Recent Statuses

7 mos ago
Current I feel torn. On one hand, I'm bored, so I want to get into some more RPs. On the other, I know once the quarantine ends, I won't have the free time to keep up with all of them. Temptation is a B.
7 mos ago
I was a big darksouls fan. I've played all three of that line. Bloodborne seemed like the next step. Just didn't own a PS4... until now.
7 mos ago
Can't believe I bought a PS4 just so I could play Bloodborne.
7 mos ago
Go look at this thing I did:… Or don't. Largely neutral on the whole thing.
7 mos ago
Guess everybody likes a pretty girl. Good to see things haven't changed much, since the early days of the guild. I guess.


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Most Recent Posts

'One hell of a giant mess,' Geoffrey thought to himself, being marched down the hallways by a group of perpetually irritated guards. They had helped him clear out the research area, with some convincing, seeing on more than one occasion why it was necessary to do things the right way. The biggest snafu was probably when the captain got pissed off enough to throw a lever, and nearly caused a reactor meltdown. After every emergency alarm on the floor had gone off, he was slower to force things.

Of course, that all got tossed out the window when the group received their new 'priority orders.' Apparently, something had happened somewhere else in the building. At first it had just been annoying, whatever had tripped this sudden spike in security. He had been under the assumption the company had caught wind of the team he had coming in for him, but there was no way they would have made this much noise. Peterson was known to be reckless, but the man was never sloppy. The plan going in would be to hold off on the fireworks as long as possible, even if they were under suspicion.

Then, Geoffrey's own suspicions were confirmed for him. As they walked down a hallway, he and the guards, he spotted a lingering heat trail in the air. There was a speedster in the building, and he was close. That kind of smoke-like heat trail was only left behind by especially small things moving at incredibly speeds. Most speedsters never even knew they did it, but they all created massive amounts of air friction as they moved around, the atmosphere being forced out of their way so quickly taking on vast amounts of heat with the sudden change in speed. It was quick to dissipate, but to Geoffrey's experienced eye, it was a marker clear as day.

Smirking, he waited for them all to round the corner, knowing what was coming. Just as he suspected, as soon as they entered the next room, they saw the enemy. A group of supers-many showing off powers, the speedster smoking in Geoffrey's vision with lingering friction heat wafting from him-was there, waiting on them. Immediately, the guards took up defensive positions, ducking behind walls for cover and pull Geoffrey with them. The captain tried opening a dialogue, 'Hands up! You're trespassing on private property!' but before they could reply, it was the doctor's time to make his move.

Taking a deep breath, he released his power, sending a massive pulse through the building around him. Like muscles contracting within his own limbs, he pulled tight on each and every metal strand spider webbed through the surrounding concrete and steel. It flattened together, razor thin, the electric current instantly overloading the now-ruined wiring and setting off every circuit breaker within a dozen floors. There would be no flipping switches to get this pack on, though, the building would need to be rewired for that. Though, it seemed he was loosing his touch, as feeling out further revealed wiring left intact.

Taking advantage of the chaos he created, he pulled the concrete beneath his feet apart, forming a slide that took him down to the next level. It sealed above him instantly, the entire thing taking seconds to occur. His breath was a bit knocked out of him when he hit the ground on the next level down, and he had to pop his back when he stood. Looking around, he was surprised to see the young Dr. Roskins.

"Hannah?" He asked, unsure for a moment, before he realized his path would have put him right above her office. The young security officer with her was quite surprised himself, likely doubly so with the sudden power outage and the appearance of a high-ranking researcher from seemingly nowhere. Before he could catch himself up, Geoffrey took the opportunity to step forward and plant his fist firmly into the younger man's face. As generally happened, a fist nearly twice the normal density being propelled by an arm stronger than any natural human could achieve, proved to be a right hook that would put a world champion boxer to shame. When the man crumpled, Geoffrey reached down and relieved him of the flashlight on the end of his gun, turning it on so Hannah would be able to see as well.

"I do hope that young man was bothering you. I would feel a right tit if I just struck a man for doing his job, protecting an innocent woman. In either case, though, the building has been breached and we both need to leave, now." Looking around the room, he knew the door would be sealed shut. With a wave of his hand-unneeded, but purposefully revealing-the metal let out a loud shriek as it bent and pulled away from the brackets holding it in place, until the entire thing slammed to the ground with a loud clatter*
Looking around the room, Geoffrey started identifying the guards while he still could. He made it a habit of learning names and faces, especially of security staff. Not all of them were in the building, or even in the room, so it was important to start identifying who was on duty for this ordeal.

There was David Roskins, of course. Like many of the soldiers, he was a white man of slightly above average height, and an athletic build. The man had a young son, and was desperate to spend time with him. As much as this job kept his family living comfortably, it also kept him on duty eighty hours a week. It would be easy enough to barter with the man, if the worst should happen. After all, a lost limb was far from fatal these days, and it meant paid time off to spend with his family. A much better deal than dying for money he would never see.

One of the senior officers in the room, the one who had begun to speak when Geoffrey gave his orders, was Thomas Stout. If there were a better contrast to Roskins in the room, Geoffrey had not met them. He was the only security officer who wore facial hair, with a bald head likely to blame. The doctor knew more than a few men who tried to make up for losing hair from one spot by growing more elsewhere. His appearance, though, was as normal as the man got. According to rumors, he was actually an ex-con, which would explain a number of scars clearly made by jagged-edged weapons. He was also one of the few with enhancements, in the form of a bionic left eye, capable of seeing light across the full spectrum. Going by what the other guards said, his only redeeming quality was a willingness to always be at the front of the line when things went bad, though realistically he was just the type to want the first chance to kill someone.

Whatever seems relevant at the time. If need be, I'd start writing short stories in the form of flashbacks from the golden years.
Would it be considered in poor taste to start posting daily/bi-daily, regardless of how frequently others post?
Point of order; I think this current lull in activity would be a good time to better define magic, and its place within the world.
Looking around the room, two things became immediately apparent to Geoffrey. The first was that only the higher ranking guards had been told about this, as several were now talking with their superiors about the specifics. That meant that whatever was going on had been started some time ago, and they had been sitting on the tip until it could be confirmed. Only those in charge had been warned, because that meant it could be acted on with an organized effort if it needed to be, or dismissed without anyone finding out if it could be handled quietly. To the good Doctor, all of that meant it wasn't his contact who had been found out. Someone else was going to be making trouble that night, and Geoffrey had neither the time nor means to reach out to his contact to warn them. At least, not subtly.

The second thing made clear to him was that he needed to take charge, before someone else did. "Alright everyone," he began, his voice sounding brittle yet loud. "You heard her. Assistants and juniors are to gather your things, and exit the facility immediately. Senior staff, you're with me. We'll be shutting down all ongoing operations, per emergency protocol. That means you'll need your badges with you, to override security locks and safety seals."

Turning to the group of guards-several of who had arrived with him-he spoke to them directly. "Regardless of what Nawar says, I know for certain there are several shutdown protocols that will take more than an hour to properly perform." Holding up a hand when one of the captains started to interrupt, he continued without pause. "Among them my own experiments, which are currently agitating several toxic gases into a new, highly explosive solid fuel. Interrupting the process could flood several floors with toxic gases, and mine aren't even the most dangerous experiments going on currently."

"Then, of course, there's the overhead costs that would be accrued if we just halted some of our experiments. All the product involved would have to be written off as waste, which could cost the company, oh... Dr. Russell," he said, raising his voice and calling over to the younger woman. Her red hair made her easy to point out among the crowd, and from what he'd heard of her department, she'd be useful for the example. "I've heard you've just started a new process with some recently purchased equipment. If I'm not mistaken, some of the chemicals involved become very corrosive once they start to break down and combine. If you just turned the machine off, how much do you think your department would lose from the cost of the chemicals and the cost of getting a new machine?"

He waited for her to approach, knowing full well the stories of her speaking troubles. As she got closer, it seemed one of the guards was going to say something, but Geoffrey gave him a look that several other guards present knew better than to challenge. While he wasn't the most senior member of the staff present, Geoffrey was still the head of his own department, and had one of the highest security clearances in the company as a result. To say nothing of the rumors floating around the office about why he was classified in the security system as a 'Class A: Do Not Engage.'
Doctor Geoffrey sat down at the big lunchroom style table. Even so late at night, the building was alive with people, so the cafeteria stayed open. Which suited the doctor's needs just fine, as most of his time spent away from his lab was time spent eating meals. While it certainly did not cling to him as it did to others, he had learned in his early years that late night work powered by take-out on a regular basis was just a bad idea in general. Anymore, he much preferred a meal made with fresh ingredients, even if it cost more.

Sitting down with his tray, he looked over his choices. The night staff had prepared a southern themed menu that night, which included a variety of appetizing dishes. Upon his plate, the doctor had collected; a burrito, stuffed with red beans, rice and spiced meat; two corn-shell tacos, loaded with fresh vegetation; a serving of guacamole, with fresh-made tortilla chips; two fried chicken breasts, covered in white gravy and black pepper; three buttermilk biscuits, each smeared with apple butter; a small bowl of chili; and a slice of apple pie, for desert.

When the announcement played, the Doctor was crunching on tortilla chips, dripping with chili and guacamole. Naturally, that meant he had not gotten the message. Everyone else in the room had stood up and left, though, which he did take note of. Even the kitchen staff, he noticed, as he continued to eat. With no one else in the room, he shrugged his shoulders and started on his chicken. Certainly, this warranted investigation, but the lack of screaming and explosions made it difficult to consider it an urgent matter.

"Doc," came a familiar voice from behind him, one of the security team. He was approaching, and sounded concerned. "Didn't you notice-Woah... Damn, miss a few meals, Doc? Spread like that, I get why you didn't hear it. Hey, let me help you pack this up, we'll drop it in your lab on the way. Big meeting going on, and everyone has to come."

It took a moment to place the voice. More than a few of the security team had become familiar with him, and many of those had similar accents. By the time he'd swallowed his mouthful of chicken, though, he knew. The man was civil enough, but he really would shoot if someone refused an order from his superiors.

"Roskins!" He began, hands dropping the chicken to wipe them free of grease. "So kind of you to offer. How's Jessica, and your little boy, uhm... Richard? Did he like going with you, to the game?" As he spoke, he stood. The two exchange pleasantries, talking about the young man's wife and child. They did as was suggested, and stopped by the lab to drop off the food, before leaving to the meeting. Several other guards joined them on the way, each joining in the small talk. By the time they got to the room, the Doctor had gathered an escort of twelve armed men, and they were all smiling when they entered.

Michael kept smiling while she talked. He nursed his drink and let her have her turn. Though he kept his eyes on her, his peripheral vision was trained to keep on the look out for other things. The threat didn't send her friends into worry, nor did they try to calm her. She had jumped when he appeared, but people generally would; Her cop friend had done the same.

Once she was done, he'd already finished his drink. Turning to face Patrick, he raised an eyebrow and spoke. "Quite the little firecracker, isn't she?" If Patrick wasn't considering killing him before, Michael could see it in his eyes now. However, the older man knew the look his asset was giving him. Michael had a point to make, and Patrick knew it was better to let him make it while they were both present.

His face kept the smile, but his eyes became blank. "Madam," he began, voice calm and clear, maybe even a little bored. "If all it takes to rile you up quite so much as this is a free drink and an offer to jump in bed, then you're going to get cat-called into catching a bullet with your head before we get into the building."

Instead of being scared-or showing any real emotion from the threat at all, really-he practically ignored it. "Let there be no mistake, if we are to do this, you will be walking into a world you have clearly never been in. You supers all think that you're impressive, because you're used to playing the hero against the big villain. Dangerous work, to be sure, but it is a far cry from the depths we are set to delve down."

"We are not going to fight some lunatic with a power fantasy. No one will be wearing spandex to loudly declare themselves targets. When we get to our target, there will be humans there. Plane, ordinary humans, just doing their job. A lot of them will be mercenaries, men and women receiving a pay check for guarding someone else's property. More over, each one will, without doubt, be trained to kill people like you and me with zero hesitations or remorse, quickly and through whatever means possible. This will extend to non-combat individuals as well, who will attack us not because they are paid to guard the facility, but out of a belief that we might otherwise take their lives."

"This is because, when we go in, we won't be heroes. We'll be criminals. People there to take what is not ours. We will be met by human beings, earning a living through legal means, equipped with weapons and tools not only fully capable, but literally designed to kill us. Not just technologically, either. When dealing with the big six, magical means are not only possible, but to be expected. Very likely, we will come across people who have been given balls of paper they need only throw at us to do anything from detonate an EMP more powerful than a bolt of lightning, to completely desiccate our entire bodies, turning us into mummies before we even realize they're just another guard dressed as a pencil pusher."

"So," he said, taking a minute to let all that sink in while he ate his olive and his eyes returned to their cheery disposition, "would you rather go into an office building by yourself and determine if the woman behind the reception desk; the one with glasses, fussy hair, and a picture of her daughter riding her shoulders on her desk."

"Would you be able to kill her when she reaches for what is either a sign in sheet, or a bomb made of ink and paper, out of her desk? Or would you rather someone walk in ahead of you, who can incapacitate such threats before they even know the paper is needed? Because, I promise you; Unlike you heroes, who have been off doing god knows what this entire time, I've spent the past years doing exactly this. The big six, to a one, go out of their way to put this exact situation in your path at every possible opportunity, specifically to deter people like you. So, by all means... Kill me, and see how many more, completely innocent, men and women have to die by your hand because you couldn't take a man flirting with you."
@Skwint Would you have preferred we spent effort and time investment into this venture, then found out the DM is a child?

I offered to leave. In what context does a single player, actively offering to bow out, make anyone besides a toddler decide, "Fuck it, I'm taking my ball and going home!"?

No, I'll count my blessings and call it luck that I found out this was a train wreck waiting to happen before I invested time and effort into it. Thank you.
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