Lugubrious

SAGA [An Original Dragon Ball Universe RP] - Always Open! [CAS/ADV]

Type 0011 “Severa”

PL 910 Human Cyborg
Location: VR Training World “Gehenna” / Secret Facility in Central Capital

From the moment she started to become aware of her surroundings, Severa could tell that nothing made sense. Golden light filtered through spindly dark objects, far enough away that the haze obscured their forms, leaving only four things in focus. To her left stood some sort of edifice, lacking detail but awash in a strange feeling. Home. Try as she might, Severa couldn't quite control herself; she felt as though she were strapped into someone else's head, watching from a first-person perspective but unable to direct her body's movements. Yet, despite the confusion and restriction she felt no fear. In fact, something unfamiliar and strange warmed her heart...a sensation that long since drifted away. Her eyes drifted between the faces of the people nearby one by one, but a sort of jitteriness blanketed their features, leaving them essentially faceless. The only thing Severa knew for sure was that she cared for them, and they for her. In this bizarrely vague but carefree place, she felt the handshakes of old strangers: affection and security, which so long ago had ceased to darken her door. Within the back of her mind, however, a lingering unease told her that this comforting scene was not hers, and never was. Though joy surrounded her, Severa was overcome by a longing sorrow, a sadness that spawned from the troubling assurance that none of this was real. Shaking, she looked back at those around her, seeking reassurance, but already they were moving away. The cheery sunshine receded, and as Severa reached out to take the hand of the closest person, she could feel it slide away like water between her fingers. Around her, the colors began to move faster and faster, the landscape melting away, until there remained only darkness and a pining for the touch of home.

Severa gasped, her head swimming painfully. A quick look around made it apparent that the world was upside-down, but she could grasp from the ropes around her feet that it was she who was misaligned. Further examination revealed that she hung, upside-down, from a gnarled tree. Below her yawned a pit lined by torches and filled with stakes, their blood-encrusted points rammed in some cases through stinking corpses. Around her, other bodies hung, but their stillness and her silence told her all she needed to know. As always, Severa was alone, and tonight the scent of death threatened to choke her before she could even impale herself. In every direction, more trees stood like looming spectators, watching those suspended in their midst in quiet anticipation. Her face, however, bore neither fear nor irritation, but instead a grimace of resignation. Fraught with danger as it was, this current predicament interested her far less than the odd hollowness somewhere deep within her mind. She knew that, moments ago, she'd been dreaming, but she could not recall her dream's subject. It left her bitter, as though she'd been denied a small convenience.

No matter. Inexplicable feelings troubled her daily, and as blasé as this situation was, she might as well get it over with. Tightening her stomach muscles, Severa curled upward, then straightened out. In such a manner she began to swing back and forth. For several passes she performed this same motion, a living pendulum, until she deemed her arc satisfactorily large. This time, when she curled, she reached out a hand toward the ropes that trapped her. In front of her fingers, the air began to spin, coalescing into a bladed disc that sawed straight through her bindings with a sound more like a ringing bell than a machine. Immediately she began to drop, but her swing brought her close enough to one of the other hanging bodies that she could plant her feet against it and push off. The impact of her shoes against the rotting flesh caused the skin to slough off, but Severa paid it no mind as she springboarded herself to safety. A midair flip brought her into the ideal position to land on the edge of the spike-pit with a roll, and after getting to her feet the girl dusted herself off and walked to the nearest tree. Two larger sawblades formed, one for each hand, and in a matter of moments Severa had stripped the tree of a sheet of bark. From there, it took only a short time to carve a suitable hole into the wood, which she entered before stretching the bark back over the opening. Then, with a slit in the bark to peek through, it was time to wait.

A quarter-hour passed before she spotted the shadows moving among the foliage on the other side of the spike-pit. Severa observed with nonchalance as a man entered the torchlight. His clothes marked him as a farmer, but the swelling of his left shoulder, and the spiny-toothed orifice nestled there, cast doubt on the notion of him ever being human. He walked toward the pit, a notched sword in hand and a yellow-green glare in his eyes. Behind him three similar creatures followed, and they spread out around the gruesome hole. One placed her back near Severa's hiding spot, and after making sure that no other monsters were coming, she went to work.

She burst from her cavity without much in the way of aplomb, leaping toward the nearest creature with two sawblades summoned. The first strike, a backhand slash, plowed through her target's midsection. Severa executed a full twirl, bringing her reverse hand in for a messy cut through the shock creature's torso, and the final slice after the spin put the miserable thing out of its misery by shearing its head into halves. The creature to her right turned toward her, scythe upraised, and Severa slung her right hand's sawblade into his chest vertically, where it dug itself in for a full second before losing its spin. Without time to admire her handiwork, Severa executed a corkscrew dive across the spike pit, forming another sawblade so that she could execute an x-slash to reduce the hapless monster to four quarters. Not counting the one struggling with the blade lodged in its ribcage, that left only the original. A tongue lashed out from his shoulder-mouth, seeking to bury its tip in Severa's face, but lopping it off with a blade was the very definition of easy. Her target swung his sword, which Severa intercepted with both blades at once. Its force threatened to break through, or push her backward into the pit, but the spin of the girl's saws sent incessant vibrations down the metal weapon into the creature's hand, numbing the nerves. A moment later, Severa shoved the sword to the side and dashed the opposite way, allowing the orbiting blades to strike once each before disappearing as she passed behind the monster. Before the thing could turn around, she dealt a swift kick to its back, causing the monster to tumble toward its own pit.

It did not reach the spikes. Severa's first sawblade, reacting to her summon, flew from its dying victim's chest to hang just above the pit, over the spikes. The monsters she kicked fell upon it, held on the bloodstrained edge by gravity, screeching until its halves fell into the pit on either side of the blade, which vanished back into the air. Just like that, the forest was quiet once again. Her face unchanged, Severa scooped up the fallen sword and turned to jog away into the foliage.

Project Crossover [SMASH ARENA - Only PXO members allowed]

Slayer
Level 4
Day 2
Location: In-house Smash Arena
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (0/40)

Dashing, domineering, deadly—Slayer cut quite the figure as he sauntered Gnasty's way, plans of attack running through his mind. His concentration on the idea of using Dandy Step to punish any move the repulsive brute made, however, availed him little when his allies took advantage of his distraction to move in from the sides and strike from afar with powerful ranged attacks. Void, ice, laser, and energy bombarded the great Gnorc, ripping into him before Slayer even got the chance to lash out with one of his newly-recalled techniques. Realizing with only a trace of distress that his presence in this fight would soon be obsolete, he picked up the pace to a powerwalk, intent on planting a Crosswise Heel in the damaged region of Gnasty's head. He never got chance; Fox and Naija struck once again, their formidable speed driving their finishing blows home and sending a him, battered, to the ground.

Naija set to teasing the fallen freak without delay, prompting an admonishing smile from the vampire. ”Now now, dearie. Our foe still draws breath. We must finish him now before he makes good his--!”

His words became reality with startling speed. Having regenerated enough to take action, Gnasty picked himself off and sprinted away from the heroes at a pace that would have traumatized any doctor of physics. With a final ejection of mutated green blood, the overgrown ogre disappeared into the hole through which he'd come.

”...Escape.” Placing his hand against his brow, the gentleman shook his head in mild disappointment. ”Ah, no matter. 'He can run, but he cannot hide'...isn't that the saying? Where he goes, we will follow, for the virus must be eradicated.”

Scarcely had he taken a few steps in pursuit before the familiar sounds of a train reached his ears. Slayer did not pause in his stride, but took note of the strange howl that accompanied the vehicle's whistle. How odd. He waved over his fellow warriors as he marched on, privy to the sight of lights down the tunnel. A moment after he reached the breach and began toward the tracks, he heard a sudden and meaty thwack that resounded off the walls, and his mind was filled with curiosity. Quickening his pace, Slayer arrived at the platform and beheld at once two incredible things: the inert remains of Gnasty Gnorc, and the phantasmagorical locomotive that had eviscerated him.

The sight bid him raised his eyebrows and almost displace his monocle. ”Goodness! What a sight.” Fascinated, he looked up and down the waiting train's length. ”Its haunting exterior reminds me...'tis the Halloween season, is it not? Perhaps this devilish contraption has arrived neither in malice nor benevolence, but as a harbinger of an even greater thrill.” He chuckled, realizing his overindulgence in wordplay. The battle concluded, he removed from his pockets a fresh pipe, which he proceeded to light with a flame-igniting snap of his fingers. As interesting as this development was, he was also eager to see what the others thought of this apparition.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Indigo Afina – Frenzy Fort
@t2wave@Lunarlors34

Ashlyn's sudden arrival evoked a sidelong glance from Indigo. Her distrustful look indicated that the scene of a training room set ablaze and a sparring partner sent to triage had not slipped her memory. Crossing her arms, the sorceress turned to the fire witch and told her, “Just a moment, missy. You're still on probation for your last little spate of boredom-relief. That means no more blasting the training floor.” Her gaze shifted to the job board, not too far from her desk. ”If you're itching for something to do, why not do some actual work? Leaving job choice up to the soldiers doesn't mean you can rake in wages for twiddling your thumbs.” When her eyes returned to Ashlyn's face, however, they found a pitiable plea that Indigo couldn't bring herself to ignore. Another thought crossed her mind as she pondered her decision, and with a sigh she gave a shrug. ”Then again, Bartholomew might be out on his walk this time of day, and you could use a chance to practice some restraint. However!” She looked down on the girl with all the severity she could muster. ”You'll be doing this trial out back, behind the Fort. The snow-covered obstacle course should provide a decent battlefield, and chances are your flames will thaw out the equipment. If I go out there tonight and the course is charcoal, however, you can look forward to a complete restriction on martial activities. Alright?”

Once Ashlyn affirmed her compliance, Indigo gave a nod and turned to Cyra. ”Alright then! Sorry for the delays, young lady. Please follow Ashlyn here around the Fort to begin your trial. Triumph over her, and your membership among our ranks is assured. I must admit I'm a bit biased for you...give Ash a good thrashing, won't you?” She gave a lighthearted laugh and held the door open for the two girls to head through out into the light snowfall.

SAGA [An Original Dragon Ball Universe RP] - Always Open! [CAS/ADV]

Character Information

Character Name

Colette Penning

Alias

Prototype 0011 “Severa”

Age

24

Race

Human

Sub-Race

Cyborg

Gender

Female

Occupation

N/A

Height

5'1”

Weight

115 lbs

Hair Color

White, though closer to gray than pure white

Eye Color

Black

Visual Appearance

Hider

Written Appearance

Slender, practically albino in complexion, and dressed in tight black accompanied by flowing white, Severa gives off a stark impression. Her face is most often one of pain and paranoia, very seldom shifting, and not at all personable.

Personality

Though her highly reserved, quiet bearing might make her seem unremarkable at first, Severa exhibits an exceptionally violent personality. She displays no hesitation at all to attack when she deems it necessary; neither does she give any sort of disinclination toward things others might consider horrible or disgusting. More vitally, perhaps, she's completely desensitized toward violence. She is fearless in a more technical than literary sense; she does not feel fear, but she will act in a manner that would best unsure her own survival in a fearful situation. In fact, her own survival is her modus operendii. Severa is pragmatic, intelligent, and selfish. Though quick to commit acts of violence if provoked, she prefers to avoid confrontation. Her preferred fighting style is assassination--keeping out of sight until an opportune moment arises to make a decisive strike.

All this is, of course, conditioning based on her experience in VR Training. The real Colette is judgmental, haughty, and sometimes rash, but a deeply empathetic and caring person. All of this has, however, been buried very deep. Because of her near-total lack of real world experience and socialization she is extremely awkward around other people, and while paranoid, somewhat curious and quite naive. Somewhat like a child, she takes things at face value, and has seen enough abnormality to believe almost anything in a literal sense

Background

Born into money, Colette and her brothers Alistair and Vernon lived a carefree life of luxury for their whole childhoods. As kids of stars often do, they exhibited a few odd quirks -the most noticeable being egocentricity- but for the most part they lived ordinary if spoiled lives. That began to change, however, when their parents' careers in the acting business tanked. They knew theirs was a cutthroat industry, but neither could have imagined how far they would fall. When the money began to dry up, the difficulties began. With no small amount of self-absorption themselves, Colette's mother and farther turned their frustration and despair on one another and their children, and the kids' early teens saw them develop into problems at school. Putting their natural talents to use, the three siblings spent their free time putting others down in order to feel better about themselves, unable to put anything in the void their parents left. It came to be that when the three and a handful of 'friends' were arrested for breaking into, vandalizing, and stealing from South Capital's Movie Headquarters, nobody was surprised.

However, instead of spending time in juvenile detention, doing some community service, and returning to their lives, the three siblings were left to rot. Not a peep was heard from their parents who, having fallen out of the limelight, were no longer subject to the public's scrutiny. After a week behind bars, an ordinary-looking bus appeared with the words 'Child Services' emblazoned on the side. The detention center's current crop of fourteen undesirables shuffled aboard, and that was that. They did not, however, arrive at their intended destination. The bus descended into a private parking garage, where the confused kids were herded into a strange facility. After all were crowded into a small white room, the door locked behind them, and through vents in the ceiling a yellow gas poured in. Colette's head span, she hit the ground, and the world went dark.

Kept unconscious by IV drip, every child was inducted into the experiments of Dr. Naru Long, a disgraced scientist gone into hiding to work as an experimental arms manufacturer. The surgeries commenced one-by-one, each unwilling volunteer outfitted with cybernetic enhancements before being plugged into the VR Training system—a virtual world of nightmares. There, alongside the others, Colette was forced to survive a literal hell of horror for ten years. She learned how to use her new powers quickly, but it took far longer for her personality to change. Faced with gruesome imagery and the necessity to sneak and slaughter or die every single day, she became number and number as her instinct grew sharper and sharper. Eventually, she lost all memory of her past self, and truly became Severa. On occasion she crossed paths with a fellow test subject, unaware that the brief spots of hope and company were often false, for those that died were replaced by artificial intelligences made using their minds at their last 'save point' before their expiration. In the real world, Severa and her surviving allies had grown from childhood to adulthood and gone through several sets of augmentations, perfect soldiers lying in waiting. The procedure remains ongoing, the cyborgs kept in stasis while their consciousnesses continue to suffer, under the watchful eye of Dr. Long.

Weapon & Techniques

Weapon

N/A

Power Level

910

Techniques

Accelerotation – Severa's onboard weapons system is a highly advanced, prototype remote particle acceleration system using state-of-the-art electromagnets and spinning energy meant to emulate the ki-based destructo disk technique. In each of Severa's palms is an “Accelerotation Engine” which, after starting to spin, accelerates the particles in front of the palm in a vortex to create a high-speed sawblade with exceptional cutting power. Depending on the particles available in front of her palms, she can create sawblades with different compositions. These spinning blades can be slung through the air, and thanks to the rapid and precise activation/deactivation of her electromagnets, orbit around her, return to her if slung, and generally fly in circular patterns. The end result is an elegant and deadly close-to-midrange weapon, best at blitzing through the defenses of slower targets

Leitmotif

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

The battle is joined, friends and allies coming together against a common threat, save for those separated by misunderstanding

Woodstop

@TheFake's Kallahar, @Lord Zee's Revenmar, @13org's Yasha

Mixed feelings abounded in the room as the silver knight shut off his commanding persona as easily as turning off a faucet. The sudden change told everyone present that Revenmar was capable of changing moods at the drop of a hat, which meant that no matter how affable he suddenly seemed, he could threaten any one of them again in an instant. All the same, the tension in the room eased. When the cookmaster, the paladin, and the axe-fighter left, the shaken workers returned to their duties as well as they could.

Morderik's distress persisted once the group returned to the mess hall. He looked as though he wanted to be outraged, but knew better than to question the bizarre warrior he'd offered his aid to. Into the silence that followed, Effin interjected himself. “Well! Reckon we couldn't 'ave got the scoop any faster. Angenny, eh? I know 'er. Quiet, but always awful full o' 'erself. Like everyone around 'er was disgustin' or embarrassin'. She got long brown hair, dyed red.” He waved the cookmaster off. “Thanks fer yer 'elp, Mord. 'Ave a good one.” With a nod toward Revenmar, he started toward the door.

A sound split the air, resounding through the hidden town's still atmosphere. For a moment the two horn-blasts surprised Effin more than anything, but his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled a moment later. He'd never heard the sound, but he'd drilled for it, and his face spoke of bad news. “The alarm. Beastmen in the valley. God, we ain't ready...” Moving with a speed that defied his age, the burly axe fighter shouldered open the door of the mess haul, slowed just long enough to get his heading, and then charged in the direction of the barracks. “C'mon! They're comin'!” By that time, the entire population of the mess hall had mobilized and was heading to one of the two doors with great haste.

The scene outside was one of pandemonium. People ran every which way, arms full of what they'd been working on a moment ago or equipment to prepare for when the enemy was upon them. In particular, the barracks broiled with frenzied activity, with soldiers climbing in and out of windows to get past the traffic jam at the door. A man with a crisp uniform beneath his halfplate barked commands, trying to establish a method in the madness. Effin joined the surge heading in and tumbled from a window a moment later, hatchet in hand. At the same time, a familiar silhouette appeared. Emile jogged onto the scene and extended a hand down to help Effin up, who accepted without any hesitation.

His face inscrutable beneath his crested helmet, the comet chaser looked back and forth between Revenmar and Effin. ”Looks like our spy'll have to wait, not that I found anythin' on my end. We under attack?”

Effin looked at him as though he were daft before turning to run in the same direction as the rest of the soldiers. “Yeah, yeah!”

Gathering that the situation was too urgent for any further questioning, Emile followed. He reached out and, for the brief moment moment he was close enough, clapped a hand on Revenmar's shoulder as he passed by. “Let's get goin'!”

Before he knew it, Emile passed through the gates. He looked up after passing beneath the catwalk and spotted the man he knew as Oswalt, bow at the ready. There was no time for familiarities, so he pressed on. Already he could hear the sounds of metal against metal, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. My first real fight. The column of soldiers rounded a copse of trees, and the hidden valley opened up before them. Right away Emile could see the enemy—a wall of orange and brown, bearing weapons of dull iron and bone, already more than halfway across the span of dappled grass and grappling with the first wave of human soldiers. More foxmen poured through the illusory boulder that marked the valley's entrance by the second, their form more a stream than a flood, but still startling in its implication. How many are there? Yet, despite the enemy's numbers, Emile felt confident. His excellent vision, combined with his visor, meant he could scrutinize every detail about the beastmen before him from a long way off, and none looked especially strong. Added to that the readout of his enchanted lenses, which told him that no fox's power exceeded 'minor threat', and he felt sure that he could take them.

When he reached the front lines and immediately stepped on the corpse of a man with a broken-off bone spear through his throat, he almost dry-heaved. So distracted was he that he didn't notice a vulpuryun swordfox darting toward him until the beastman was only a couple meters away. His eyes widened as he reached for his left saber. “Whoa!” The swordfox's bloody blade was already in the air, but Emile drew his own with incredible speed, unsheathing and slicing in a single stroke. His bright edge blossomed with cutting wind and sheared through his foe's wooden spiral shield, barely slowing down. Its tip slid through the swordfox's leather vest and into his torso, leaving an inch-deep gash all the way across. The windforce of the blow knocked the beastman back after cutting him, throwing him to the ground, and Emile transitioned into a powerful overhead slash with the same blade. A verticle wind slash fell upon the prone fox, very nearly cutting him in two as it extinguished his life in an instant.

The bright green flash of Emile's Euphoria blades drew the eye of everyone in the immediate vicinity, ally and enemy alike. A spearfox a few meters away hurled his javelin at the new threat. Moving with natural grace, Emile swatted the javelin aside as he closed the distance, with a dash, then drew his other saber with an upward slash that carried the bloody fox into the air. Emile, high on the thrill of battle, repositioned his swords for an -xslash at the airborne enemy and let it rip. Unable to dodge, the howling foxman was dashed to quarters midair.

Emile looked down just in time to see two beastmen with strange-looking gear lunge at the same time. This time, he was not poised to counterattack, and the foxed thrust their staves into his chest at the same moment. In an instant, a painful tingling filled his body—paralysis. What? These creatures shouldn't be able to CC me. Gritting his teeth, he started to move, laboriously forcing his way through the affliction. The foxmen betrayed no emotion from behind their masks, but their ears flattened; evidently, they were surprised, too. Before either they or Emile could act, however, a pale hand reached in from the side and grabbed hold of one's head. A beam of red magic burst from Randy's palm, firing clean through the fox's head, and as the other turned a soldier Emile didn't know jumped in from the other side to bury her short sword in the other's back. With a halfhearted snarl it fell.

Randy grinned, his mint-green pompadour a-wobble. “You possess some exceptional magic, my friend, but have a care. Our foes' druids carry lightning rods that can render any man immobile. Though, it would appear you were seconds away from freeing yourself...” Frowning, he turned his attention to the next wave of foxmen, approaching fast. He cast a protection charm over the nearby soldiers. “...I will support you. Let us proceed!”

The group charged. Remembering a skill of his, Emile raised his swords to clang together for Rally Spectrum, planning to boost his allies' attack. The memory of a man lying dead in the dirt came back to him, however, so he called, “Rally Defense!” before leaping forward to join the charge.

-=-=-

Death came for the vixen, her failed attempt at an ultimate attack making true what she'd known would come to pass. Her dying gasp, venomous to the last, vanished into the whispering of the woods. Her kin dead or fled, Rorryln had been the last vulpuryun standing, and her demise left Lenore and Kallahar alone together.

Lenore breathed a sigh of relief. The adversary she'd judged worthy had met her end without an excess of pain, and there didn't need to be any more fighting. She allowed her eyes to slide closed as she steadied her inhalation, and her hands' deathgrip on her staff ceased. To either side of her, the grim flesh constructs stood without moving, waiting for their master's command. She gave them none; already Lenore felt tired, but she knew the end of this conflict with the beastmen lay far off. In a few moments, she imagined, her respite would end and she would have to pursue the bulk of the vulpuryun warband. To do less would be selfish, an invitation for the horde to attack the village her uncle discovered. While he could handle himself, any attack would mean the loss of life, and the last thing she wanted was to see innocents dead.

To her left, Kallahar stood up. Lenore stopped leaning against her tree and turned to face her, ready to give an affirmative nod. What the Death Knight said, however, left her dumbfounded. W-what?” She was leaving? Why? Before she could come to her senses, Lenore was by herself. ”Wait! I know I-I didn't really help much there, but you said yourself I should be who I wished to be, or something like that! If I'm gonna be a heroine, I can't just slaughter people! Nobody deserves the k-kind...the kind of stuff I can do now...” It was too late; Kallahar was gone. Just like that, Lenore had nobody but her unthinking, unfeeling new bodyguards.

A moment passed before she sniffled. ”Damn it, it isn't fair...” Before long, her panic gave rise to frustration. ”What the hell's her problem? Leavin' me alone, just 'cause I didn't chase after and kill those poor foxes...” After a moment of wiping at her eyes, Lenore cradled her staff against her chest and head. Trying to think of what to do next. ”I've got to find Uncle E,” she decided after a moment. ”He'll help me. No, I'll help him. If I help save the village, they can't possibly hate me.” So intent was she that she hadn't noticed a tendril emerge from beneath her dress to grab and drag in the body of Rorryln, nor the muted crunching. ”Okay.” She shook her head to focus, then started to run in the direction she'd been heading before the ambush.

-=-=-

Like people crowding around a fight, the trees closed in around Yasha's battle to escape her magic-induced haze. Sun filtered through the trees onto the leaf-strewn, root-tangled forest floor, and into the eyes of the sharpshooter. Fresh in her mind was a scene of wanton slaughter, of thunder from the heavens and the rage of the earth, a frightening and confusing dance of crystal, fire, and blood. Emerging into this woodland felt very much like emerging into a dream, or perhaps waking up from a nightmare. Its serenity was surreal until the telltale noises of armed conflict pierced the windless trees.

Following the sound would lead to an altogether strange sight. Humanoid shapes obscured from a distance by the canopy's shadows resolved into the forms of foxes who ran like men, armed with a variety of weapons, into a boulder nested amid some trees packed trunk-to-trunk. Instead of smacking into its stony face, however, the foxmen dashed straight through the huge rock, and in return that illusory barrier admitted the clash of weapons, the cries of beasts, and the shouts of men.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Knight Sylvestre

Location: Oldtown

If the three attackers bearing down on the College personnel whatsoever, they did not show it. Behind the torrent of water, Howell and Raleigh appeared utterly confident, not even flinching as Souta swung his warhammer at nothing. From the weapon, ghostly green skeletons burst forth to fly, chattering, into the typhoon, but they were dashed to pieces in an instant. Before he could do anything else the invisible weight fell upon him from above, and the smith was forced to his knees. By that time Juniper reached the water from her side, and having evidently grown accustomed to her new legs in a time nothing short of remarkable, she flung herself toward the two intruders. A blast of water slapped her from the side before she even got close, slinging her back only to land on her feet. She stepped into the surging water just as Cyril arrived opposite her, and they entered the outermost section at the same time. For a split second their footing held, and it seemed as though they might be able to ford the maelstrom, but neither could even process that they were making progress before the flow's strength increased and sent both tumbling to their feet. The impact with the ground drove the breath from Cyril's lungs, but that sudden jolt of pain paled in comparison to the crushing sensation that followed. The unknown force pressed against him with cruel power, threatening to squash him between it and the cobblestone. He could only give a ragged gasp as he felt the bones injured during his fight with Juniper threatening to give again.

He hoped that whatever his enemy was hurting him with would go after one of his temporary allies next, but this desperate plea went unheard; understanding his critical condition, the force struck him again. Meanwhile, Souta and Juniper had pulled themselves up, and the former shouted something to the latter. Though too far away for it to possibly hit, Juniper aimed a kick with her more technological leg, and a compartment opened just above the foot to produce a glowing blue bomb. Like a professional athlete she sent the bomb flying, and the cascade at it up. The brilliant blue light became a blur, spinning around the typhoon, until it exploded a split second later. While the blast itself did not blow through the watery barrier, the noise and shockwave startled the College employees inside, shifting their focus from the fallen knight to the martial artist. Her new technique complete, Juniper spun away in time to avoid a crush. The next moment, a second bomb went the way of the first, keeping her enemies' eyes on her.

Souta suddenly loomed over Cyril, and the smith reached down to help the vanguard up. “Nothing's getting through!” he yelled through the noise. “Whatever that woman's doing with the water is crazy strong, but I don't think either really know what they're doing! They're high on their own power! We just need to figure out a weakness in the magic!” His warhammer dissipated in a rush of water from his hoodie, and a strange-looking shotgun appeared in its place. He fired off what looking like a spike made of blue fire into the maelstrom, but it was tossed away like a flicked matchstick. Through the torrent Cyril could see the devious-looking man turn his attention to the two of them, and on reflex he raised his shield above his head.

CLANG!

The vanguard could barely keep standing, his knees shaking and alight with muscle pain, as the invisible force descended upon him again. Having knelt, Souta shot another fire spike, this one aimed lower. Predictably, it was blown back, but this time by the current. With an inward grown Cyril slumped sideways in a weak attempt at a dodge, his Sheen carrying him out of the way. Souta sprinted the other way, and down again came the crush. Its attack exploded the spike, which detonated in a burst of blue fire. However, the flame spread as though something were blocking it, and as it raced sideways it curled up around the outline of its obstacle. For an instant, the azure blaze highlighted the shape of a giant foot, bizarre and alien, but a foot nonetheless.

This did not escape anyone's notice. “Whatever it is reacted with Deluge's spirit fire!” Souta observed, his remark lost upon Cyril, whose skin crawled as he imagined some kind of enormous, intangible, spectral entity attacking him. Demons he could fight, but ghosts were the domain of warlocks and necromancers. Great. There was a chance he and the others could put their heads together and figure out an exploitable flaw, but under an assault like this?

Juniper, in the middle of another bomb kick, took a hit from the entity for the first time. Without much in the way of defense, but a lot in the way of injury, she crumpled under the blow. “Gaaah!” Both of the College personnel were looking her way, leaving an opportunity. Smart or not, it was a decision that Cyril had to make in a fraction of a second.

“Go, go, go!”

He barreled forward, fast as his weary legs to carry him. Souta ran ahead, his hammer materializing in his off hand. Both men entered the current, and to their surprise the stayed standing. Without any time to be surprised, however, they moved forward. It was tough going, but Cyril felt elated that he was somehow doing it. “Brace yourself!” he bellowed, knowing another crush was imminent. Instead of ducking down, Souta lifted his weapons up as a makeshift shield, and together with Cyril did his best to block the attack. Around them, the raging water weakened, and Cyril took another step. One more and he would be able to thrust his glaive into the man's midsection.

“Keep it up!” Juniper's voice came from behind as she got to her feet, and she moved toward the trio's enemies. The moment she did, the current returned to its full power, carrying both Cyril and Souta off their feet. Caught in the typhoon, they flew back out of range, their progress lost. Juniper's face was one of anger. “What!? How did you mess that...!?” A wall of water cut her off, washing her away as well. When Cyril looked back at his foes, he found the maelstrom even angrier than before. From behind him and to his right, Juniper shrieked in pain beneath the weight of another attack from the entity.

He staggered to his feet, using his polearm as a third leg. “It's...because of us,” he gasped. “The water's responding to something about us. Emotion...?” That didn't make sense. They'd all been confused, fearful, aggressive, and so forth this whole time. The flow had been weakest right after he and the smith had worked together to survive the entity's attack, but only so long as Juniper was down. He couldn't figure out the connection for the life of him, which would soon be a very literal problem at this rate.

From the middle of the swirling shell of water, the two College people had regained their confidence. The brief moment they'd been close to danger came completely by surprise, but with Souta, Juniper, and Cyril worn down and at a loss for a solution, that moment seemed far off. “Finish them!” The man called, but not to his colleague. The vanguard couldn't react before a pressure closed in on him from all directions. His arms and legs were pinned against him, and he was lifted into the air. No amount of wriggling would set him free. If whatever he'd seen before was a foot, this could only be the entity's hand. About the ins and outs of his invisible assailant, however, Cyril wasn't really thinking. The only thing he knew was that he was trapped—trapped by something he didn't understand, and going to die.

The Fungal Knight

Location: the Big Top
@Banana

Contrary to what its colorful, inflatable exterior might imply, the blow-up hammer wielded by the clown struck like a miniature freight train. Its concussive force would have fractured every bone in the basilisk's body had it any bones to break. If the clown had been fast enough to strike at Bonesword during his brief flight to a nearby table, it could have spelled the end for the skeleton's trusty Shroomblade as well. As it was, the jeering jester trudged after him, hammer in hand.

More than used to bright and sudden lights, the flash surrounding Bonesword gave the clown no pause, but the sight of what his adversary became shocked the clown for one fleeting moment. After the initial jolt wore off, however, the funny man's freakish features grew into a snide smile. He understood very well that the being of bone before him had become a bozo like he, and moreover, he knew just where hit own species hurt. Holding his hammer in both hand like a pike, the clown charged forward with his considerable mass. The head of his weapon zoomed toward Bobonesword's big red nose.

The Cereal Killer and The Book Keeper

Location: Historical District
@Propro@BCTheEntity

The siblings Davian and Aralynn watched their opponents from across the water with crossed arms and calm faces. Of the two, Aralynn felt greater elation, though better concealed, at having power enough to threaten these competitors, who'd proven their monstrous strengths in their fights against one another. From the moment she'd started watching Oren's recordings she had felt jealous indeed of all the myriad abilities the strangers from afar seemed to have. Now that she commanded a supernatural talent of her own, however, she felt positively delighted. In particular she enjoyed the theatricality of this encounter—she had, after all, prevented her initial few missiles from hitting their marks so as to not end the fight too quickly. These people needed to know the faces of those who would put them down, and save the world from the calamity of a terrible wish. This fight wouldn't be over with a few missiles, but she had plenty to spare.

Around Motley, the shadow figures continued to evade him, even turning into blurs to get out of the way of his own stand's attacks. He fired off his repartee, a bloody fingernail laced with Heavy Fuel's miasma, in the direction of the biggest missile seeking him out. When the two projectiles made contact, the missile itself passed through Motley's organic matter, but the corrosion of Heavy Fuel set in without delay. For a moment the missile blackened before exploding midair. Out of the smoke cloud it left behind, the smaller missiles appeared, still on course. Aralynn watched as Motley extruded the remainder of his fingernails to make into a revolting lasso, which he spun above the heads of his allies to make a shield. Narrowing her eyes, the twin raised her hand, and the smaller missiles angled upward. They continued to rise as long as she kept her hand aloft, and the moment she dropped it, they turned in midair to fly back toward their original target. Now they were coming from above in spread formation. At this point, Aralynn ignored them, and instead raised her elbows to either side of her head to open up four compartments, one in each upper and lower arm. A quartet of medium-size missiles sailed forth, far faster and more direct than the smaller ones.

When he opened up his journal, Runch found two additional pages filled out.

Davian Thule
Student of language
Intelligent, caring, and resourceful

Stand Name: Boys of Summer
Humanoid in form, Boys of Summer is a collective stand best described as innumerable, nondescript shadow people.  They are vaguely visible to non-users through technological displays like security cameras and television monitors.  To other Stand users, they are more solid, but still lack identifying features
Stand Power: Silent Protectorate
Boys of Summer appear en masse around the user independently, and can blink into existence around anyone whom the user’s emotion focuses around for a short period.  They surround the target as best they can, standing very close by but moving in quick, short bursts so that the target doesn’t touch them.  They stand silently, watching everything in the vicinity, and moving along with the target whenever the target relocates.  They make an effort to avoid touching the target, up to the point of adopting supernatural speed. More appear, walking in from the distance to join the crowd, whenever the target vocalizes any sort of request for help.  Boys of Summer can ‘activate’ whenever something bad happens in their vicinity, and a single one can spend its existence to avert that happening. Most notable, they serve as meatshields against Stand attacks, completely negating one attack at a time. A Far Distance Autopilot-type stand, Boys of Summer operates via its own guiding intelligence, and is empathetic in nature

Aralyyn Thule
Student of Archaeology
Intelligent, ambitious, and forceful

Stand Name; Heatseeker
Heatseeker has no body of its own
Stand Power: Missile Generation
Heatseeker responds to the will of its user to convert parts of the user's body into mechanical compartments that can open to reveal missile launchers inside. Having a body part converted into a compartment has no adverse affects on the user whatsoever, and after the compartment closes, the area is completely normal once again. It can also effect clothes. The missile launchers can take virtually any shape, from individual launchers to entire missile arrays, but the missiles themselves have several constant attributes. The larger a missile is, the greater its destructive power, durability, and speed; the more missiles there are in a single compartment, the smaller they will be. All missiles can be set to seek a certain target dictated by the user. Targets can include both specific things, like a person in the user's vision, or something more abstract, like a lost object. Automatic seeking worsens the farther a missile gets from the user, and larger missiles have worse seeking irregardless compared to smaller missiles. However, the user can temporarily override the seeking of small enough missiles as long as she can see them, spurring them in a specific direction

Sunspot

Location: the Park
@FloodTalon

Jin's comments evoked a dark smile from Pieter. “As insufferable as you are doomed. Enjoy your last laugh.” His whirlwind of leaves homed in on its target, but the assassin made good on his reputation and sped behind cover. The movement of his hands toward his waist before he disappeared clued Pieter in to what he was up to. From the footage he reviewed, he knew where 'Sunspot' kept his guns. At a more leisurely pace, Pieter crouched down and slid back, taking refuge in the thick branches of his tree's crown. Sure enough, two gunshots rang out through the still air. One hit the wood a few feet from his position, and the other punched through the leaf tornado. That shot split apart the leaves it hit, but the tiny gap the bullet made was closed immediately by the countless leaves that remained.

By then, the twister smacked into the tree. It hit with very little force, barely enough to strip some bark from the trunk of Jin's cover, and dissipated. The leaves themselves, however, were not done. They embedded themselves into the tree, digging in as though the wood was eating them. Above the assassin, his tree's leaves began to change color. They took on the same colors of fall as those commanded by Pieter, then -all at once- shot downward from their branches. Like a rain of blades they fell toward Jin, flying edge-first at him in a steady barrage.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Looks like that's the end of the Silverlocke tale, then.

That leaves us with me, Lazo, Banana, Kapuchu, Propro, BC, and Floodtalon. The stalwart seven, perhaps.

I plan to post in the near future, whether the remaining three of you update this round or not.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

@TheFake, mind posting in the near future? With the introduction of a new character to the Woodstop area, I'm inclined to kick off my plans.

SAGA [An Original Dragon Ball Universe RP] - Recruitment Thread!

I think I'd be down for this.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

For a moment Elliot felt positive that he didn't need to bother getting in any practice with his new equipment, but after Decoy made his suggestions he thought better of it. Gear and gadgets were what he, the five-man team's Sixth Ranger, had up his sleeve. Screwing up a vital deployment in the heat of the moment could very well cost him his life, and being able to adopt only a single pose for the remainder of eternity would not appeal to him at all for at least forty more years. So too was mission control correct about his needs—which was, in a way, disconcerting. Behaving in a way as to make plain one's reactive rejection of one being rejected by others was the natural and logical way of things, so any chance at being obliged -or dare he say it, cared about- could pose a threat to the established order. ”Indeed,” Elliot murmured, looking as erudite as a troubled teen possibly could. ”I have much to gather in preparation for this mission.”

It would appear that a trip back to the Protectorate HQ was in order. In an act of generosity, Elliot elected to not obey his urge to head there immediately while leaving his allies behind, so that they might benefit from proximity to his nebulous coolness. Truth be told, however, he doubted any save Lillian had yet to erect in their minds a defensive barrier to ward off feelings of inferiority, and neither he knew if Lillian might deign to gaze unflinchingly upon his brilliance. Crossing his legs and perching his chin upon the back of his hand, he awaited the super friends' departure.