave!”

Wario slammed a fist upon the table and glared at the Koopa. “Who are you callin’ fat? I think I’ll have the turtle soup next!”

The Koopa’s eyes bulged in fright and he fled inside his green shell.

Mama frowned in determination as she thoughtfully stared down at the empty spaghetti bowl in her hands. A light bulb flashed above her head and she raised her head confidently.

“I know what I’m going to do!” she exclaimed and raced off into the kitchen.

Wario wiped his mouth with his bib, tugged it from his neck, and tossed it onto the table before him. “We won this contest. She’s just bein’ a sore loser.”

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

@Lmpkio@Hylozoist@Bright_Ops@DracoLunaris@Lugubrious@ToadRopes@Zarkun@Guardian Angel Haruki@WingsOfBronze@RokkuHoshi@Crosswire@Nerevarine@Etherean Fire

I'm going to go ahead and post for the main game. It will help those who lost a turn to catch up to be able to do so on this round.

As for the Smash Arena, I'll hold off a little longer until Team 4 is able to get a post out before I post a response to the rest of the teams. Honestly though, I am open for an opinion on this. What do you guys prefer as far as the Smash Arena? Do you prefer me to respond individually to those Teams who are ready to move forward or just respond all at once to all the teams?

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Detective Brock Sinclair FC: Sean Bean

Something’s Fishy
Dixon Docks, Dixon’s Fishery
Southwest Corner of Gotham City, 0315

There were cops surrounding the crime scene that they were trying to determine if it had been a terrorist attack or a gang war. After 9/11 and the Boston Marathon, anytime an explosive of some sort was used in an assault, terrorism was always the first label that popped up. Terrorism at a fishery though? It didn’t make sense, but with the amount of psychos that escaped Arkham every once in a while, a lot of the crimes didn’t have to make sense. Detective Brock Sinclair was on the scene. The police had received an anonymous phone call about an explosion at the docks, and from what he could gather, it hadn’t been terrorism.

Twenty-three were dead, five were injured and taken to the hospital in police custody. The detective stood behind a group of CSI who were packing fish stuffed with cocaine into evidence bags. Was it a drug bust? Brock turned from the officers and walked over to the second hole on the far western side of the fishery. He walked with his hands tucked within the deep pockets of his tan coat. The man looked tired just as anyone would that time of night. When he stopped before the gaping hole, his grey eyes examined the size and the direction most of the rubble had been scattered.

A curious police sergeant approached the blonde detective and asked, “Hey, Detective Sinclair…” He offered his hand to the man, “Sergeant Stokes.”

The detective first glanced at the cop’s offered hand before he reached over to take it in a firm shake. Sergeant Stokes continued, “So what do you make of this so far? This couldn’t have been just some drug operation gone haywire.”

Brock was slow to answer as his eyes continued to sweep the scene before him. He had to be careful with how he answered. “This was a possible gang war.”

The sergeant raised his brows. “A gang war? Between who?”

“I haven’t had a chance to question any of the survivors, but if I was to guess, I’d say The Penguin and possibly…” He crouched and rested his forearms upon his knees. “Looks like a grenade or possible RPG was used here…we don’t have any suspects from the other group who attacked this one, which means the attack was quick.”

Standing, Brock ran his hands back through his blonde hair. “I just can’t say. With the types of loons we got running around Gotham, it could be any of them.”

“Why do you think these men belong to The Penguin?”

Brock turned away from the hole and answered quite simply, “Because it’s fishy.”

The sergeant blinked before he roared with laughter. Brock walked away from the cop and headed over to the dock where the cargo ship had been anchored. He stood on the platform facing the open river. The Penguin drug bust was only going to make him look good. Ever since he started working with the Marconis, work had never been so easy. The Penguin was burned, the boss got his man alive it seemed since he wasn’t one of the apprehended goons, and he was not only going to get paid for doing his part but his reputation as a detective was only going to grow. The whole operation had went so smoothly that he had to admit that Dante was a clever guy.

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Left to Right: Stefano Calabria FC: Adrien Brody; Trash Bag FC: Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Something's Fishy
Dixon Docks, Dixon’s Fishery
Southwest Corner of Gotham City, 0235

The fishery was noisy with crackling plastic from the translucent splash suits worn by thirty of The Penguin’s goons. Various fish from bass to sturgeon were stuffed full of bags of coke—an excellent cover for his drug business. While the roulette wheels continued to turn, tumblers emptied, and customers from the supposed honest politician down to the scum of the streets made their purchases, their orders were carried out miles away from the Iceberg Lounge. The thugs posed as fishermen—some got carried away with their roles, growing beards and trying to appear as dirty as one would believe. The drug-stuffed fish were packed into wooden crates that were stored inside a container and then hauled onto a cargo ship by a crane. The ringleader was Stefano Calabria, former Marconi.

When Dante lost his eyes, Stefano became scared. That day, the Marconis had fallen harder than Rome, and he had feared their enemies would rush to destroy whoever and whatever had survived. As a Marconi, Stefano had learned a lot as a businessman so much that The Penguin trusted him to run the warehouse. However, the trust Dante had placed in his family could not have been replicated. He had betrayed that trust. Mentally, he didn’t believe he had done anything wrong. He had made the most logical decision. If he hadn’t joined The Penguin, then The Penguin would have dusted them all eventually. Emotionally, even after having not seen Dante in almost a year, he felt scared. It was like a phantom at his back, watching his every move, and he knew the fear as Guilt.

The dark, curly-haired man walked the metal catwalk above the fish-stuffing trash bags. Stefano looked younger than he actually was with a bristly jaw, tired brown eyes, and a black suit he had been wearing since the previous morning. He hadn’t had time to shower and change since, and it bothered him that he was going to return to his apartment smelling of fish. In his right hand, he held a black rectangular radio with a square encryption unit protruding from the back. If anyone attempted to intercept his frequency, whatever listening device the interceptor was using would receive only a stream of incomprehensible gibberish. The endless nonsense was programed to replay over and over again in pseudo-conversation.

There hadn’t been any interceptors or trespassers for the past few nights. The fishery had operated as one would expect. No cops or nosy good-for-nothings came by. Stefano’s job was easy. He raised the radio to his thin lips and asked: “How is everything up front?”

With the few hours Stefano was granted to sleep, Guilt made sleeping difficult. The nightmares wouldn’t stop. His betrayal of Dante were the only dreams he had, and they played over and over again. As much as he desired the dreams to have gone differently, he still left Dante behind every time. He left him when he was bedridden, broken, and asking for his help.

The security outside felt like they were taking forever to respond when in actuality it had taken them ten seconds. Stefano had stopped walking, closed his eyes, and rested the warm radio against the side of his skull. He nearly dozed off. The buzz of the radio caused his eyes to snap open as the gunners outside responded, “Nuttin’ new!”

Stefano’s arm and the radio dropped lazily from his ear to waggle at his side. His eyes closed again as he fought a sleep spell, inhaling deeply through his nostrils just to expel the breath on an exasperated sigh.

Somebody kill me, he thought. The monotonous job brought him only aggravation. The Penguin had to have more use for him.

Grasping his face, Stefano yawned and resumed walking the catwalk not expecting the sudden roar...was that a rocket? The RPG detonated behind him at the eastern wall and the shrapnel spiraled inside the warehouse, slamming into bodies. Shards of cement passed like javelins through the plastic goons as the aftershock sent all those closest to the wall flying. Stefano had fallen flat upon his stomach, fingers curling into the grate of the swinging catwalk as the radio went sliding across the grate to plummet and clatter into pieces on the cement floor below. A support wire had come loose and the catwalk wasn’t going to hold.

Stefano’s panicked eyes stared down at the trash men running about, screaming, drawing submachine guns from under the tables and from inside their plastic suits. Every hair on his body stood up when what sounded like numerous machine gun fire filled the room. Hot rounds streaked through the bodies of several of The Penguin’s men. The catwalk emitted a low metallic groan that he felt vibrate through the grating. Stefano’s heart was rapidly hammering in his chest. He was about to drop right into that mess!

“Oh shit, shit, shit!” Stefano muttered to himself. He looked around for some figment of hope. Anything that could save him. The other wire snapped and for a brief few seconds Stefano’s heart sprang into the air as his body lifted off the grate in the plummet. One side of the catwalk collapsed with a metallic bang on the floor. Stefano landed back against it and became a victim of gravity, rolling down the tilted walkway to the floor. He landed in an awkward and almost comical position. His legs had managed to pass over his head and had put him in an uncomfortable spot, but he wasn’t about to move during the firefight. Peeking through the crook in his hip, Stefano didn’t recognize the mob that charged through the new entrance the rocket had made. Smoke and dust continued to swirl before the gaping entryway, obscuring how many gangsters there were, how many vehicles might have been outside or if they had even brought vehicles. A few thugs clapped by him in dress shoes. They must have thought he was dead.

Hey!

Stefano was trembling all over in his desperation to stay as still and dead as he could imitate.

Hey!

Someone was shouting at him. Who would be trying to get his attention at a time like this? Slowly he turned his head in the voice’s direction and saw a trash man lying a few feet away from him. The man was lying on his stomach with his head turned in his direction. He wasn’t moving either. Was he playing dead too? He was looking right at him as though he knew that he wasn’t really dead; and when their eyes made eye-contact, he shouted: “We’re gettin’ outta here!”

Was he insane? Stefano immediately thought. Bullets were flying everywhere! Stefano frantically shook his head, but the other man was persistent.

“I’m gonna run over to you!”

Stefano silently mouthed to him over and over, No, no, no!

Suddenly the wail of police sirens were heard. Police? So soon? The intruding mob continued to mow down The Penguin’s goons, but they were slowly starting to pull back. The trash man ran over to him, uncurling his legs from over his head and grasping him by the lapels of his jacket even against his thrashing-protest. The trash man gave him a violent shake, jerking him up to his face by his collar.

“Look dumbfuck! If we don’t get outta here we’re gonna wind up dead or behind bars!” the trash man screamed at him.

Just then, a suit holding a launcher with another rocket in it stepped through the smoky entrance. He shouldered the launcher and fired a second RPG at a group of trash men who had been camping behind a fish crate. It was the last action the suits made before they started to swiftly retreat back through the smoky entrance. The trash bag who had his hands about Stefano’s collar immediately went limp against him. Stefano also comically went lifeless as two suits ran passed them. They remained still until it seemed most of them were gone and the police were growing apprehensively louder and closer.

The trash bag was the first to snap his head up and exclaim, “Let’s go! We’re goin’ out to the ship!”

The trash bag and Stefano sprang to their feet. Stefano followed the man, watching as he zipped down his plastic suit and squirmed out of it in mid-run. He hopped twice, raising one leg at a time to tug the rest of the plastic free of his shoes before he resumed running again. When they reached the docks, Stefano looked over to the parking lot, watching several flashing police vehicles screeching up to the smoking building. The men who had destructively swept the place were nowhere to be seen.

“Come on!” the former trash bag yelled at him.

Stefano returned his attention to the escape and followed the trash bag passed the ship to a small motorboat at the end of the dock. He recklessly hopped into it, the bobbing vessel causing him to fall to his knees as he scrambled over to the motor to get it started.

“Untie that rope!” Stefano was directed.

Stefano frowned a little in suspicion before he hopped down into the boat, also stumbling a little, and then untied the rope. Surely the man didn’t think he was a fool to untie the boat while standing on the docks? After untying the rope, Stefano sat down and stared at him, still scowling. The man merely looked back at him, grinned in amusement at Stefano’s expression before he backed the boat away from the docks.

“Smart guy. Although, I wasn’t plannin’ on leavin’ ya. I wouldn’t want you squealin’,” he informed.

Stefano firmly replied, “I don’t squeal.”

The boat turned and the two were gone, darting across the Gotham River. The former trash bagger decided to change the subject as he guided the boat further away from the Dixon Docks.

“Do you think those goons were Russian?” he shouted over the buzz of the motor.

“I’ve never seen them before!” Stefano yelled back. He didn’t turn his back to the man. Despite him helping him escape, he just didn’t trust him. “Why did you help me escape?”

“Are you kiddin’? You’re Stefano Calabria. You’re The Penguin’s best money head. If I returned to him without you, I might as well jump off this boat right now and drown!”

The Penguin…Stefano gazed back at the smoking fishery. He was going to be furious. “The boss is gonna be mad.”

“Ha! He’s gonna be pissed.”

“Do you think he’ll kill us?”

“Probably. Now that I think about it, even if I did bring your ass back to him, he’d probably still kill me.”

Stefano bowed his head and grasped it, his fingers curling into his hair. “How could this happen? How did our guys not see them coming?”

“Those Russians are pretty smart. Who was expectin’ a RPG? What could we have done? We weren't prepared for that kinda’ firepower!”

Everything was falling to pieces again. First with the Marconis and now The Penguin. Why couldn’t things just run smoothly? Why did someone or something always have to come along and fuck it all up? Stefano inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. Releasing his head, he looked up. They had managed to escape with the night being on their side.

“Are we gonna go back?” Stefano asked.

“I’m not goin' back.”

Stefano’s brows shot upwards. “The Penguin’s gonna put a hit on you.”

“I doubt that fat bastard even knows who I am. I’m not as special as you are.”

Stefano paled a little. He was right. While this guy was just another goon, Stefano had actually been responsible for the activity at the docks. Shuddering, Stefano grasped his hands to keep them from shaking.

“I’m not goin’ back either. I’m as good as dead. He’ll blame that whole bust on me.”

“Well, you were kinda’ in charge.”

Stefano went back to grasping his head. The stress was giving him a headache.

The former trash man smiled at Stefano’s discomfort and informed, “I’m takin’ us to the Tricorner. I gotta hideout there. I don’t mind you stayin’. You just better not go tellin’ anyone about it or go usin’ it after.”

“I won’t. Thanks.”

The former trash bagger smirked. “You and me…we’re in the same boat.”

The joke seemed to simmer for a few seconds until Stefano felt the corner of his lips quirk in amusement before he started laughing. The two shared in the corny and well-timed humor. It was a moment of respite from the devils that would soon come looking for them.