Sigil

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

The Titans, those that remained, had a solid plan going. One that would bottleneck the baddies and make the odds of their survival something slightly less lopsided than Tragically Suicidal. They braced for the impact of their inevitable battle; waiting anxiously for the wave of combat to crash on the rocks of their reinforced position, ready, tensed, aware.

Things did not go as expected.

Part of their plan remained intact: The use of freeweights as missile weapons allowed Leviathan and El Sasquatcho to hold off the first handful of man-birds. Confidence, born of their overwhelming numbers coursed through the genetic aberrations, caused the first wave of the encroaching army to be caught unawares. One gave a particularly satisfying squawk as a forty-five pound discus of pure ouch crunched into it, propelled by an adrenaline and habañero fueled Luchador.

Then it happened. The swarm got the better of their position. From somewhere just out of his range of vision, El Sasquatcho heard a scream he recognized as belonging to his teammate, followed shortly by a sickening pop as her arm tore free of its flesh and ligament moorings. Even over the fluttering of thousands of feathers and the sounds of superpowered melee, Parasite's anguish echoed before stopping short.

Leviathan took to the skies next. Flight being absent from his power set, his sudden change of location (due in no small part to Ves's fist) was a cause for concern. El Sasquatcho remained the last of the Titan's hitters still active, logically the next target of the new Talon's attentions.

His earbud communicator let him in on Zero's idea. Activating the sprinklers didn't seem like a feasibility at the moment, short of finding some way of starting a fire in the middle of the melee. How he could accomplish this... it seemed very improbable.

The remixed 80's music played on, seemingly the only thing functioning properly in their (possibly short) career as Heroes. If they got out if this, El Sasquatcho was going to petition for entry into the Justice League. He was fairly certain the guys in the Watchtower didn't have to deal with this crap. At least, their life expectancy seemed more optimistic. First things first, though.

The hairy Titan glanced back to see how his smaller teammate was faring against the flock, just in time to see the effects of his rodent stampede. With Rat Boy no longer taking a defensive posture near the larger Luchador, El Sasquatcho took to fighting with greater freedom and range of motion.

His technique seemed to echo a mindset of meditative detachment with undertones of urgent desperation. He was flawless in pursuit of causing the most amount of hurt in the flashiest way possible. Economy of motion clashed solidly against martial gymnastics, raining pain down upon his adversaries with the proficiency of a man unconcerned with his own safety, and grace unwitnessed in a combatant of his proportions.

El Sasquatcho was fighting the best battle of his life, certain that it was likely his last.

He caught a sharp beak in one hand, curling it around before it could clamp onto his squishier appendage. A quick cartwheel away from Argonaut served to put more space between himself and the preternaturally powerful Talon, and transferred the energy of the movement into the neck of the owlbeast. It flew, head off-center, into a cluster of other of its kind.

From his new position, El Sasquatcho assumed a low stance, and let the beat of the music still playing serve as the rhythm of his footwork. The last few weeks of Capoeira training blended well with his capacity as a wrestler as he flowed into a modified ginga dance, daring the assembled owls to move closer. The instant one did, he clipped its legs and took it down to the ground, slamming a heel into its face. This flowed into a grapple; the Luchador rolled the beast over himself, bracing it as a shield against the attack of another one nearby. Quickly, he kicked the both of them high into the air and kicked himself back up onto his feet, bracing for the next attack.

At that moment, something strange came over El Sasquatcho. It was a freeing feeling; as if his body were suddenly lighter and his mind filled with passionate optimism. It was as if, in that span of time, the shards of what could be crystallized around what he needed to have happen. He felt as if he could flip a coin a thousand times, calling it accurately every single time. This was a power he had tapped into before, in small ways, always not at his bidding. Today it was strong, vibrant. Desperation and determination parted the way for its arrival, and the being known as El Sasquatcho hummed with it, more than ever before. He did not know how long it would last, and sought to take advantage of it while he could.

Eyes, bright with confidence, matched an almost cheerful grin as he sprinted two steps toward Argonaut and slid under the grasp of a swooping owl. He grabbed hold of its taloned feet, allowing its momentum to pull him back up before twisting them around and kicking himself into a spiral, taking the beast with him. By the time they both hit the floor, El Sasquatcho was already on top of it, burying an elbow into the creature's sternum.

Rick Astley's remixed wonder caressed the air, causing the masked warrior to break into song amid the chaos. Grabbing the wings of another beast, he paraphrased the line, "El Sasquatcho never gives you up..." before slamming his head into the monster's face.

It was as if he were singing to Argonaut, his friend. Vesta, the naive girl he with which he shared laughs and hot wings. Somewhere in the carnage, he locked eyes with her in an attempt to tell her this.

Another beast fell to the onslaught of of the energized Luchador, thrown into a paralyzing suplex after being snatched from the air. "El Sasquatcho never lets you down..." He rolled over the fallen beast, using the transferred kinetic energy to fling it above his head. A powerful jumping drop-kick propelled it into another section of the swarm, disrupting the overall flight pattern of the mutants above. Creatures slammed into each other, bringing their overall organization into fractured chaos.

"El Sasquatcho does not run around, nor desert you..."

Spying one on the floor, battered about by its fellows trying desperately to regain an orderly flight pattern. Groggy, but still conscious, it was seized by the ankles and spun viciously by the hairy luchador, around and around, picking up speed.

"El Sasquatcho never makes you cry; he will never say goodbye..."

When he finally let go, the great Were-Owl streaked outward on a solid, unerring path, flying into the kitchen area. Its head connected solidly with the microwave, causing it to sputter and flare to life with static-popping fire, acrid black smoke and the smell of feather-frying ozone parting the ambient neutrality of the air. If the sprinklers were still active, a short electrical fire in the kitchen area would be enough to set them off.

"El Sasquatcho never tells a lie, and hurts you."

There was now open space between himself and Vesta. Knowing full well he could not match her strength for strength, he opted for a less direct approach. She was strong - no doubt - but she only weighed as much as he did. Maybe less. Snatching an attacking Owl into an armlock, El Sasquatcho pummeled it to semi-consciousness and leapt over it, a tight hold maintained on the thing's shoulders. As soon as his feet hit the floor, the burly wrestler ducked and bowed forward, releasing the creature in a graceless hurl at the new Talon.

Hoping that his skill and the right amount of enhanced probability lined up to provide an accurate and profound overbalance, El Sasquatcho charged, moving to slide under her arc of attack and pound her legs with a powerful, otherwise bone-pulverizing leg sweep. If her head hit the concrete floor hard enough, their chances for survival looked less dismal.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Persephone, Yomdi

Keystone took in Persephone's words, nodding as she went along. Heh, yeah, I was there for Cremmy's facefull of belly-porridge. Bloody funny stuff, that. But anyways, I'm in. I'm not findin' myself with anything important to do just now, and I can use coin and contacts. One thing, though - I'd 'preciate if we'd stick together. I'd like to learn how you lot fight in Raven's Bluff, and I've got plenty of technique to trade. Deal?"

With the appearance of the old man in the frightfully stylish yellow turban, Keystone assumed a very puzzled look. As he inched closer, cane clickety clacketing on the polished stone floor, the stony pugilist's head cocked slightly to the side, not unlike a confused mastiff.

The old man didn't look like the Master of a temple, but in Keystone's experience on these matters, few of them fit the typical profile common to the musings of Bards. Still, most men like this Yomdi would have long since retired, or at least keep to their own devices while talented underlings saw to temple affairs at odd hours of the evening. Unless there was something more about him than his appearance let on, in any case.

Considering that his own western features and attire, not to mention his ungainly, uncultured manner of speech set him apart from any traveling martialist about which he had ever heard, a great benefit of doubt would be applied here. Keystone recovered from his momentary lapse of disbelief, tapped his knuckles together and bowed his head slightly. A gesture of respect, certainly, but very different from the bow most associated with the Xiang Monks, the group with which he claimed to be a disciple.

"I did, point of fact, come for incense, Master Yomdi." he began, trying to look respectful and unassuming. "Fair enough though, I would've paid a visit regardless. Best as I figure, it's standard polite for a visiting monk to introduce himself to a temple's Master, once he blows in town. Lets a man know he ain't 'bout to get into nothing shifty, if you take my meaning, sir."

Extending a hand in the manner of his initial upbringing, he continued. "I go by Keystone, Master Yomdi. Pugilist by trade, sir, though recent years have got me learning all manner of disciplines I ain't native to. I'm aimin' on taking these teachings back home and making it better for low-born folk like m'self."

Keystone looked to Persephone, slowly nodding to her. "The young Miss has given me word of a contract from a merchant name o' Cremwise, so it turns out that I'm leavin' come morning. That being what, I was hoping to spend an hour or two on your grounds, maybe talk supplies for the trip. This's a right lovely temple, by the by."

"Wouldn't you say, Miss?"

The Legend of Zelda: Decedents of the Hero (OPEN)

Third time's the charm.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

He had expected a hornet's nest, certainly. Not quite this, though.

The hammer thudded hard and solid into Keystone's chest, pushing with sheer force. While he retained his stance, the pugilist made elongated footprints as he slid backwards. The Dwarf meant business; his business mixed with the fury of a patriarch defending his own.

Keystone adopted a low, defensive stance, keeping his hands empty and open. "I ain't fightin' you, Avar. I told you what was what, first night in. Your girl's the only one has any control on this, what I can trust just now. And she already knew, Avar, before I asked."

It was a calculated guess, Saran had hinted so strongly that she was aware of what was happening. For all of her coyness, she knew a lot more than she let on. And Rocksteady, well... he didn't want to see it. But his protective instincts were undeniable, as was his strength. He'd do whatever he could to take care of his charge, well over contractual obligation or the value most men put on their word. Certainly Keystone's. The large man didn't want to fight his new friend, but his vicious attack may result in something outside of his control. Neither of them needed that.

"You should come with us. D'you hear me, Avar Rocksteady of the Delzoun Clan? You should do this with us."

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Persephone, Temple Attendant

Keystone's arched his eyebrow, face brightening just a touch as Persephone stated that she was there to talk to him. Just as a warm smile began to pierce his stony visage, she continued her thought, deflating his ego somewhat (though not his interest in the offer). His face cycled quickly through minor disappointment and back to his default, resting stoicism.

"Well 'ello then, Miss... ...oh. <ahem> Cremwise. That innkeeper, Femnal, shouted me over at his direction a few minutes ago. Cremmy give you the details? Where, when, how much he's offerin'?

The Attendant quietly backed away, scurrying back to do whatever it is that attendants in this particular temple do when tasked with a request from strangers at odd hours of the evening. Between his sense of hospitalic duty and fleeting embarrassment for the massive pugilist, he felt it was best to see to the request with haste.

"I'm keen on stayin' for a bit, m'self. Clear my head, n'such. Don't suppose you're the introspective fisticuffy type, are you?"

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

That's why you hang out with religiously unaffiliated Monk types. Their adherence to personal philosophy over dogma lends itself to better cooking all around.

If the occasional digestive issue, anyway.

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

Truth be told, I'm still fine with this one as is. Let's go with the team we've got. Or, as The Sphinx said, "A loss of manpower can be replaced by the addition of firepower."

Flesh out our powers some, (Lord knows El Sasquatcho's probability manipulation could use some attention) and the four of us remaining can form an excellent core group.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Militia, Persephone, Temple Attendant

"Both of you, state your name and business."

The beginning of the assertion, "Both", struck Keystone just enough to preempt a cautionary glance to the side. His peripheral vision caught sight of the upcoming Persephone, otherwise alone. After assessing her presence as non-threatening, his attention reverted to the soldiery and their none-too-friendly request of his name and business.

Keystone took a moment to rub his temples, exhaling slowly. Times of war always seemed to bring a change of attitude, including more than a fair amount of repetition. The brawler had a flashback to his own home, clearly recalling the City Guard's incessant, nagging interrogation of, "What's all this, then?" at length. May as well have made it the city motto.

Well, if his land's slogan was "What's All This, Then?", the slogan of Salarn recently seemed very much to be "State Your Name And Business".

Keystone couldn't blame the militiamen for their minor blusters of self-importance. Little rituals like this gave the men courage and a sense of solidarity. These were part-time soldiers; common folk, not too different from himself in that regard. Still, Keystone had a moral imperative to screw with them.

"Aw, for Gravy's sake, you lot stop fiddling with each other's danglies, eh?" he rumbled out in a low, quiet(ish) voice. It got louder as he continued. "I am Master Keystone of the Northern Ironfist Temple, comin' to seek Spiritual Fonging Enlightenment."

Technically, it wasn't a lie. Well, it was, but in the classical sense only. Keystone did have a spot for personal training back home, it was toward the north, comparatively speaking, and his principle technique was Iron Fist. He had trained others, as well, but all of these things had yet to coalesce into the grand vision of his own temple back home. He had plans, though. Big ones.

"Didja not get word already? Eh? I've come a long way on foot to be 'ere, and 'ere I am, wasting all m'good breath for mantras and supplications and whatnot on the likes of you tosspots. That answer enough, yet? D'ya need to know anything else? Boot size, favorite color? Whether I likes my womenfolk plump or scrawny? P'raps you'd care to see the birthmark on my arse. Or p'raps you could offer to open the sodding door for us. 'k?"

Utter shock and confusion gripped the irregular soldier in front of the Yellow Rose. His post mates had already fallen back, more confused than shocked at the verbal barrage of the intimidating man (that they suspected might not actually be a priest). But, he wasn't an Orc, which was mostly what they cared about. Slowly, wordlessly, he responded to Keystone's request and placed a his hands on one of the double doors, pulling it open to allow entrance.

Keystone looked questioningly to his new companion, the dark haired lady that had come up behind him, and entered the Yellow Rose.

Stepping just into the vestibule, the broad-shouldered pugilist sought out the attentions of the first person that looked like they belonged there. An oddly rustic man, as the others around him, approached. Keystone spoke flatly but with softened voice, "Apologies for the late visit. Was hoping to introduce m'self to your Master; I'm a visiting Xiang Disciple from a ways off. Turns out, I've got a hair of a problem, though - Unloaded a dragon's share of colonic Chi over at Femnal's, damned near wrecked the place. Hoping to buy some incense off'n you, chase out the last of it.

"Ain't a bloody clue why the lady's here, though." Keystone shifted his attention, "You here for incense, too?"

From elsewhere in the township, Keystone could hear the muffled sound of someone roaring, "LOB, GOOD! LOB, SIT!" and wondered what it could be about. Another mystery for later in the evening, maybe.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

You have yet to witness Keystone's posterior in action when paired with a lit candle. Save vs. Breath Weapon was required. Not kidding.

But I digress; that is NOT his primary function in a group. Keystone is a Pugilist with advanced Fighting Monk training. The petition for FEMA dollars due to his bran-heavy diet is incidental.

<ahem> @Luminosity! If it's your intent for Persephone to catch up to him at the temple, I'm going to hold off until our benevolent GM posts about us arriving there.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

@Luminosity
I'm assuming that Persephone is headed toward the temple to catch up with Keystone. (If I'm off, let me know, please.) With that in mind, is she coming in quiet, casual, or fast and noisy?

It'll affect how he handles the situation of being followed by a stranger in the early hours of the evening, far away from home, in a town beset by attacks from vicious, toe-licking Orcs.