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2 mos ago
Current MEEP
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I am back into this shit, I guess. Say hello if you'd like.
4 yrs ago
I am one with the force and the force is with me.
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I have suddenly become deeply troubled.
4 yrs ago
If I see one more commercial for FREAKING tagged, I'm going to burst into flame. There is such a thing as too much advertising, folks.
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Bio

"That's why we must eat the old people first. They can't have that kind of power."


I've been roleplaying for six years, and if I do say so myself I've gotten pretty good. I've been to many roleplay sites around the internet, and for right now I'm happy calling this one home. I write fantasy, high science fiction, and poetry. I'm involved in the Nerdfighteria community as well, making the world suck a little bit less one day at a time. Though sometimes it's rough and incredibly time-consuming, roleplaying has brought me some of my closest friends, some of the most genuinely awesome people I've ever met. This train is still going, and there's no stop in sight! DFTBA.

The Disappointment Club:


"What the fuck did I just read"


We're special-ed special forces, the most exclusive internet club that no one wants to join, and the most thoroughly disappointing group of individuals the world has ever seen (we even disappoint when it comes to disappointing). Together, we're quite possibly the best six friends the internet has know.

- @Junkmail : Living Proof That God is Dead.
- @He Who Walks Behind : I still won't forgive him for what he did to that starfish.
- @Dragonbud : Her Gregory Cosplay is fire.
- @Surtr : I think he's still trying to pimp me... Help.
- @Spoopy Scary : He's Greg.

List of Super-Power Pet Peeves:

-Shadow Powers
-Blood Powers
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-"Dimensional Storage" Powers
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Most Recent Posts

Iulian

D I E S I R A E





Irae was hesitant to allow Bradshaw to be the one at the front driving the horses. For one, he was far too imposing a man, and he himself could probably play it up better than he could. Secondly, he was worried that taking the time to dramatically take off his cloak, reveal his armor, and draw his sword, they’d already be on guard and ready to slaughter him like a ripe pig. Nevermind the fact that hiding Irae back here was kind of a waste of resources, but of course, this was perhaps his own expertise talking and he was expecting too much from a small handful of roadside brigands. When their fearless leader gave the cue, the other two combatants hiding with him burst outside armed to the teeth with oversized weapons to bear down upon their enemies. Meanwhile, Irae stayed seated with his dagger in hand and center to his body, held up almost ritualistically, as he closed his eyes and prayed for a bloody end to his enemies.

Outside, the battle proceeded as expected. Compared to trained mercenaries, these bandits were no match. At the front of the cart, Adam faced off against the largest of the bandits, sword in hand against a boar spear. The spear, Adam knew, was a hunting tool, not a weapon, and despite its appearance, the crossguard beneath the spear point was a liability Adam could exploit. Held at a range, Adam feigned a lunge forwards, and the bandit took the bait. He thrust out with the spear towards Adam, who side-stepped and brought his sword up swiftly, catching the backside of the crossguard with the blade of his sword. The blade now secure, Adam pulled, bringing the bandit in close, then shoved the spear to the side with a quick thrust. The spearpoint pushed off to the side, Adam reached forwards with his off hand and grabbed the spear shaft, securely neutralizing the weapon. Before the bandit could react, Adam pulled the shaft and thrusted simultaneously, stabbing the bandit between a pair of ribs. The blade pierced through the back of the bandit’s torso, running him through.

The bandit struggled weakly, blood rushing from the wound. He grabbed at Adam’s forearm, attempting to remove the blade to no avail. Adam let go of the spear and put an arm around the bandit’s shoulders, pulling him close. At closer inspection, the bandit was a lot older than he initially looked; tufts of grey sprouted from his messy hair and beard, and wrinkle lines ringed his eyes. He was probably around Adam’s age. The bandit opened his mouth to say something, but only blood escaped. Slowly, Adam lowered him to the ground and withdrew the sword.

“Sorry, old man,” Adam said, looking down at the dying man. “May you rest in peace.” With that, Adam stood up, leaving the man to watch the swiftly blackening sky.

On the other side of the cart, Iulian and Amelia fought the other bandits. After her initial attack, the bandit was able to get back his footing and prepare to defend. She lunged forwards, trying to catch the spear with her parrying hooks, but the bandit backpedaled, the blade glancing off the tip of the spear.

Iulian was far more ravenous in his approach, wielding a khopesh and nothing else with surprising effectiveness. Unlike his quarry and the allies he fought with who grunted in exertion and effort or gasped in pain, Iulian cackled, his gravelly voice taking on an unnerving laugh as he powered forward. His chosen bandit was a young man, likely a decade his junior. The bandit’s approach had been energetic at first but he was worn down fast by Iulian’s seemingly endless barrage of heavy strikes. The bandit parried a downwards arc of Iulian’s sword and brought it upwards, glancing Iulian’s flank, but he overextended. Iulian’s hand came up and caught the boy’s forearm in an iron grip. Out of instinct he pulled backwards, but Iulian moved with him. The young man was off balance and panicked, and swung with his free hand in an attempt to punch the larger man to gain some breathing room, but Iulian was undeterred. He lunged forwards with ferocity unlike a normal man, and sunk his teeth into the boy’s neck. There was a seize, and a gurgle, and Iulian dropped the still living young man- roughly shoving his body to the ground. He had a chunk bitten out of the side, and blood was flowing freely from the bite. Iulian spat that chunk out and wiped his mouth with his forearm, electing to pay no further attention to the dying man, either unaware or uncaring of his injury. Saliva and drool strung from his mouth like a rabid dog, now tinted red with the blood from the bite.

Irae heard the wet gnashing of blood and flesh and teeth from behind the canvas and signed a cross over his body with his hand. It was very likely Iulian’s doing. That man always had a habit of playing with his food — a messy eater with such terrible table manners, and it was doubtful he even brought a napkin with him. He made a rueful sigh as he held his reliquary and called out from inside the wagon, “could we please expedite this?”

As if on cue, a blade ripped through the canvas beside his head and tore a two foot vertical slit in the wagon covering, to which Irae acknowledged with a surprised widening of his eyes, albeit nothing more. The sound of impact against the side of the wagon, conjoined with the mutual grunting of a man and woman, Irae assumed that Amelia pinned one against the side of the wagon. A quick peek through the new hole in the canvas confirmed this. With a tired rolling of his eyes, he broke form (that is, praying), and brandished his dagger and stuck it blindly through the canvas and into the torso of the bandit engaged with Amelia. One shrill yelp later, the weight on the wagon shifted as he heard the sound of a body crash against the ground, followed by a quick and bloody end on someone’s blade as he cleaned his own with a spare red handkerchief. This was just another day in life.
As the last ground bandit slumped to the road, leaving a bloody smear down the side of the canvas wagon, Amelia frowned and rolled her eyes. Before speaking, she lifted her blade and plunged it down into the chest of the bandit, confirming his death. Then she looked up at the cart, anger in her eyes.

“That was my kill!” Amelia shouted. “You’ve got no business flexing your weary priestly muscles.” Adam walked around the corner and brought the conversation to a halt.

“No time for small talk,” Adam said. “The archer and tower teams have moved. Let’s head to the base of the tower and try to get out the rest of the bandits. Adam looked around this side of the cart; the fights over here had been much bloodier. Furthermore, the canvas of the company’s troop cart had been torn and bloodstained— a costly repair. Adam groaned as he walked out towards the tower.

“And Iulian,” he called over his shoulder. “Wipe your goddamn mouth off, won’t you? We’re soldiers, not cannibals.”



"Check with Emrys, but I'm pretty sure we have some climbing equipment you all can utilize," Adam said. "Perhaps Morag can set something up for you." With that, seeing that everyone seemed in agreement, Adam nodded and stood from the table.

"Alright," he said. "I believe that concludes today's meeting. As the plan, we will depart at dusk. Make sure you are ready on time- tardy soldiers don't get paid." With that, Adam left the tent and walked the perimeter of the camp, ensuring everything was running accordingly. He stopped by one of the company's carts, a canvas-covered wagon pulled by a large grey ox. The cart could hold ten people comfortably, the whole company, while the other cart held equipment and supplies. Adam surveyed the cart: the wheels properly-aligned, the canvas unripped, the harness in good shape. Adam pet the large grey ox, who nuzzled his hand and grumbled softly.

"You're worry-planning," Amelia said, approaching behind Adam. Adam sighed, realizing he'd been caught.

"Here we go," Adam grumbled, standing up and facing his daughter. "Alright, let me have it."

"You're nervous cause you know I'm gonna be on that cart and on this mission," Amelia said. She shrugged and crossed her arms.

"It's more than that, it's-" Amelia cut him off.

"Give it to someone else," she said. "You do this every time I fight." Adam put his hands on his hips.

"You know I'm just looking out for you," Adam said, bowing his head. "I'm supposed to, you know." Amelia put a hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam was always astonished by Amelia's strength: her grip on him was like a sailor's.

"We're gonna be okay," Amelia said, smiling. "I was trained by the best knight in the whole goddamn realm." Adam shook his head, unable to suppress his smile. "There we go!" Amelia said. "See? It'll be fine! We beat these anarchist dipshits to a bloody pulp and haul their corpses off for cash! Totally safe!" Adam laughed— nervous-making as she was, Amelia always knew how to diffuse tension. The two of them walked off back towards the camp, Amelia's arm on her old man's shoulder.

"And hey, if things get back," Amelia said. "I'll just have Iulian eat them. I'm sure he'd love some nice raw kidney of highwayman!" Adam couldn't help but laugh.






The rest of the day's planning went off without a hitch. Climbing gear was obtained from the storage cart and given to Morag for modification. The teams assembled and prepared their equipment: Morag, Ceri, and Scrapbeak would be on the archer team, Senna and Rowan on the climbing team, Adam, Amelia, Irae, and Iulian on the cart team. Each soldier prepared their equipment for the day's combat: Adam polished and sharpened the blade of his partisan until it glittered in the midday sun. Amelia donned her armor and surcoat, and took out her mighty blade, a tremendous zweihander. The massive, two handed steel sword wasn't much shorter than Amelia was, the pommel nearly reaching her chin when the blade tip was placed against the ground. Such a massive weapon was not easy to use; it was heavy for a sword, ten pounds, and required an understanding of leverage and momentum to use. Amelia gripped the sword as she normally would, one hand on the handle and the second overhand in the space of dull steel between the crossguard and parrying hooks. She practiced a few maneuvers behind her tent; she quickly slashed across her body to the left, then jabbed forward, hurling the momentum of the massive sword to her advantage. Holding the sword this way made controlling it equal parts swordsmanship and polearm combat. She threw out several more attacks in the air: a thrust, quick parry to the left, catching an imaginary polearm blade on the parrying hook, then sliding down the shaft and slashing towards the neck. Satisfied, she stuck the blade into the ground and leaned both her arms on the crossbar. Adam always preached how mercenary combat was inglorious, but Amelia couldn't help but feel a tinge of heroism sometimes.

"Time to bring down the bad guys," she muttered to herself, walking off towards the cart.



Dusk

A single cart traveled down a dusty cobblestone road. The wheels grumbled and bumped, throwing clods of dirt into the air as the beast of burden, a broad-chested grey ox, labored in the falling sun. At the head of the vehicle sat a hunched-over driver clad in brown traveler's robes, a tattered hood pulled low over his eyes. A scruffy beard stuck out from a lowered chin. The ox snorted and shook its head to bat off flies. In the distance, three men approached across a wide field of yellow grass.

The first man arrived at the road and stepped in the path of the cart. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a messy auburn beard and a grey hood pulled over his head. He wore a padded tunic and thick leather gauntlets, and he carried a boar spear in two hands. The other men, smaller but similar-dressed and wielding similar weaponry, stood by the side of the cart.

"C-can I help you?" the voice of the cart-driver said.

"Evenin', ol chap," the large bandit said. "What're ye haulin at this time er day?"

"J...just supplies on their way to Jikari," the cart-driver said. "Mining tools and such. Nothing that would interest you young lads."

"Well, it do interest us," one of the men beside the cart said. The larger bandit held up a hand to stop him and barked "quiet!"

"As that 'ere smaller man said, it do interest us what yer haulin' and where. Ye see, this 'ere is our road. We own it, ya know. An' we can't 'ave ye comin' down it witout payin' the toll, else we'd lose our ownership."

"Oh, my apologies," the driver said. "I d-d-didn't know." One of the other bandits, the one who'd spoken up before, stepped towards the driver's chair and brandished his spear. The driver leaned back in surprise.

"'issl be easy than I could've dreamt," the large bandit said. The others laughed menacingly. "Alwroight, we'll be takin' all the gold on ye and 'alf yer load. Right quick, come on. Don't want ter 'ave ter spill peasant blood on me road, now do I?"

"Oh, please sir," the driver held up his hands in fright. Behind the hands, Adam was grinning like a mischievous little boy. "I've got to feed my family!"

"Well, so do we," the smaller bandit said. "So cough it up before I slice open yer windpipe and pull it out with me bare 'ands."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," a voice came from inside of the cart. The movements quickened. The driver dove out of the seat onto the ground, his cast-off brown cloak fluttering in the wind. From inside the covered wagon, Amelia lunged in full battle regalia, Iulian behind her, both brandishing their weapons. Amelia caught the boar-spear with the parrying hook of her blade midair and shoved it to the side briskly, then went in for a lunge. The bandit caught the sword in a static block with his spear shaft. The blade dug into the wood. Amelia twisted the sword and ripped out a chunk of wood, then went in for another lunge. Adam was on his feet, sword drawn and in hand. He faced the large bandit at the front.

"Well, that's half my cargo," he said. "Guess I'll pay the rest in blood." Adam ran forward and thrust his sword. The bandit caught it on the crossbar of the boar spear. The battle commenced, the archery team moved into action; they would fire upon the tower and take out the crossbowmen, then the climbing team would head out across the field and scale the side. Everything was going according to plan.





Adam sat back as the company each voiced their opinions. Irae, as usual, had the same strategy Adam had in mind; picking off the bandits from the cover of the woods would nullify the bandits' height advantage, though battlements would provide them some cover. The pincer technique, too, would be effective at driving out the bandits if they attempted to retreat, or at least they could drive the captain to surrender. Dusk would place the sun behind the trees, which could hopefully disguise their incursion. Adam frowned at Iulian's suggestion— Iulian had worked on and off for the Pride for years, but his plans always involved personal risk. Sometimes, it felt like Iulian was trying to get hurt. He looked between the company members, wondering where to start.

"Considering this is Nepharie land, I'd imagine the intelligent is accurate," Adam replied to Morag. "And we'll be paid enough for 500 monas each. I think that's sufficient given the risk involved." He turned to the rest of the party;

"We're not using you as bait Iulian," Adam said. "Last thing we need is to lose a soldier in a fight that should be a cakewalk. I think the rest of us are on a good track; attacking from tree cover with the sun behind us will decrease the accuracy of return fire. While I'm not keen on "bait", per say, we'll first need a way to draw the foot soldiers away, else they'll go inside and lock themselves in." Amelia looked up from her frowning stupor, though her face remained glum.

"They're looking for merchant caravans, right?" Amelia said. "Just use one of the carts and put soldiers in the back. We can draw their attention over and when they try to rob us, our archers pick off theirs." Adam nodded and thought for a moment.

"That's sensible," he said. "What do the rest of you think?"




Chapter 0: Prologue



Plenmos 21, 5061

It is a cool, windy day in southeastern Nepharie. An eastward wind blows across the soft, gently-rolling plains, rustling the leaves of the sycamore trees and turning the long golden grass into a stormy sea. A roaring gust catches the sloped wall of a canvas tent, rattling the structure. Within the tent, Captain Adam Bradshaw awakens. He groans, his back sore from sleeping in a bedroll on the hard ground, his short black hair and beard a wild mess. Slowly, he rolls to his hands and knees, rises up, and opens the weighted flaps of the tent. It is dawn, and orange light is pouring over the horizon like a flood. Adam blinks in the sunlight and listens to the quiet of the morning: wind rushing across wide grasslands. In the distance, a mourning dove coos from a tree. Swallows excitedly flit across the empty sky, swift as darts as they cut swirling patterns through the air. Adam sighs. Now, the day is beautiful, but later, he knows, it will be soaked with blood.

Slowly, the camp comes to life, folks awakening and preparing for the day. Adam retreats into his tent and dresses; he pulls on a padded, long-sleeved tunic and a pair of trousers, then dons the same hauberk of chain mail he has worn for ten years. It weighs heavy on his shoulders, but it brings him comfort, like a weighted blanket. He pulls on armored greaves and laces them, fastens the leather straps of his pauldrons across his chest. He pulls on rerebraces, fitted to his bicep musculature but in need of adjusting with leather cords, then couters, and finally plated gauntlets. As his fingers slide into the chain mail gloves covered with plate, he makes his hand into a fist. Nothing grants the feeling of invulnerability more than a fist of metal.

With that, Adam runs through his hair and beard with a fine-toothed comb and brushes his teeth with a frayed stick and crushed cloves. Prepared for the day, he steps out into a camp brimming with activity. Emrys, the quartermaster, sits around a cauldron of beans over the fire, ladling out bowls-full to each mercenary. As Adam walks towards the meeting-tent, wide and high-ceilinged, with a large wooden table and chairs within, he salutes to his fellow soldiers wordlessly. He takes a bowl of beans and a spoon from Emrys with a smile and sits down at the head of the table. Slowly, the other soldiers file in one by one, and the day's tactics meeting beings.





"A band of highwaymen have recently wrought a reign of terror down upon the main road between Nepharie and Jikari, disrupting trade between the two nations and causing panic in the local villagers. Bloated by their success, the bandits invaded a local guard tower, killing the men responsible for defending the road and assuming it as their base. The Imperial Governor requires your immediate assistance in bringing these bandits to justice— dead or alive.




Captain Bradshaw glowered down at a map setting upon a wooden table in the center of the Iron Pride's meeting tent. He sat at the head of the table, head resting upon his right fist. By now, the rest of the company had arrived for the morning's meeting and was finishing up their breakfast. Across the table from Adam, on the opposite end, sat Amelia, who sipped from a wineskin to wash down her breakfast. Amelia was not a planner— she seldom found anything to contribute in meetings such as these, and from time to time wished she could spend the morning sleeping or training instead of staring at a map. Yet, here she was, frowning over a half-eaten bowl of beans and blinking the sleep from her eyes. She didn't know how her father did mornings.

After a few moments of silence, Adam spoke up:

"Hope you've all had a good morning," He said. "As you've all been briefed previously, we're being called today to retake a watchtower guarding the trade route between Nepharie and Jikari. It's been taken by a gang of highwaymen, your usual bandit punkery, and is now being used as a base of operations. Considering the gravity of their crimes, the Nepharie government has branded these folk extra legem, so feel free to kill if you have to. Scouts from the local governor have provided us a map of the local area." Adam gestured towards the map in the center of the table with an open, metal-covered hand.



"Each square upon the map is roughly fifty feet," Adam continued. "From our reconnaissance, we've identified eight external guardsmen, though we know there's a ninth, a captain, within the tower. Normally, four of those men travel down to the road to ambush carts, but the governor has instituted roadblocks up and downstream of the area to prevent collateral damage to merchants or citizens. The four men atop the tower have crossbows, most likely taken from the stock within the watchtower, while the four at the bottom have three boar-spears and one hatchet. These are not exactly knights of the realm we're up against." Amelia snorted from the other side of the table. Adam couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Now, as usual, we like our tactics planning to be a collaborative effort, so let's get some input here." Adam said, leaning back in his chair.
@Maxx i'll show you how gay i am when i fuck you in the ass


I didn't call you gay you dumb booty hoe
@Dragonbud Ur gay, but also that backstory almost made me cry. Accepted.

@Ghost Note Ur a bitch, but you are, also, accepted.
@JunkMail @SepticGentleman @Fernstone Accepted.

@Spoopy Scary Ur gay.

...

...

But also accepted.








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