POOHEAD189

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

"This can't be that big of a bunker," He said, flipping his Mark XI shotgun upside-down so the loading port was facing him as he dual-loaded the weapon, sliding in two slugs at a time before cocking the weapon. He knew these installations would delve further underground, but unless it was a forge world or a hive world, there would be no real need behind it. That still left a good few areas to delve into, however. Hopefully the action would drive out all of the foes so they could take them out without having to do a room-by-room operation. Zeb preferred a squad for that kind of work.

Bootsteps could be heard across the way upstairs, but it was a door on their level that opened up, drawing their attention. A technician stepped out, or a man who was dressed as a technician. Zeb would have believed it too, had the man not had two diminutive hands jutting from his chest and a horn with a third eye on it protruding from his crown. Despite his fearsome appearance, he looked spooked when he saw Katiyah and Zeb, gurgling a yelp of fear before both Imperials shot him dead.

"Mutants..." Zeb spat, disgusted. Katiyah looked even more disturbed, scowling.

Lasers scorched the ground around them, the two slamming into the wall for cover and blindfiring potshots at a 45 degree angle, hoping to score a hit. So far a lot of lasers and ammunition on both sides was being expended for little effort.

"Grenade!" Katiyah ordered Zeb.

"I only have Krak grenades!"

"All the better!" She cried, and finally managed to strike one of the four men, blowing a chunk of his shoulder off. Zeb realized then and there she intended for the second floor of the building to be demoted to the first floor, and that would certain solve a few of their issues. He pulled out the curious looking grenade and primed it, before throwing it right under the ruined stairway. Both Katiyah and Zeb hugged the corner of the rockcrete wall as the explosive detonated, shaking the entirety of the building as that half of the station collapsed with the men along with it.

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

Zebulon didn't curse, though he wanted to. He didn't expect they would have the option for stealth, at least so soon. But right now it seemed plausible they had a chance here, though he didn't know how they could take it. They had the cover of darkness, and if there were two men he would think it was no problem. But even if they killed two of them instantly, there was still one left to cry out or potentially harm one of them. Still, either they announced themselves or they didn't, which meant they would kill all of them singularly and silently, or in one large explosion. He didn't grab for a grenade, rather he pulled out his serrated combat knife. A foot long, it had a clip point and a dark grey to its steel blade.

She nodded, unsheathing her powersword...

---

Grayburn took a drag from his cigar, blowing out the smoke as he felt a buzz take hold of him. His autogun leaning against the car beside his left leg, he chuckled at the joke one of his fellows said; a man called Franks who was supposedly a beast with his catachan fang he'd got from somewhere in his past. Grayburn was told by Hergen that Franks he was a deserter from the Catachan fighters, but Grayburn wasn't sure if that was true.

"And they were mad at his wife for sunbathing nude, and I says to him, me? I'm on the fence."

The three chuckled, shaking their heads and taking more drags from their stogies. Franks made a smoke ring, the bit flying toward the moon. Hergen sipped from his flask. Tzeentch, this was an easy job but he wished they were in the capital breaking skulls. The great planner did not look favorably on those that were complacent for their place in life. The city would fall soon, he told himself, and then they would get a new chance at a different position.

The last thing they expected was an Imperial Commissar of the bloody God Emperor stepping out from the trees, sword out and eyes on each of them. Even more surprising was she was a woman! A pretty thing at that, even with that grim look.

"The hell?" Franks started, reaching for his autogun. Hergen said nothing from behind him, likely as stunned as Grayburn was. He saw the Commissar smile, and there was a 'thud' behind him. He didn't look back, but he should have. A knife blade was stabbed into his kidney, and he tried to cry out, but his throat was slit not a moment later. Franks turned around to see his two comrades cut open by Zeb, and before he could remark more than a "Bastard!" Katiyah ignited her blade and decapitated him with hesitation or remorse. His headless body stayed upright for a brief moment, and then toppled onto the dirt, staining the ground with blood.

Katiyah needn't clean her blade for such a clean cut; the cells power disintegrating the blood off the blade. All she did was sheathe it and stride over, reaching down and picking up a strange, large knife. Zeb recognized it from promotional logs. A Catachan Fang!

"Good job," she said, tossing it to him. Zeb caught it, surprised at the praise and the prize. She walked past him and spoke once more before they entered.

"Sheathe it and take out that shotgun. We're about to get into a bloody mess."

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The manor was a mess of deadwood and dark blood, expensive paintings scratched and ripped; busts knocked over and the couch was simply ruined. Cyrdic had never stepped foot in the house since their recent employment, and though he never had an eye for these types of things, he felt Camilla would have found it impressive. Even in its destruction some if it still remained, but Cyrdic was more focused on the mass of trees whose rage focused solely on his paymaster. It was strange hearing the crackling of their wooden skin and the rustle of leaves as they rushed up the stairs and climbed buttresses to try and read the Grafin.

Camilla gasped when she saw the fraulien surrounded, Cyrdic giving a grunt in acknowledgement. His lover was probably the most dangerous woman he had ever met, but the Gräfin of Dounkebruk looked like she was born for the axe. He wished he had a woodsman's weapon to help her, even his broadsword was inadequate in this situation. A few of the tree-beasts 'heard' their entrance in a fashion and turned to glare balefully at Cyrdic and Camilla. The muscled merc yelled "Go!" To his new lover, indicating she save the Grafin. She said something in Tilean he had begun to suspect meant "you better not die" and she was off, leaping over the tree 'tops' and pushing off the wall, grabbing the chandelier above them and using it to pivot her body, Camilla's lithe form landing beside the Grafin to fight with her back to back.

Cyrdic gave a low sound; a primal noise of anger as three of them converged on him. Rather than retrieve his broadsword, he charged the front one, grabbing its branches and suddenly pulling with all of his might. His muscled were cords of iron, and within moments there was a great crackling rip like a tree falling, only this was the thing's branches being torn from its trunk, taking half of the trunk with it. It was a monumental feat of strength, but it didn't seem to deter the other two that launched at him, cutting vines and whip-like branching tendrils across his exposed face, slicing his sleeves and drawing blood. He simply grabbed one, ignoring the wounds and throwing it into its companion. They both fell in a heap, writhing long enough for Cyrdic to pick up a large chair and begin slamming it on them until they stopped struggling.

He coughed, sweating and bleeding. It had only been a twenty or thirty second melee, but he was merely a mortal man, albeit a tough one. He saw Camilla slice at the vines and dodge expertly, but she would tire soon. He grabbed what he had yet to use: His pistol. It couldn't do much normally, but he wasn't going to shoot at the Dryads. Instead he aimed it at an oil lamp hanging upon the wall near the stairs. He prayed to Ulric for guidance as he took a small breath, and though he wasn't nearly as good a shot as Camilla, he was serviceable at it and proved it when his weapon discharged. The pistolball struck the oil lamp, sending it crashing onto a wave of the tree-things, igniting them like the dry kindling they were. Even as they were set ablaze, he asked forgiveness from Taal. Through all this, he knew not what was or wasn't blasphemous to any of the local nature Gods. He just wanted to get paid, leave with Camilla, and keep good imperial men alive.

For his last trick, he used just his brute strength. With the tree-kin scrabbling and being set ablaze, the rest that still surged up where the fire had not reached were still many, but they were considerably weakened when the couch crashed into four of them. The fire and the couch did at least some good in stemming the flow. The rest was up to Camilla.

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

Manny Rockefeller

Concept Pic

Name: Manny Rockefeller

Age: 26

Appearance: Unkempt would be the best word to describe Manny. He's often seen wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. He has brown eyes and refined facial features, with long legs and a fit body. He quit smoking awhile ago, though he felt odd without something in his mouth. He tends to use toothpicks now.

Concept: Jaded and paranoid supernatural investigator and researcher with an old soul. Officer in the field. Sarcastic and tired.

Powers/skills:

• Wing Chun: While he's by no means weak, he has no illusions that he'll be the strongest thing out there, so he took it upon himself to learn a martial art effective for close combat, yet it's power is derived more from stances, swift strikes, and momentum than ordinary strength. He's been a studious practitioner for 4 years.
• Gun play: Years working in the back streets, and spent in shooting ranges, had made him an effective shot and a competent gun wielder. He's not the best, but he's reliable and a quick aim.
• Sleight of Hand: He's had to do some unscrupulous things in his life in order to survive. He's a talented pick pocket and lock picker, and he's not too shabby with climbing small buildings if need be.
• Recollection: He has a fine memory and can recall more than most would think, due to his obsessive mind.
• Lore Student: He's studied more ancient and supernatural lore than a grown man should, thrice over. He could be a mythology professor if he cared enough.
• Hot Rod: He can drive cars and motorbikes fast and skillfully.

Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont): Getting a whole lot of money.

Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will): Getting a whole lot of monster killing and crime solving done.

Writing Sample:

Ghoul Investigation

Picking the lock to the window was easy enough. The interior of the abandoned office building was stuffy and thick with dust. Manny slipped the cloth he kept in his back pocket up to his mouth, breathing in slowly as he looked around. His sharp eyes caught the trail immediately, dust having been wiped clean on the floor, leading to a trail that led toward the fallen ceiling of the break room. He placed his foot on the counter, and kicked off with a leap to grab a hold, and haul himself up onto the 3rd floor. He held his breath throughout, so as not to groan and give away his position.

When he pulled himself up, he didn't move quickly or anxiously. He knew if what he expected to be here was here, it would be much quicker than him unless he was prepared. He knew it would toy with him if he was slow, which gave him an edge. Manny wrapped his jacket around his right arm, holding a vial at the end of it. His other hand slipped the safety off his M1991 .45 handgun, and he moved with a practice silence across the floor, though the ruined wood creaked every so often.

The slabbering noise in the other room was loud enough to drown out any small creaks however, and Manny casually, slowly stepped through the open doorway to view a scene out of a horror novel. Grey and smooth, putrid flesh covered the hulking figure as it nuzzled its face into the open chest cavity of the still-warm corpse. Wet sucking noises filled the air as the ghoul fed, its back-bone protruding out like a reptilian spine.

The claw marks on the opposite rooftop had given the beast way an hour ago. He'd been sufficiently prepared. He'd learned long ago not to call the police. Nothing but red tape and lawyers.

"Hey bitch," he called. With preternatural speed, the Ghoul yanked its head up and turned, only for its putrid face to be covered in shattered glass and holy water. With a screech it leaped at the doorway instantly, but Manny had already moved. Summarily blinded, it hit the side wall and screeched more in pain. Manny stepped back into the doorway and fired his weapon, punching 4 holes into the beast before it croaked, and fell dead.

He swiftly covered his nostrils with a clean rag, making sure not to upchuck his lunch after smelling the insides of a ghoul. He placed his smoking gun back in his holster and retrieved a pair of bolt cutters, clipping off one of the ghoul claws to give Anna later (or to sell for a lucrative sum). He made sure to leave a streak of blood from the appendage, making it appear as if it had simply fallen off.

Before he left, he slipped on his gloves and fished his hands in the corpse's wallet. He'd notify the police of the death, of course. But he'd take some cash for his trouble. A man has to eat, after all.

Blades of the Blood Coast

Faeril and whoever chose to follow him headed east toward the center of the city, passing smaller shops set up for sellers of seafood, knick knacks, and a three story brothel called 'The Wet Siren' with the statue of a mermaid splayed out upon a wave in front of the door, chest thrust out and eyes wide. So far no tailor, though there were a few shops he stopped at that sold pre-made jackets, baldrics, and sacks to store items in. He had to move in further, passing over a vast canal, the bridge so long fruit vendors plied their wares on them. Faerli saw humans of all ethnicities; even some Shi'Ranese travelers with their curved swords and fierce eyed stares. An Elf swordsman in valdium chainmail passed them by, thin of body and blonde hair carefully groomed, he still moved like a serpent born with the sword.

Now on the center area of the city, the signs spoke of 'Old City,' where the buildings were made of swampstone and extravagant brick, couriers visible every now and then hustling about. The passerby's were of a richer sort, though he couldn't see any nobles save perhaps one or two with large retinues. Strangely, many of the buildings that were not shops or manors were connected by large causeways a dozen feet above the streets. On the southern street, a large crowd gathered before a wall Faeril would figure out was an estate, rocks being thrown at the windows. As he continued by, he saw men-at-arms sporting the city's colors approaching the crowd...

Finally, Faeril found a marketplace. A high end one, but one nonetheless. A Dwarven smith was beating his hammer upon the anvil, smithing a fresh piece of metal just as Faeril walked in. Across the way, people mingling and chatting, he finally saw a place that sold clothes of varying thread and styles, called 'Varone's weave.' An man dressed as a knight walked past the front, speaking to a woman who seemed perturbed, and strangest of all, a young boy approached Faeril, tugging at his jerkin and drawing his attention.

"Excuse me, sir Dwarf? May I speak to you?" The lad asked, his hair as brown as oak, his clothes nondescript but not entirely poor. He leaned in and whispered. "Would you be so kind as to kill me? I would pay sir..."

---

The slim barmaid smiled at them, more in a professionally polite manner, but it was clear she was happy to help the group. But when they mentioned Raddek, she blinked and did a doubletake, turning back to the door the ex-crusader had stalked into. "That...Galena, that was Raddek! I... Wow, I haven't seen Raddek in seven years! I was a wee lass but I remember that face. I hope he's been doing well." Impressively she set down the wine, cheap beer, water, and bread to match each of their orders despite her breathless bewilderment.

The card game Jaina and Emmaline honed in on was a 'combo' game of both cards and dice. 'Sabers & Shields' had a steep learning curve, but once you learned it there was real money to be made in underground competitions. The darkly beautiful woman watched the game with an idle curiosity as well, they would notice. The players looked to be dock workers, with a captain and a dockyard master judging by their emblems and uniforms. A laborer with a square jaw and an even squarer haircut threw down two bone dice, dagger cuts etched on the knuckle bones, coming up three. Dropping his hand, four shields and one greatsword hit the table. The captain slammed his fist on the table in frustration, but he laughed rather than yelled. "Two to one odds next round," he said, and the others followed suit, clearly not wanting to be seen as weak, though a few were sweating. Luckily for the others, the romantic couple, the whispering drinkers, even the sobbing man, the room was big enough to give everyone enough space, even with the commonors laughing and drinking between them.

Outside, all of them saw a strange occurrence: A tall blonde man clad in the tabard of a cavalier had stripped his swordbelt and armor off, barking something at a younger man who stood between him and a departing Elf in the robes of a scholarly nature. The younger man was dark of hair and caramel of skin, with a handsome albeit youthful visage, and even with his baggy white linen shirt, he was clearly muscled in a noticeably sculpted manner. He had in his arms a large crate that he looked to have been carrying toward the Ubrico Soldati. What they said to one another wasn't heard, but soon a group of sailors passed the window and blotted out their line of sight, and once they had passed, the knight was on the ground with a bleeding nose as the tanned fellow picked the crate back up, bringing it into the tavern.

The door opened with a bump of the younger man's hip, gracefully holding the heavy crate easily, drawing the attention of the barmaid as if it brought her back to reality.

"Wow, you did it!" She congratulated him, holding her arms out as if to help and then drawing them away, knowing full well it would just squish her. "Go in the back and show Garnor. That will last us another week, thanks. There was no trouble right?"

"Not really," he said, his face flushing behind the crate. He glanced at the table with Migi, Emmaline, Lorcan, and Jaina. He smiled awkwardly and said "Hi," as he stepped past them and did his best to fit the crate into the doorway. It was just after he squeezed it in that Raddek stepped out, looking relieved in a way from his little meeting in the back.

"So, we've got rooms. Three of them, provided we help the tavernkeeper out with a few things." He remarked curtly, his deep baritone prompting attention. He sat down between Migi and Jaina, calling for some mead of his own. The barmaid looked like she wanted to speak up, but simply nodded and skipped off to get his drink without saying a word to him. Raddek leaned in, motioning for the others to as well. As he did, the fighter that had bloodied the nose of the knight stepped out and sat at the counter, giving curious a look at everyone in the common room whilst waiting for something; likely food.

"Looks like there's been a shortage of beer. Some blockade on the south seas cutting off the sea trade supply, and with the cataclysm up north, that keeps more from coming into the city. Which means we need to find a Dark Auction shipper. That... or there's another task we can do for Garnor... we can find information on Balyxtra Dal'draig. The desposed Sultana of Varone."

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

Need I say I'm interested?

Blades of the Blood Coast

New post incoming by wednesday! It also seems my blood brotha Lauder has resigned due to lack of response, so we might have an open slot for someone else soon!

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"By twos!" Cyrdic roared, broadsword in the air. What few men there were haggard and crawling in from various parts of the estate; many half dressed and some bleeding from various cuts and blunt trauma. It was clear they wouldn't have been an effective unit even fit, but as they were they simply stumbled about and tried to form a ragged line. A few of them were stout of arm and fully armored, hacking at the tree-things and throwing torches on them. But the bristling wall of imperial soldiers Cyrdic hoped for was not non nelle carte like Camilla said: "in the cards."

By a stroke of stupid luck, however, the men took his advice to mean 'attack by groups of two' rather than two lines supporting each other, and it turned out to not be the dumbest of ideas. Half of the men complied, with one man cutting and cleaving a monster to distract it whilst the other guard stuck it with flames. Cyrdic and Camilla actually commited that exact strategy when the bewildered Ostlander saw the others do it. Cyrdic chopped off one of the things' 'branches' and it screeched like a banshee, only for Camilla to set it ablaze and dance out of its reach gracefully.

"Good idea, herr Becker!" One of the more lucid and less sleep deprived men called.

"I have a good idea from time to time." Cyrdic remarked under his breath, Camilla smirking and pinching his cheek playfully.

The carnage that epitomized the beginning of the attack was replaced with crisp, cut monsters and the wailing of those wounded men that were still in earshot. Cyrdic wiped his brow, his broad chest expanding as he breathed in deeply. Gunir and Thor strode out of one of the cottages, a dozen branches between them carried on their backs. Thor smiled at their two human companions, though out of pride or gladness to see them alive, it was hard to gauge.

"What the hell are you doing with those?" Cyrdic asked, sheathing his broadsword. He lamented that he would have to sharpened the blade thoroughly. He might even need professional work done on it. Wood was notorious for blunting blades, animated or no.

"Figured the Graf might reward who ever killed the most beasties." Thor explained. Gunir shrugged and nodded.

Cyrdic and Camilla suddenly looked at one another, remembering who they hadn't seen since the attack.

"The Graf!" they said in unison.

Phasers and Fortune: A Sci Fi RP (Shu & Poo)

Raddek lifted out of the brush like a wolf that decided to show itself, making large steps with his legs to keep himself from brushing against too much foliage, reducing his noise. His gauss rifle in his hands, he kept himself alert despite their proximity to one another. He spoke on his comm, replying with. "Check, I'm with you."

Soon he got to the beacon, seeing Vashti slinking over through the alien vegetation. On of a leaf to their left, a frog-like creature croaked obnoxiously, likely agitated from their landing. Raddek side-eyed it, suspicious on whether or not it didn't have any strange properties that might harm either of them. After watching it make its noise a few more seconds, Raddek unslung his backpack and made sure nothing had been ripped off during the fall.

"Everything looks good on my end." He said to her, giving a thumbs up. He lifted his arm and opened a small pad within his armor, checking their location and the estimated direction of the ruins. As he looked, he spoke. "You did well for your first time. Now we just need to survive the rest of the way." On his pad, there was a light pinging that showcased they needed to move northeast. The system's star was still high, but it wouldn't be up forever. He would rather find out what beasts came out at night when under a roof, from an elevated position and night-vision binoculars.

"Let's get going. I'll take point. If anything attacks us that's bigger than you, I'll handle it. Anything your size or smaller, try to get it. We'll both work together of course, but I shouldn't use my weapon unless I have to, and if I need to get it out for something it might be too late."

Blades of the Blood Coast

In my defense I was statistically drunk when I wrote that.

@Penny

You're really getting into the mind of your character!

Maybe with the next round of rewards for the party there can be a potion of growth to fix any such shorty issues? :)

@Fetzen

Fantasy problems require fantasy solutions.