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1 yr ago
Current Discord crashed lads. Can't get back in.
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I've opened art commissions up, anyone who wants relatively cheap art PM me here or on Discord: LeeRoy#8459
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5 yrs ago
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"If you kill a man, you scorn his wife. If you kill his wife, you scorn her child. If you kill her child, you scorn his village. If you kill his village, you scorn the kingdom. If you kill the kingdom you scorn an empire. If you kill an empire, then who is left?"

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1 Wins / 3 Losses / 0 Draws
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Beneath the ephemeral barrier a roiling ocean of explosions began to course across his entire body, filling the field of force with shimmering and smoky grey and red gold visuals. The predator's visage that had encased his face became more defined, fangs protruding from the still roughly human face. The edges of his body expanded slightly as the fog of war filled in the barrier, making him visually and physically larger as the barrier revealed blade like claws that had wrapped over his remaining hand. The ground around him began to clear of snow as his barrier let loose only the heat of his power.

"You've made a mistake, devil! I don't get tired!" He dropped low, his feet leaving the ground momentarily as he dove down into a bestial hand and feet posture, extending his right hand all the way forward and squatting in such a way as to have his knees almost touching the ground and his toes being in direct contact with it. He then drew his arm back and extended his legs as far as he could, leaping forward like a tiger. A split second later a literal explosion of force blew from his back as he opened up the barrier at the back of his thighs.

Propelled by atomic fire he irradiated the area once again and blasted forward. A cascade of snow blew away from the position he launched from in a semicircle, instantly liquefying into water. A trail of melted snow from the friction and heat of his power lead straight up to the swordsman. To a normal human, no, even to an exceptional human he would have seemed to have instantly appeared in front of Kei'Taro. Moving more like a bullet fired than a living breathing thing.

As he'd moved forward he drew his right hand over to his left and struck up and to the right with it, aiming to strike him right across the midriff just below the ribcage with his forearm. He'd not ignored the other two entities, so his goal wasn't to simply fight Kei'Taro, but rather to knock him away. Split the group and kill them off one by one.



They all had power. They were all minions of that thing, that horror that had destroyed his world, trapped him in a nightmare. Perpetual violence, meek meaningless monsters everywhere. Its domain was not so great as to be filled with things able to hurt him, but it had servants. He could barely see half the time, this world was not his, it wasn't meant to be. His senses barely processed the input, sounds of screaming and crying were constant when he was surrounded by them. All the while they menaced him and threatened him. The ground shifted and changed, sometime resembling his old home, sometimes a twisted hellscape. There were wastelands though, and those were the kindest terrain.

He sought them out, when he could sense them. It was a sixth sense, he called it his battle sense, he couldn't exactly explain it to anyone. But fortunately, nobody was around to ask him about it. Sometimes he wondered if perhaps the world had not been destroyed, and that it was simply him. That perhaps the being had simply taken him away to torture him. Other times he was certain, some places were directly torn from his world. Once he'd found himself in the streets of New York underneath the Empire State building, but just beyond that was twisted landscapes and monsters. In his heart he knew that his world was gone, and that a higher power had left him alive to suffer in the remnants.

In the hottest wasteland here he had found one, a powerful servant who cast rays of liquid force. He knew that his skin would have been scoured and boiled by those blasts, but his barrier had kept him alive. The violence of this world was not what he wanted, he didn't want to be like this. Every single second of every day, harassed by monsters and otherworldly warriors. The saving grace is that he was very much capable of violence, and he'd been forced to treat them as they treated him.

The servant was left dead on the floor, another was sensed almost immediately afterwards. Somewhere to the North he'd sensed it. It was far more powerful, and it was increased when he had destroyed the other.

It took weeks to reach them, the armies that had stepped in his way slowed him down marginally. They used conventional weaponry, which was no hazard to him. It was a mockery, devils with firearms and tanks. They were tormenting him, and he'd gotten used to it.

Every single second he was glad that they didn't know the secret to his power, the ever present fear that he would be figured out, that he needed nitrogen for his power. The world he was on was obviously manufactured, shards of his home plastered onto a mirror hellscape, so why could they not simply take away the nitrogen? That was the only explanation, the atmosphere was simply kept as a mirror of the world he'd come from.

When he reached the furthest point North, he found it a frozen wasteland. Not much to his surprise, North was north wherever you were in the universe, as long as you were on a celestial body with poles. There he found two of them, the raw power of the pair was surprising.

One, a nine foot tall goliath with yellow-orange skin and great horns. Very much like a conventional demon, it was able to shut down his senses. Unable to use his senses, he had been forced to extend his psychic barrier in every direction. This had countered his trick, it seemed that he needed to be within the circle to shut down his senses. He pulled out many more tricks, raising his strength, throwing bolts of electricity, he even flew. It was surprising how many disconnected abilities that he had, but he'd encountered almost every one of those abilities before. So Sigmund dealt with the first fairly handily.

The second was far tougher, in fact, he was still fighting her up until a moment ago. She was still very much alive. It was a woman, initially, standing as tall as the man. She was markedly more human, her image pressed itself into his brain as she stood there. It made him angrier because she was so very human, she seemed to emphasize this into his psyche. As if to mock him. He heard her speak, but in his mind he knew what she was saying with her appearance. "Look Sigmund, your people are all dead! You failed them!" Whatever she had said to him it didn't matter, he drowned it out with his explosions.

The truth came out when she realized she could do nothing to him in her 'human' form, and her true form came out. A monstrous giant nearly the size of an elephant, clad in crab-like armor with metal teeth and spines across the entire surface of her being. Her mouth opened a half circle and was filled with triangular and saber teeth, rows on rows of metallic teeth and venom injecting fangs, her throat was lined with spiny protrusions and she was able to shoot blood from her eyes. It was an arsenal of animalistic powers, as if she was some kind of mimic that copied every single animal's traits.

He was shocked with electricity, blasted with caustic chemicals. Blood, venom and noxious fluids coated him and seeped into his skin. Her strength was far exceeding his own, he struggled to trade blows with her and had to explode away layers of her chitinous armor to cause her harm. Beneath her skin was layers of bone that splintered as he struck it, she had layers of tough leathery skin and thick blubber underneath the chitinous armor.

Everything about her was advantageous, as if she were designed as some kind of perfect lifeform.

But like all of those with power. He destroyed her, and now she hung limply in his singular hand. The wind and snow had scoured his skin clean of what she had sprayed him with, his singular eye glaring down into her face. Her transformation was fading piece by piece, and he wanted to see her become human again. The hate in his heart was so great that he wanted to see her at her weakest, no longer twisted by her transformation, and then destroy her.

Another was approaching, but Sigmund didn't notice, instead Pikatok's lolling head rolled just enough so her face turned towards Kei'Taro for a single moment. Her swollen eyes peeling open just enough to see his figure. The agony in her soul burned her more than the physical pain that was crippling her, she struggled and thrashed to turn to face Kei in that moment. She slipped out of his hand and flopped to the ground, rolling over onto her stomach as chunks of chitin fell off of her.

Her face exposed to the air again, tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at him. Her throat was changing back into a human shape and she was struggling desperately to speak. Clawing at the snow and dirt to get away from Sigmund who was nonplussed by her attempt to escape. Pieces of her body falling off or shrinking back into her skin, she was finally able to scream.

"Kei! Please run! Take it and leave! You'll die!" There was no sarcasm, no spite, it was pure worry. It was pure emotional care for another thinking, feeling thing. The usual argumentative and confrontational persona that she'd worn every time they'd ever met was gone. Now it was genuine fear for his well being.

But what was it? Pikatok's body glowed with a vibrant green energy for a single moment, and then it all gathered in her extended right hand. It shot out in a piercing lance of energy straight into Kei'Taro's chest.

In that last moment, she was totally human, and Sigmund grabbed her by the back of the head. His talon-like fingernails sinking into her scalp. Light erupted from her eyes, mouth and nose. A wreath of energy spiraled from Sigmund's head and to the end of his arm, and with that blast of force Pikatok exploded in Sigmund's grasp. A red mist was left where Pikatok's upper half had been, cut off just below the rib cage. Her arms lay in the snow where they had fallen, and Sigmund was coated in a thick layer of gore.

It was at this point that his singular golden eye trailed up from Pikatok's extended right hand, tracing the line of melted snow where the lance of green energy had traveled.

Another power had arrived, multiple it seemed.

Sigmund's lips peeled back to the unnaturally wide snarl that he'd so commonly worn, the entire left half of his mouth toothless, the entire right side filled with teeth that more closely resembled fangs. "Take her advice demons, it must have been you she was speaking to." He pointed in the direction that Kei had come from. "I'll give you a head start, not like it'll help."

With that, a shimmering barrier wrapped around his body, only visible by the snow that was striking against it and the warp it caused in Sigmund's visage. It changed his face, less like a human and more like some predatory big cat that had evolved in the shape of a man.
Me and Two other Players are looking for a DM, as our previous DM is unable to host for us. We're left without a DM and without a Game, and hoping to find someone willing to host.

It is a DnD 3.5e Eberron Campaign, with a general sentiment of: "Anything goes so long as there is a rule for it." with a power level ranging from something grounded, say, an attempt to reflect reality, on and up to greater power.

Preferring the rules to be more actual, verbatim written rules rather than the Dungeon Master just inventing things off the cuff or acting arbitrarily. Though with a bit of leniency on rules that aren't as specific as they could possibly be.

The main goal would be a narrative focus. Preference to Gestalt characters and a bit of more balanced homebrew if possible.

It would be hosted on Discord, and would use various DnD tools for character creation and dice rolling.
@Doc Doctor

Again he could almost laugh at how hard he'd been taken off guard, both thumbs cracking loudly as such an immense bulk was put down on them and stopping him dead in place. Then as swiftly as he'd been stopped in his spin he was upended with all of the grace and care of a chimp. His belly slapped full on into Gonad's unkempt and now very slimy beard, and his legs found themselves thrown over the shoulders of the berserker. For a split second the Jade Emperor raised his hand and gave a polite wave that only Shin could have noticed, as though he saw far more of the humor in this situation than even the increasingly amused Shin.

For a single moment his hair waved without the effects of gravity. Then like a ton of bricks he was descending and alarmingly fast. Gonad had slung both of his legs over his shoulders, dug his hands in so Shin could not pull himself backwards, and was going down. To Shin, time was as molasses. Processing his situation for a single quarter of a moment, he saw the best course of action. He would not break Gonad by attacking him under his own power from this position, not enough room to build up speed.

That was unfortunate, but opportunist that he is, Shin saw a readily available source of speed and weight. Before the ground rose to meet them, Shin put both of his hands down on the top of Gonad's head and bent his right leg inwards, pressing his heel against the back of his head, and planting his left leg firmly against the corner connection shape of the latissimus dorsi and trapezius. Using his entire arsenal of limbs to apply force to the monstrously thick neck, he pulled and pulled to drive Gonad's head between his legs and lever himself upwards. Even if he could not push Gonad's head down, he would still raise himself up above his head and force Gonad to land on his elbows. In the optimal situation he would drive his head down with his limbs and force Gonad face first into the ground, using both the force of his own strength and the fall to absolutely smash his face.
Two bodies lay twelve paces distant in a rundown tenement so very distant from the manufactured paradise of Cedar Fort. One was dead, the other was desperately gripping a piece of paper with the deadman's name on it, terror coursing through every vein of his body and pouring sweat down his face. On the arrival of the note he had been forced to kill the one who he had been leeching off of for so very long. Whose power he was the sole inheritor of, considering the absence of the original owner.

He had panicked, he acted too quickly, he had thought they found him after all of this time under an assumed identity. Instead, they were looking for him. Benny pointed towards the corpse lying across from him and threw the balled up paper in his face. "It was you, you son of a bitch!" Terror snagged his throat and he choked, putting his hand to his face.

Looking at the fingers he'd stolen, he knew there was no going back if he lost this identity. The realization was hitting him in waves, like a rock upon the shore, bits of him were falling away every moment. This situation was doom, extinction, death. His death had finally come knocking on his door to deliver a message meant for another man.

Curling up into a fetal position he dragged his fingertips across his face, breathing sharply and painfully as he choked more and more. The walls began closing in and his vision began to fade into a black tunnel with only a corpse that shared his face on the other end, sweat and tears dripped from his chin onto his knees. It was all far too much for Benny, and his eyes rolled into his skull and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

In his panic he lost track of time, when he woke he found himself in the middle of the night. The room stank of the early onset of decay among other things, Benny pressed himself against the wall and took a long sharp breath. It was several minutes before he even considered thinking, and the first looping thought was to first resolve this corpse situation.

There was a long pensive stare between Benny and the corpse. "Moving it out in pieces wouldn't be hard."

Nine hours later, he had successfully moved the man's corpse and buried it. It was long and tiresome, he had to conceal himself all the way into the early morning and passed out when he made it back to his room. Another six hours passed in his sleep and he woke to the bitter isolation of this murder room that had been a prison for an unfortunate man. A punishment that Benny had enforced for far longer than the man had deserved. He was a monster, and the silence really drove that mental image in.

It threw him into a panic attack again, and he ran to the bathroom and threw up stomach acid. Cracks in his lips and gnaw marks on his cheeks and tongue burned, his teeth felt like sandpaper, the roof of his mouth was dry and painful. Again, and again, and again.

He stood up, flushed the toilet, and moved over to the sink to wash his face off. Looking in the reflection, a face that was both his face and not his face stared back at him, haggered and bloodshot. Wild eyes glared back into his, he wondered how much of this face was hallucination and how much was truth.

But then.

In a moment of clarity, he looked at the face of the dead man. He looked at the face that he owned now. This man's life was his life now, and there was a thread that needed to be cut. Otherwise people might come back looking for him again. A new identity, a new set of powers, a new face, and destroying every red thread of fate that still lead anyone to him.

Benny scrambled into the living room and picked up the piece of paper, an ugly grin tearing across his face.

Despite everything that had transpired in the past 24 hours, Benny had been presented with a unique opportunity to better himself. An opportunity to find a new identity, with a much better power than the one he'd been scraping by with in this wastrel filled dump.

He had no idea who Hex was, but Benny laughed and spoke, "Thanks Hex, you've been a real pal."
Name: Benedict Longinus (Benny)


Age: 43




His outfit: It is actually a cleverly pieced together outfit designed to be easy to remove and interchange parts. Layers of plain colored scarves, gloves, pants and shirts, with specially designed breakaway shoes. Everything about his outfit is specially designed for escaping, rather than protection or style.
Hidden Knife: Concealed on his hip. 5 inch blade, tempered steel.
Brass Knuckles: Concealed under his layers of gloves.



Misc Facts: Benedict is always left handed, this remains between every transformation. The parody image of his foes is always slightly taller or shorter than the individual he is transforming into. Has a habit of speaking in malaphors. He is also a social genius, he plans every moment of every interaction.

Relationship with Hex:

@Xavier Bloodbayne
It was all so very small to him.

A mountainous wash of energy blew across the battlefield, saturating miles in its density and blinding thickness. As if Xavier had soaked the battlefield in so much pea soup, creating an unmatched field of protection around himself. It was colossal, impressive, and so very small. Drom raised his right hand and brushed it through the thick air, its density marring his movements to an unnoticeably minuscule degree. Trails of energetic gas flowed over his blocky fingertips in jittering trails that collapsed back into themselves as his hand moved away from its wake.

The battlefield was a few miles wide, there were tens of thousands of brutalized corpses. A static charge ran through his body as he closed his eyes, the nerve endings across his body were still tingly from the discharge he himself had used to power the gateway here. Like fire across steel wool it trickled over his skin and clothes, every hair on his body stood on end and bristled together as the electricity moved through and away from him down into the ground and through the rest of the cloud.

After the charge ran through him he began to consolidate all of the dissociated information he had taken in a moment before. Supercomputer like synapses discharged and created a total simulacrum of the battlefield in his mind. Every single detail down to the way the bodies under Xavier stood on bowed under his feet, what material the bodies were made of, and the weight of Xavier pressing into it. Nothing was unnoticed, this star was main sequence and only gave off average radiation, but the burning had thrown up enough smoke to reduce the volume of radiation by a minute quantity.

Drom's body shivered as he repainted the faces of every corpse in his mind, this metal man was violent.

He stopped painting the picture in his brain once he cleared the edge of the fog, he had to stop himself before he began to understand the scope of his own existence again. There was no way that Xavier would leave his own field of effect, that was the defining feature of his existence. Why else would he put so much effort into making such a dramatic effect?

Clenching his jaw he began to draw lines of movement of both himself and Xavier, where either of them could move next. He tuned his ears to the surroundings, listening to every crackling fire and whispering blow of wind through the hairs of the mountain of corpses. Every single thing updated in his mind, one microsecond behind the reality that was happening around him. He muttered two words to himself, very solemn in tone. "Durgrov," Inhaling before speaking again as the first set of rings formed. "Reahteah." He exhaled a very long breath as the second set of rings formed. One teal, one goldenrod.

Once this artificial reality had been built in his mind, and the words spoken, Drom opened his eyes. They were glassy and inattentive to his surroundings, closing them was no longer worth the effort. Soon after he threw his head back and parted his lips, letting loose a shout that would echo across the entire battlefield. "Drom Fortin Inar faces you. It is only polite for a Challenger to give his name to the Champion."

There he would wait for a response, totally relaxed in the face of an overwhelming show of force. Knowing totally that his opponent to be was wildly unaware of the show of force he had given in response.
Name: Benedict Longinus (Benny)


Age: 43




His outfit: It is actually a cleverly pieced together outfit designed to be easy to remove and interchange parts. Layers of plain colored scarves, gloves, pants and shirts, with specially designed breakaway shoes. Everything about his outfit is specially designed for escaping, rather than protection or style.
Hidden Knife: Concealed on his hip. 5 inch blade, tempered steel.
Brass Knuckles: Concealed under his layers of gloves.



Misc Facts: Benedict is always left handed, this remains between every transformation. The parody image of his foes is always slightly taller or shorter than the individual he is transforming into.

Relationship with Hex:

@Doc Doctor
It had been an age since someone had taken opportunity of his missing eye, it had never once happened in such a way. In that moment he understood how a bowling ball felt on a level that he never could have imagined. Thumb in socket and head jerked forward like the plunger of a pinball machine, he would have laughed at the humor of it if he weren't about to be on the receiving end of the machinations of the barbarous Gonad.

His eye rolled in its socket to lock onto the movement in the corner of his peripheral vision. A kick aimed to spin him upside down, a solid response. With the experience of bloody conflict, Gonad proved capable on his feet with retaliating to unexpected offense. They truly had brought him as a match to the giant, even with the disparity of weight and size he was up against a swift and powerful body.

Single moments mattered, before the blow connected with his shins he extended his toes and raised the balls of his feet to put the axis of force at a further point from his body. By forcing the force further away from his center of gravity he made the spin far more powerful, allowing himself to take the full force of the blow. As Gonad had predicted, his kick sent the muscular form of Shin spinning place.


At the middle of the spin he tucked his arms into his chest and then straightened them to the ground. He stopped the vertical momentum by turning it into horizontal momentum, then caught himself on one hand, quickly shifting in place he moved his hands in a circle to keep the momentum going and even raising it to turn himself into a whirling dervish. The full length of his legs extended outwards with his hip turned slightly so that both knees were pointing in the same direction as they spun.

Once he'd thrown himself into a frenzied spin his unhinged eye watched Gonad begin to vomit and shoved outwards with his left hand. Throwing his entire spinning form like a top that's just hit a bump. He took the equivalent of two steps forward in distance to deliver a followup of his own kick. An absolutely diabolical spinning kick, using the sum total force that Gonad had delivered into him along with his own muscular fortitude to ramp the blow up.

He aimed to deliver it right into the side of Gonad's trunk, where his arm would likely be resting against his flank. With this much force it would be a staggering blow.
Cataclysmic churning of water saturated the air with mist and debris, thrown from the water's surface as the pillar collided and parts of cave and pillar both were flung about. The sound of roaring waves flooded the cavern and sunlight beamed through in golden strings through asymetrical cracks on the roof's surface. Reflecting across the silvery surface of the water they painted the water gold and the ceiling silver with glistering and rapidly twisting strings of color.

Behind the pillar as it descended fully into the increasingly murky depths, Shin stood fully erect with his toes on the one foot still in ownership of them, clutched into the stone surface like talons. As the entirety of its length went down, the water began to shrink. Its waves crashing lower and lower as they began a deadly spiral inwards toward the pillar itself, and for a single moment Shin thought that he had misunderstood the woman. For a single second he thought she used magic to suck the water, but closer observation noticed the opening that had been blown through the floor.

A deluge of cascading water and stone plunged into a much deeper underchamber, Shin waited till the water had flowed fully downward and the woman called out to him to descend as well. She spoke of tombs and demons, she was still under the impression that he was anything other than a decayed man. Perhaps she was right, immortality had changed the definition of his humanity. A withered corpse with no eyes, dried skin, dehydrated flesh, and missing teeth was barely a human.

He smiled his toothless grin before sliding down the pillar into the hole, raising his arms and drifting down unnaturally slow. Using his wirefighter's illusion to slowly reach the bottom, where his left foot touched down on the water and held him aloft on the surface tension. He bounced on the surface and leaped forward several dozen feet, using the water's compression to launch himself like a springboard. As he dashed across the water's surface, closing the distance between himself and the young woman he noticed the iconography of the cavern. It was familiar, but only in a distant way. Something he must have learned when he was younger, but long since the memory had been necessary to his survival.

That too was an inhuman thought, exclusively keeping information for the sake of survival. Perhaps that was why he was yet alive, and not a corpse. To reclaim his mortality he must reclaim his humanity?

She spoke of tombs earlier. Perhaps this could be where he was meant to be buried, and his contemplative nature through this entire interaction could be him slowly reclaiming that which he has lost.

He reached the water's edge and stepped onto the cold stone surface, the sound of wet skin slapping against stone echoed. "Yes, girl. This is an appropriate place." He slipped his left foot forward and leaned back on the heel of his right foot. Raising his left hand up and extending his fingertips towards her and drawing his right arm back, raising it over his head with the blunt metal rod still clenched tightly in his grip. He beckoned her by curling his fingers, inciting her to the first move.
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