Polyphemus

CLOSED.

@LordZellYes, it is. And we are in need of characters.

@PolyphemusWord of advice; since I don't want to off your character so early in the RP, don't let him go to his house. I'm gonna have RedWatch on his tail from now on. Had no idea you'd go Rambo in the first post.

@Krot

Let me assure you he won't be doing that all the time- I just wanted to do one action scene to introduce the character, then it's a lot of manifesto writing after this.

CLOSED.

There's no greater teacher than experience.

Eddie Dryden kept telling himself that as he walked through one of the more blue-collar districts of Greenfield. Stevedores and mechanics lived here, their homes cheap but proud and well-maintained. The type of people who would go out for a drink or nine at night but were still too straight-laced to visit the Lush District. Physically strong, prideful, drunk men- exactly what Eddie was after this cold November night.

Eddie knew in his heart that he was a genius and possessed of incredible physical power, but even he knew that it would take more than that. Eddie had been in a few scuffles in high school, but nothing serious, nothing like the fights he imagined Joshua would face in the near future. He doubted that Handsome Jack had never thrown a punch before taking on Sam Giancana back in '63. And so Eddie was out and about this fine evening looking for someone to pick a fight with. Because there's no greater teacher than experience.

It was cold, but that was no real surprise, this was the Bay Area after all. Eddie drew his black trenchcoat around himself- it had been chosen more for aesthetics than warmth. Besides he didn't have far to go. He saw the many beer signs in the window of Noonan's, the local Irish pub in this working-class neighborhood. Excellent. Eddie stole into the gravel wasteland behind the bar, a graveyard of discarded bottles- the staff didn't care if the patrons bought one last beer for the walk home, and in their inebriated state the patrons didn't care where they dropped that one last beer. Animals. Eddie sneered. He did not drink himself, so of course anyone who drank was stupid and wrong. That was a fact.

Crouched behind a car, Eddie knew he wouldn't have long to wait. Beer gives a man a powerful urge, and with the bathrooms no doubt full inside it wouldn't be long until some fool staggered out to relieve himself in this vacant lot.

As if on cue, the back door swung open and some fool staggered out. Some kind of blue-collar worker, still wearing his denims and dark blue work shirt. Getting a couple drinks on the way home. The man undid his fly and sighed in contentment as Eddie slowly picked his way towards him, making as little sound as possible until he was about three feet behind the man. He was a little bigger than Eddie, more filled out, a couple years older. Good. This would make a good test. “Hey, motherfucker,” he whispered. He intended to sound hoarse, deep, mature, but Eddie was a little dismayed that his voice instead sounded petulant and immature. “Maybe you should get yourself a diaper?”

The man- the embroidered nametag revealed his name to be Dennis- spun around to face Eddie, his fly still open. “Jesus, dude, don't go sneaking around like that,” he raged.

“Why, worried someone's going to see that?” Eddie said with a wave at the man. “Nothing to see there.”

Drunk as he was, Dennis at least had the presence of mind to zip up before grabbing the lapel of Eddie's long coat. “Listen, punk-”

His threat turned into a grunt as Eddie grabbed the man's hand with his own and applied a hapkido joint lock he had religiously studied on online demonstration videos. At least that was the plan- turns out doing a fairly complicated martial arts maneuver on a non-compliant opponent is pretty difficult. Rather than falling down and becoming helpless putty in Eddie's hands, Dennis growled at the show of resistance and yanked his hand free with ease.

Eddie went to plan B, a low kick to his knee. It connected with an audible crack. Already off-balance from beer and pulling himself free, Dennis gave a groan and dropped down to one knee, massaging his injured knee. Eddie pressed the attack, but Dennis recovered more quickly than he could have assumed, straightening as Eddie swarmed into him and swinging a fist.

Eddie had never really been seriously punched, and as such was not really prepared for the weight of the fist crashing against his chin, the whiplash in his neck as his head flew back, the green and purple lights in front of his eyes. Luckily, he had a second chance to observe the effects of being punched less than a second later as Dennis landed a left hook on him again. Stumbling backwards, blood in his mouth and hands raised blindly in front of him, Eddie shook his head in an effort to clear the sparks. “Had enough?” Dennis demanded, fists waggling, lightly bouncing on his toes.

Eddie had not had enough. Instead he threw himself forwards, thumbs outstretched like the claws of a cat. And this time he found his target. The thumping jukebox inside Noonan's covered the sound of Dennis screaming in pain.

Eddie, for his own part was fascinated by what he felt with his thumbs. The hot blood, the sticky yellow fluid of the retinas, the soft white flesh of the eyes. He had never considered what this might feel like, but now that he was in here he was suddenly curious. Eddie strained, pushing his thumbs in further, felt them burst like grapes inside Dennis' head. Dennis was suddenly powerless, unable to weep the tears this pain would normally bring, unable to fight back. Instead he just sank to the gravel, whimpering in agony.

Eddie finally drew his hands free, wiped his dripping thumbs on the other man's shirt as he rolled in the gravel clutching at his face. “Good fight,” Eddie said. “That was my first time. So, uh, any advice or notes?” Dennis gave a strangled sob in response. Eddie shrugged. “That's the problem with Jericho,” he said. “Nobody wants to help anyone else.”

He walked off into the night, in search of more practice. Because there's no greater teacher than experience. Anyone nearby might have heard a few whistled snatches of “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho” on the cold November wind.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

@Polyphemus@shinigami94@HeirloomRoses@Austronaut@Witch Cat@R31GN@dragonmancer@AdobeFlash@Wraithblade6

Quick survey:

1. Do people want obvious answers for investigation or are you ok with having to guess and search through my posts for clues?

2. Combat team is anyone really opposed to assigning a post order for in combat?

3. Character's favorite animal?

4. Character's favorite movie?

@jasonwolf

1. I'm down for a legit mystery.

2. N/A

3. Max is fond of rabbits.

4. Rashomon.

CLOSED.

Nicely written! I'll get going on my own post.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Max shook his head at the offer to enchant his shovel, then stopped because of the way it made the flaps on his hat whip about. "In my experience, it's not wise to depend on magic for mundane things. There can be a steep price tag."

He considered for a moment, fully aware of how dangerous this situation was, before sighing. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Remind me not to tell my mother about this." With that, the tall man bent his head and stepped through the portal to the snowbound street, shovel tightly clamped in his gloved hands.

The cold hit him immediately, the wind feeling like a gale of needles against his skin. He breathed in involuntarily in shock, then regretted it immediately- the air itself was so cold that just breathing it in felt like a knife in the lungs. The worst winters in Seattle were never this bad. Hell, the winters when he was studying in Minsk and Saint Petersburg hadn't been this bad (though the haze of vodka and Baltika might have colored his memory). Max' teeth began to chatter, and he instinctively hugged himself as the cold cut through even his heavy clothing. Though his head felt absolutely fine. Maybe there was something to be said for the foxy hat.

Still, he was here to do a job. Lifting his scarf to cover his nose and mouth, Max unfolded his shovel and began the work of clearing a path through the drifts towards the house they had been shown in the scrying crystal. Too much was at stake for him to stand there and shiver- with unlit furnaces and coats deep in closets, it seemed likely unsuspecting locals might freeze in their homes if this went on. Max eventually fell into a groove with the digging and began to make slow but steady progress towards the house, edging towards the front door.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Bullets come to mind.

CLOSED.

Eddie Dryden/ Joshua

Full Name: Edward Philip Dryden

Alias: Joshua

Age: 20

Gender: Male

Occupation: Unemployed

Appearance: Eddie Dryden is a Caucasian male of average height and a bit on the thin side. He dyes his naturally blond hair black and has particularly pale skin (he rarely goes out in daylight hours). Eddie tends to prefer Goth fashion.

Personality: Eddie Dryden is self-centered and narcissistic to sociopathic extremes. If he believes something, it is objectively true, since he is smarter and better informed than anyone else as well as more physically capable. He has very little patience for the thoughts, opinions, feelings, or welfare of others. As such, he is markedly antisocial and uninterested in making friends.

Biography: Eddie Dryden has had an entirely unexceptional background. A WASP from an upper middle class family in Greenfield, there has been no tragedy or misfortune in his short life, lived entirely in Jericho. He did well in school, though he was shunned by other students for his generally rude behavior and superior attitude (this resulted in more than one fight). Upon graduating from Greenfield, he sought no employment or higher education, instead living in the home of his doting parents who provide for him and ask few questions.

For the past couple of years, Eddie could be described as a “netizen”. Aside from rushed and infrequent interactions with his parents and more successful older siblings, his only real link to the outside world has been through the Internet, learning about subjects that interest him.

Radicalization might be a strong word for what has happened to the young man, but Eddie has become convinced that Jericho is some sort of fascist police state and RedWatch are a gang of jackbooted thugs- an opinion that fits in well with his anti-authority leanings. As a natural consequence, Eddie believes that the vigilantes of the past are the best answer to this issue. He has obsessively studied the famous vigilantes- Boston's Cleaver, Atlanta's Scream Queen, Louisville's Slugger, San Francisco's Candlewick, St. Louis' Freefall, and of course the hometown favorite The Shepherd. And the more Eddie think about it, the more it seems like he's the perfect person to carry out a one-man revolution.

Eddie has been preparing for months now- using the power of the internet to learn basics of bombmaking, hacking, and martial arts (he vastly overestimates his skill in these areas) as well as purchase tools and weapons (mostly knives, batons, bats, and other melee weapons). Though not a religious man by any means, Eddie has chosen Joshua as his nom de guerre- the Biblical figure who sacked and destroyed the original Jericho. Now, Eddie waits and plans for the right time to make his debut.

Miscellaneous: Eddie has chosen the Sidney Bechet version of the old spiritual Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho as his personal theme song- any online communications he makes will inevitably have it playing.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

I thought one of the NPCs opened a portal. Maybe I misunderstood?

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

This is the only hat Max could find.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

It seemed Max would have no need of his briefcase, but the Thermos full of hot coffee was sounding more appealing by the second, especially with the wind howling outside. It had seemed a bit nippy this morning, but now it was downright freezing out there. Max hadn't brought anything more than a light scarf, which seemed pretty inadequate.

He slipped his notebook and Thermos into his jacket pocket, took the shofar by its leather thong and hung it from his shoulder, there for when he needed it quickly. After a moment's hesitation, Max lifted his jacket and removed his revolver from the hip holster he wore it in under his clothes- Maine, as it turned out, had no concealed carry law and a demon could strike at any time. He checked it carefully, observing all the rules of gun safety, making sure it was in working order and loaded. The Smith and Wesson was distinctly unmagical, loaded with plain old .44 special rounds. He disliked carrying it, and he doubted it would be much use against the bulk of supernatural creatures. It was a last resort, intended to be used on himself just in case one of the demons he summoned decided to take him for a ride. But one needs more than just good intentions to go face an unknown enemy.

Satisfied that his weapons were prepared, Max walked down to the armory just as Glory was asking about snow shovels. "The girl has a good point," he said, knotting his scarf around his neck. "If we're expected to walk straight into Cocytus itself, a shovel is likely to do us more good than all the AR-15s in the world," he said with a dismissive wave towards a rack of rifles. His eyes lit on a stack of military grade E-tools- small, lightweight, folding shovels. "Now this is the ticket," he said, taking one for himself and offering a second to Glory. "Maria, my dear, you will of course receive remuneration in full for the use of your fine stock. Case in point," he said as he helped himself to a rack of heavy winter clothing. A wool greatcoat (maybe half a size too small, but beggars can't be choosers, especially when they're 6'7") was slipped over Max' suit and the collars turned up, a pair of Gore Tex gloves were slipped over his hand- thick enough to keep his hands warm but thin enough to turn pages in his notebook. Excellent. "Now for a hat," Max mused, looking through the available options. Pickings in his size were slim.

It took a moment of searching, but with a groan he found a hat that would fit him and keep him warm- a knit cap. Normally a tight-fitting wool cap with ear flaps would be an excellent choice, but this one was perhaps too cheerful- not only was it a bright orange-red, but decorated with plush felt-lined fox ears. Like something a fourteen-year-old girl would wear. "Why is this even here? I thought we were professionals," Max sighed as he discovered it was a perfect fit for his head. He would have to wear it. "I look ridiculous, don't I," he said to the room at large, ear flaps dangling over the shoulders of his somber suit and greatcoat.