We are live, folks. Let the rampage begin.
Polyphemus Member
They/ Them
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- Old Guild Username: Vulture
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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- Polyphemus 12 yrs ago
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PARIS
She awoke and ended her nightmare.
For a brief moment the only sound in the little Parisian apartment above the bookstore was the sound of the rain beating against the window and the gasping of Sophie Desmoulins as she groped for the lightswitch. Finally she found it, and as light flooded the small bedroom she caught her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Her face was bright red, as though to match her hair, and streaked with a wet mixture of tears and sweat.
For the fifteenth night running, she had had the nightmare again. But this time was so much more vivid, so much more real. And rather than seeing the one thing, there were many others, each as large and dangerous as the one she had been seeing.
Sophie got out of bed, staggered into the bathroom to splash a little cold water on her face. She looked longingly at the empty side of the bed, wishing Monica was there to comfort her now. But Monica was long miles away. Sophie had to confront this by herself.
Gradually, her heart slowed, but her racing thoughts did not. The dreams had been so clear. What was going to happen was inevitable, and it was coming soon. In the next few hours, even. Her years of reading about the occult had convinced her of the power of these dreams. She prayed she was wrong. But in her heart Sophie knew great danger was coming.
But what could she do? She was only one woman, the daughter of New Age hippies. No one would take her seriously. Not even her friends took her seriously. Only Monica did.
She had to try, though. To save even a few, she had to do something.
The only clear picture had been of a city a few kilometers north, the rest only vague shapes towering amidst fire and death. Sophie grabbed her address book, frantically flipping through the pages as she tried to find who she knew living in Amiens. A second cousin studying at the university. The woman who had lived next door when she was a child who had moved out there. An old friend from lycée with whom she had not spoken for a decade. Anyone at all.
Biting her lip, she grabbed her phone from the bedside table and dialed numbers, hoping someone would pick up rather than simply ignore it, like most people would do in the middle of the night. As she listened to the rings, she thought about what to say.
“Hello, it's Sophie. Listen carefully, you and everyone you know need to leave Amiens right now. . .”
AMIENS
It awoke and began a nightmare.
It was very late and the old streets of Amiens were lashed with rain. It was a city with a long history, stretching back to the days of Caesar. Most importantly, its proximity to the Somme battlefield made it an important command center during the First World War. And so the punishment began there.
Not even the most beloved son of Amiens, Jules Verne, could have imagined the gaunt 90-meter form that emerged out of the darkness in the rain. The first desperate, panicked 112 calls came from the outer suburbs, where houses and their occupants were crushed by something gigantic. Gas mains broke and caught fire. The suburban roads were soon packed with desperately fleeing civilians in their nightwear, who found their ways blocked by fallen trees and enormous footprints that had caved in the streets. In the distance, silhouetted by the occasional flash of lightning, they could see the thing making its way into the city center. 90 meters tall, shaped like a very thin man. It screamed with a sound like a thousand men yelling in pain and anger.
Buildings crumbled at its touch, the concrete and steel snapping like cheap matchsticks. A single blow from its house-sized fist broke the slender waist of the Tour Perret, the brief holder of the title "France's tallest building" back in the Fifties. The Amiens Cathedral, one of the largest churches in the world, took a little more effort but was soon reduced to a pile of stones growing slick in the rain. It deliberately ignored office buildings, knowing they were empty for the night, and instead struck at houses, apartments, landmarks. Simply brushing against them was enough to cause tremendous damage, sending showers of glass and stone into the streets below and burying the occupants alive.
A few brave gendarmes unloaded pistols and rifles into the monster, but they may as well tried to attack the storm itself. There was little anyone could do but flee. The huge thing seemed to follow civilians, though, wading through buildings in order to cut off large groups and then crush them underfoot or push debris onto them.
By the time the first blue light of dawn tentatively began to shine through the gray clouds overhead, Amiens lay in flames and rubble as the towering figure they had began to call L'Accusatuer finally made its way out of the city and began to walk through the countryside, heading north at a leisurely pace. It left behind thousands of dead, tens of thousands injured. A few people breathed sighs of relief that the horror was over.
It was far from over.
It had only just begun.
She awoke and ended her nightmare.
For a brief moment the only sound in the little Parisian apartment above the bookstore was the sound of the rain beating against the window and the gasping of Sophie Desmoulins as she groped for the lightswitch. Finally she found it, and as light flooded the small bedroom she caught her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Her face was bright red, as though to match her hair, and streaked with a wet mixture of tears and sweat.
For the fifteenth night running, she had had the nightmare again. But this time was so much more vivid, so much more real. And rather than seeing the one thing, there were many others, each as large and dangerous as the one she had been seeing.
Sophie got out of bed, staggered into the bathroom to splash a little cold water on her face. She looked longingly at the empty side of the bed, wishing Monica was there to comfort her now. But Monica was long miles away. Sophie had to confront this by herself.
Gradually, her heart slowed, but her racing thoughts did not. The dreams had been so clear. What was going to happen was inevitable, and it was coming soon. In the next few hours, even. Her years of reading about the occult had convinced her of the power of these dreams. She prayed she was wrong. But in her heart Sophie knew great danger was coming.
But what could she do? She was only one woman, the daughter of New Age hippies. No one would take her seriously. Not even her friends took her seriously. Only Monica did.
She had to try, though. To save even a few, she had to do something.
The only clear picture had been of a city a few kilometers north, the rest only vague shapes towering amidst fire and death. Sophie grabbed her address book, frantically flipping through the pages as she tried to find who she knew living in Amiens. A second cousin studying at the university. The woman who had lived next door when she was a child who had moved out there. An old friend from lycée with whom she had not spoken for a decade. Anyone at all.
Biting her lip, she grabbed her phone from the bedside table and dialed numbers, hoping someone would pick up rather than simply ignore it, like most people would do in the middle of the night. As she listened to the rings, she thought about what to say.
“Hello, it's Sophie. Listen carefully, you and everyone you know need to leave Amiens right now. . .”
AMIENS
It awoke and began a nightmare.
It was very late and the old streets of Amiens were lashed with rain. It was a city with a long history, stretching back to the days of Caesar. Most importantly, its proximity to the Somme battlefield made it an important command center during the First World War. And so the punishment began there.
Not even the most beloved son of Amiens, Jules Verne, could have imagined the gaunt 90-meter form that emerged out of the darkness in the rain. The first desperate, panicked 112 calls came from the outer suburbs, where houses and their occupants were crushed by something gigantic. Gas mains broke and caught fire. The suburban roads were soon packed with desperately fleeing civilians in their nightwear, who found their ways blocked by fallen trees and enormous footprints that had caved in the streets. In the distance, silhouetted by the occasional flash of lightning, they could see the thing making its way into the city center. 90 meters tall, shaped like a very thin man. It screamed with a sound like a thousand men yelling in pain and anger.
Buildings crumbled at its touch, the concrete and steel snapping like cheap matchsticks. A single blow from its house-sized fist broke the slender waist of the Tour Perret, the brief holder of the title "France's tallest building" back in the Fifties. The Amiens Cathedral, one of the largest churches in the world, took a little more effort but was soon reduced to a pile of stones growing slick in the rain. It deliberately ignored office buildings, knowing they were empty for the night, and instead struck at houses, apartments, landmarks. Simply brushing against them was enough to cause tremendous damage, sending showers of glass and stone into the streets below and burying the occupants alive.
A few brave gendarmes unloaded pistols and rifles into the monster, but they may as well tried to attack the storm itself. There was little anyone could do but flee. The huge thing seemed to follow civilians, though, wading through buildings in order to cut off large groups and then crush them underfoot or push debris onto them.
By the time the first blue light of dawn tentatively began to shine through the gray clouds overhead, Amiens lay in flames and rubble as the towering figure they had began to call L'Accusatuer finally made its way out of the city and began to walk through the countryside, heading north at a leisurely pace. It left behind thousands of dead, tens of thousands injured. A few people breathed sighs of relief that the horror was over.
It was far from over.
It had only just begun.
So just a quick update: I'm looking to get started around this time tomorrow. If your character is not yet ready or if you're just now discovering this game don't fret, we are always open for business.
Also a quick note in case anyone planned to interact with my character, I'm editing it so the Accuser is instead beginning its rampage around northern France and Belgium. Given the current events taking place in Paris it feels like it would be in poor taste on my part to depict a giant monster destroying the city.
Also a quick note in case anyone planned to interact with my character, I'm editing it so the Accuser is instead beginning its rampage around northern France and Belgium. Given the current events taking place in Paris it feels like it would be in poor taste on my part to depict a giant monster destroying the city.
@King Cosmos
Oh goodness, I meant to say that was approved earlier but somehow it slipped my mind. I apologize, that was very careless of me. Completely my fault.
@rocketrobie2
Both the Lady and Eggman look good, go ahead and add to the character sheet.
Oh goodness, I meant to say that was approved earlier but somehow it slipped my mind. I apologize, that was very careless of me. Completely my fault.
@rocketrobie2
Both the Lady and Eggman look good, go ahead and add to the character sheet.
1991 Honda Civic. The undisputed king of the road. Sure, the Russians in West Hollywood would usually be seen in a Mercedes-Benz, the Sureños their jacked lowriders, the Mongols MC their chopped Harleys. Even the Italians, still somehow hanging on this city, kept their image of “men of respect” by sticking almost exclusively to Cadillacs. But the Civic had none of the flash of these other cars. It was quiet, it was anonymous, it was nearly invisible. It was a car you didn't see coming until it was already too late. And that, George Choi felt, made it the perfect car for the Korean Mob right now. Maybe in a couple years he'd spend the money on a fancy BMW or Audi. Maybe that new Hyundai Tiburon, send some money back to the old country- that might be a better look.
As they cruised north up Normandie, they hit yet another pothole. Choi grimaced in annoyance, looked down to make sure he still had the Colt Trooper sitting in his lap. The .357 was a heavy gun for a smaller man, but he knew a single bullet would be enough to take someone off their feet, unless they were covered in armor like those freaks in North Hollywood a few months back. He looked at the driver of the Civic, a longtime soldier named Harold Kim, nodded when he saw the Ruger P90 wedged into a cupholder- easy access when it was needed but not sitting in plain sight. Kim knew what he was doing. Choi turned around to look at the man in the backseat, Ho-Seop Jeong. One of the new recruits, only in America for close to two years now, still struggling to learn English. And a former infantryman in the Republic of Korea Army, which was the main reason Choi had felt comfortable putting a Type 56 rifle in his hands. The Chinese copy of the legendary AK-47 was rugged, reliable, and durable, just like Jeong. They were ready for anything.
“I don't know about this, boss,” Kim said. His voice betrayed no nervousness but under his sunglasses his eyes darted back and forth. “We're getting into Little Armenia. That's AP's home turf. You know how those guys love drivebys.” The conversation flowed freely between English and Korean.
Choi clicked his tongue. “If we want to expand, we need to figure out what can be given and what can be taken away. This is going to be prime territory for that new thing we're working on, the crystals.”
“They're not just going to let us into their home,” Kim pointed out.
“I seem to remember the other day I came over to your apartment, we went inside and had a few beers. Your wife made kimchi.”
“That's different, you're my friend.”
“That's right, Kim. You let friends into your home.”
Kim shook his head, still keeping a wary eye out as they idled at a stoplight. “We don't have that kind of relationship with the Armenians.”
Choi shrugged. “We don't have beef, either. And neither of us like the Bloods. We've always been respectful neighbors, I think it's time we start being friends. They'll get distribution rights in their own territory, we get 20%. We lend each other muscle if need be,” he said with a grin to Jeong in the back seat. “Everybody wins.”
“Unless the Armenians say no.”
“They're not the only game in town. If they're not interested in a partnership, fuck 'em.” Choi leaned back. “We'll get Normandie Avenue one way or the other. If they don't like an olive branch maybe next time we come with a bat instead.” They stopped at the intersection with Hollywood Boulevard. “We're getting into Thai Town. That's thinking too far ahead. Turn around, Kim, let's keep scouting Little Armenia. We need to know the lay of the land before getting a sitdown with the Armenian leadership.”
The Civic pulled a U-turn, and the three men continued south down Normandie, looking for where to begin their chapter in the long history of gangs of Los Angeles.
As they cruised north up Normandie, they hit yet another pothole. Choi grimaced in annoyance, looked down to make sure he still had the Colt Trooper sitting in his lap. The .357 was a heavy gun for a smaller man, but he knew a single bullet would be enough to take someone off their feet, unless they were covered in armor like those freaks in North Hollywood a few months back. He looked at the driver of the Civic, a longtime soldier named Harold Kim, nodded when he saw the Ruger P90 wedged into a cupholder- easy access when it was needed but not sitting in plain sight. Kim knew what he was doing. Choi turned around to look at the man in the backseat, Ho-Seop Jeong. One of the new recruits, only in America for close to two years now, still struggling to learn English. And a former infantryman in the Republic of Korea Army, which was the main reason Choi had felt comfortable putting a Type 56 rifle in his hands. The Chinese copy of the legendary AK-47 was rugged, reliable, and durable, just like Jeong. They were ready for anything.
“I don't know about this, boss,” Kim said. His voice betrayed no nervousness but under his sunglasses his eyes darted back and forth. “We're getting into Little Armenia. That's AP's home turf. You know how those guys love drivebys.” The conversation flowed freely between English and Korean.
Choi clicked his tongue. “If we want to expand, we need to figure out what can be given and what can be taken away. This is going to be prime territory for that new thing we're working on, the crystals.”
“They're not just going to let us into their home,” Kim pointed out.
“I seem to remember the other day I came over to your apartment, we went inside and had a few beers. Your wife made kimchi.”
“That's different, you're my friend.”
“That's right, Kim. You let friends into your home.”
Kim shook his head, still keeping a wary eye out as they idled at a stoplight. “We don't have that kind of relationship with the Armenians.”
Choi shrugged. “We don't have beef, either. And neither of us like the Bloods. We've always been respectful neighbors, I think it's time we start being friends. They'll get distribution rights in their own territory, we get 20%. We lend each other muscle if need be,” he said with a grin to Jeong in the back seat. “Everybody wins.”
“Unless the Armenians say no.”
“They're not the only game in town. If they're not interested in a partnership, fuck 'em.” Choi leaned back. “We'll get Normandie Avenue one way or the other. If they don't like an olive branch maybe next time we come with a bat instead.” They stopped at the intersection with Hollywood Boulevard. “We're getting into Thai Town. That's thinking too far ahead. Turn around, Kim, let's keep scouting Little Armenia. We need to know the lay of the land before getting a sitdown with the Armenian leadership.”
The Civic pulled a U-turn, and the three men continued south down Normandie, looking for where to begin their chapter in the long history of gangs of Los Angeles.
@Lmpkio@baraquiel
Both Neurotis and the Cauldron look good! It'll be cool to have a purely aquatic kaiju.
Everyone, I'm hoping to get started in the next few days. This is an "always open" game so it's no issue if you need a little more time on your CS, you can join the fun when ready. I'd just like to have a strong cast of characters at the start.
Both Neurotis and the Cauldron look good! It'll be cool to have a purely aquatic kaiju.
Everyone, I'm hoping to get started in the next few days. This is an "always open" game so it's no issue if you need a little more time on your CS, you can join the fun when ready. I'd just like to have a strong cast of characters at the start.
Mr. Wu ignored the look he got from the woman- doubtless furious that a Chinese had dared to speak to her- and instead studied the contract. Fairly standard boilerplate, really. The pay and terms were exceptionally generous. A staggering fifty dollars a week. Hobbs had money to burn, clearly. Wu idly wondered how best to use the money. Some of it would cover his expenses of course, the rest would be donated to a Chinatown charity. He had to look out for his people. Content with the offer, Wu went ahead and signed his name in a careful and elegant script
The same woman who had glared at him objected to the ouroboros device on Hobbs' letterhead. Wu largely ignored the protest, instead thinking of practical matters. While he had no experience in the matter it seemed to him that logical and unemotional thoughts were key to success for a detective. He extracted a leatherbound notebook and pencil from his case, held them at the ready like a student taking notes in class. Feeling the need to be helpful, he pulled out a few other pencils and wordlessly offered them around the room to anyone who might need one.
"I, for one, would like to hear more of the misfortunes of this archaeologist. As it happens, I do have some passing familiarity with the lucrative trade in antiquities. Many of my countrymen have brought over ancient treasures from the old country, and unfortunately find themselves in such dire straits in this brave new world that they are forced to sell such heirlooms in order to pay their debtors. Frequently, they come to myself or others of my organization for advice, and through this humble enterprise I have become acquainted with myriad local purveyors of curiosities and antiquities. From this experience it strikes me as most likely that some unscrupulous villain has stolen the pieces in question in hopes of turning a tidy profit from their auction to less upstanding collectors." He delicately cleared his throat. "That is, of course, a preliminary thought. Ignorant as I am of the facts of this peculiar case, perhaps I should refrain from a priori speculation until such time as I have been fully appraised of the matter." Beaming, happy to be contributing, he eagerly lifted his pencil above his notepad. Mr. Wu was beginning to enjoy himself.
@Birb
Okay, I have to say I'm a little confused by this CS, it doesn't seem to be complete. I'm really not sure what you mean by "The Incident" and there's nothing about where Sonja came from or who she is. Is this a WIP?
@ShwiggityShwah@Jolteon@King Cosmos@rocketrobie2
How are those WIP kaiju sheets coming along? Any human characters coming our way?
Okay, I have to say I'm a little confused by this CS, it doesn't seem to be complete. I'm really not sure what you mean by "The Incident" and there's nothing about where Sonja came from or who she is. Is this a WIP?
@ShwiggityShwah@Jolteon@King Cosmos@rocketrobie2
How are those WIP kaiju sheets coming along? Any human characters coming our way?
Also went and posted my own kaiju and human.
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