Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

I've been looking through the CS page, and I'm a little fuzzy on who all is in Newman. I have sent a couple PMs and gotten responses, but if anyone else has characters in Newnan, let me know so we can work on the Relationships section.

And, of course, let the Zombie Apocalypse begin.

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

"...so I'm very glad you called me, Hector. Of course, if you need me to cover a few of your classes, you just let me know. Just promise me you'll stop giving me bullshit excuses. You seem to forget, I know who you are. And I have an idea what you were doing, when the attack on Gotham finally stopped. You don't go anywhere, I'll see you in ten minutes. Order me two Pollo Grandes, huh? Make sure they don't skimp on the queso dip."

Luis Martinez, El Sasquatcho's former mentor and present supervisor at the Gotham Cultural Arts Center, had always looked out for the young hero. He had known the hairy lug since the first day he set foot in his High School, almost immediately recognizing what he was and what he could be if he took the wrong path in life. It was quite probably his influence that prevented El Sasquatcho from becoming a dark and terrible force of nature, bent on raw, hellish vengeance without regard to anything else, least of all his own safety.

The fact El Sasquatcho called him while wrestling with a hard decision spoke volumes, psychologically. He knew what the right thing was. What the almost legendary Luchador needed was someone to talk him out of doing the wrong thing.

Eight minutes later, the late-model sedan of the Martinez family barreled into the Taco Hut parking lot and came to a rubbery, squealing rest next to the only 1970 El Camino in present. Luis, a man of Latino descent in his late 30's, hopped out and jogged into the vaguely cumin-smelling establishment.

It was easy to spot the Luchador in the restaurant; the youth was dressed down in a pair of jeans and a black band tshirt (Pollo Negro '08 tour), and was cowled quite effectively in his trademark brown and black sugar skull wrestler's mask. He couldn't have laid low in this place if he had tried. Upon seeing his approach, El Sasquatcho rose from his seat and extended a hand in greeting.

He was met by a rough slap to his face.

"What is wrong with you? You know what to do!" began Mr. Martinez, without so much as a salutation.

<SMACK>

"You are El Sasquatcho!"

<SMACK>

"Blood of Saints!"

<SMACK>

"Last of your people!"

<SMACK>

"Aw, boo hoo," he said mockingly, "Me and my friends beat an army and saved the day, but we didn't win exactly how I wanted us to... Look, I don't pretend to like what you're doing. But answer me, Sasquatch, your friends - do they have a better chance of living if you're there, or if you're gone, huh? You gonna quit? You gonna let more people die? Or are you gonna get back up and fight?"

At least Luis stopped hitting him.

"The bell is about to ring, El Sasquatcho. You getting back up? Or are you going to run?" his voice softened, and arms extended as a man about to give an embrace. "Now, come here. You've had a rough week."

The two clasped each other in a long, brotherly hug. El Sasquatcho, in full view of everyone, wept openly. He may have found his way back on the right path by himself, but his mentor could shove him back there with much needed haste. Luis rasped a low whisper into El Sasquatcho's ear, "You got my burritos, right?"

---

Two giant bags of Taco Hut cuisine rested in the passenger seat of his El Camino, still warm and steamy from earlier. The burly Luchador stepped lively out of a convenience store, a couple of two liters and handful of scratch-off lottery tickets. Couldn't hurt, maybe he'd get lucky.

---

El Sasquatcho kicked at the bottom of the door to one of their rooms until someone opened. His hands were full, you see, and he really didn't feel like engaging in a three way battle with gravity and a hinky keycard. His mostly jovial attitude returned, thanks to the catharsis of his conversation just earlier.

"Ok, El Sasquatcho brings you gifts of Burritos and Soda! Si si, there is more than enough for everybody!"

It was at this time that he acquired full notice of their newest member. The presence of a stranger in their midst seemed to be taken with an fair amount of acceptance and simple "going with it", as he queried, "You, new girl! Do your people partake of the yummiful Taco Hut Burrito Grande? ...you're going to want a box of rice with that, too..."

Sequestering a bag for himself, El Sasquatcho pulled the bottom half of his mask up to allow for his speedy consumption, as he set to horking back one burrito after another, practically swimming in white cheese sauce. He sat on the floor, up against the wall, and set to his repast with raging gusto, as if he had very recently remembered how to be hungry after a long fast.

When the assault slowed, he took a fingernail to his tickets.

Were one looking very carefully at what his expression might be under his mask, they would note muted surprise and a light tremor in one hand. His eyes shifted around the room, taking in the people around him with detached observation. He composed himself fully, and let out an optimistic inquiry:

"Ok, here we are. El Sasquatcho is curious as to our next move, eh? Where do we go from here?"

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

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, one day out

Interacting With: The Medieval X-Men

A spark caught in the dry and crunchy kindling, efficiently igniting the smaller bits of stick and twig. The nest of growing flame fit well into the waiting pile of strategically placed wood; smaller pieces toward the inside, a square of larger ones circumferencing the hollow of gledes and embers that formed. It was a fire built for heat and cooking, not overly suited for illumination. Keystone took a short pull from a flask from his pack, swished it around for a bit, and expectorated a heavy mist of (apparently) very flammable liquid onto the fire. It flared, saturated with potent alcohol, and settled into a moderate, assisted burn.

Satisfied that the budding heat source would develop on its own, Keystone moved onto his next, self-appointed task. He observed the fast dying light of the evening and the heavy clouds it still illuminated, rather where it still peeked through in part. Maybe it would merely be cloudy, maybe the heavens would open a floodgate over them. He didn't want to take that chance. Keystone produced a length of good, slender rope and a large tarp with brass grommeted holes along the edges.

What he did with these tools seemed both utterly confusing and patently novel. He looped the rope through the grommets and underneath the thick canvas tarp, and secured the apparatus to the underside of the wagon. Small minutes later, he stepped away to inspect his handiwork - he had juryrigged something of a large sleeper hammock, protected from the elements by the wagon above and raised from the cold ground. It could easily fit two, maybe three if they weren't as large as Keystone (and were all particularly close).

Keystone returned to the fire and readied provisions, clattering the odd pan and muttering the occasional damnit. He set some water on to simmer, and stood, addressing the group.

"Gonna need watches. I'll take first, but I'd be obliged for company." He wasn't sure if this was considered barking orders or giving stern suggestions. He disliked giving orders, generally, exceptions being the various intimidations necessary to complete street and tavern work. Nonetheless, he felt his opinions about their situation should be voiced.

"Couple of you took to my invite 'bout food. It'll be done in less than a half hour, after it's dark. Best get sorted out before then. If you lot ain't got a place to rest out of the cold and rain, I got a tent I ain't usin'. Likewise, an extra spot under Cremmy's wares that'll probably be warmer. I'd advise we get our rest tonight."

"Noodles and sausage, baked sugar yams, when you two're interested." he spoke as an afterthought, looking to Persephone and Sona. "Ain't much, but it's warm and it'll fill your belly."

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

Fury and magic coursed through Keystone as he stepped aggressively into combat with the specterous entity known as Glith. Perhaps there indeed was more to this story. In fact, he was certain of it. This mattered for nothing in Keystone’s estimation - the urgency of the situation spurred him onward.

Glith spoke arcane syllables, foreign to Keystone’s experience aside from the fact that they were indeed intonations of mystical origin. He lifted his hands, his knuckles black and ominous with Avar’s forgework adorning them, ready for their first test of battle. Keystone closed the distance with an aggressive stance, and hammered powerful blows into the bulwark that was the undead Knight.

Aggressive but wary - their last confrontation almost ended badly, Glith tricking the stalwart pugilist into closing in quickly by pretending to cast a slow and powerful incantation. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again, and held just a little back for defensive measure.

The reality being that, instead of initiating a ruse, the undead knight was in fact intoning a spell did little to ease Keystone’s concerns about the direction the brawl was headed. The disciplined fighter knocked Glith about, manhandled him into a position of martial advantage. For Keystone, that advantage lay in his opponent surrounded by the worked stone of the fountain behind him.

Hardened in his need to control the outcome of the fight, Keystone barely noticed that, while his magically infused strength and stamina allowed him an easily perceived advantage, he was doing no real injury to Glith. The creature continued casting his spell, declining the opportunity to attack back with any real gusto.

Keystone pressed onward, a sense of urgency filling him like ravenous hunger. Glith continued casting, his vocal cues seeming to hint at arrogance and finality; whatever was to occur next would proceed unimpeded unless he were thwarted in that half-moment.

A rolling parry block turned fluidly into an opening, filled by either hand performing flawless verted and inverted palm heel strikes, Keystone’s wrists facing each other and fingers curled into talon-like shapes, ready for the next series of maneuvers. Even if his conscious mind did not register the game of melee chess into which he was locked, his training still had the martial adept planning three moves ahead.

In that second, half second, instant - time became quite malleable to the perception when locked in mortal combat - several things happened. Glith staggered backwards under the relentless assault of his mortal opponent, into the fountain’s basin. His incantations ceased. Saran let out a pained cry from behind Keystone, and Keystone... lost his advantage. The entity known as Kaylee, with the accompanying headache, disappeared, as did the enchantments placed on the Pugilist by his magely companion. To make matters worse, as the large man opened himself to the arcane flow of Elemental Earth, he found it quite unresponsive. The bastard had cut him off, removed any ties he had to magic, be it spiritual, enchanted, or elemental. His plans to use the fountain’s material as an ally in this fight were dashed in the exchange.

Magic may have the power to still magic, but not the abilities of a disciplined mind and powerful body. At least, not that spell. Keystone was still a deadly formidable fighter, trained by many masters of the craft of ancient martial technique and old-fashioned bareknuckle beatdownery. He wasted no more time.

When last they fought, he discovered (almost too late) the blood seal that kept the undead construct’s soul attached into his armor. It was inside the collar, waiting to be marred. Damage it enough, and the armor is rendered inert. At least, that’s what he was certain happened last time.

The formerly living knight glared past Keystone, to Saran behind him, and began another spell. No. Not this time. He was done watching people get hurt. He never came to depend on magic, not was he going to start today.

Whether confidence or desperation motivated him more, he could not say. Whatever it was carried him without hesitation as he leapt into the basin, body twisting into a Monk’s stance in midair. The first two fingers of his left hand extended, searching for a proper point to target. It found an excellent one in this flat of Glith’s sword, a half foot from the crossguard. As much force as he could muster concentrated into the small space of two fingertips, unbalancing the movement of the light but massive blade, turning it away from Keystone and opening the walking corpse-in-a-can to attack. His other hand was opened to a rigid spearhand, utilizing the combined leverage of the leap and his torso rotating his shoulder forward. On any normal man this would be a telling blow. Keystone just hoped it would be enough to gain access into the monster’s armor.

Success met him, exploited the opening of his helmet as he quickly turned his forearm and curled his fingers into a proper forefist strike inside Glith’s metal carapace, the dull, scraping thud of displaced bone and metal colliding with each other muted by the properties of his Dwarven knuckle dusters.

With luck, and lots of it, this would be the third time he’d seen Glith defeated, and the second time he’d done it himself. But luck was a thing untrusted and rare.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Charnobylisk

The fletcher dilemma has come up in conversation. Now, I may argue that Ash is a combat engineer AND an archer, good with tools and possessing a degree in engineering. If anyone (who isn't actually a specifically trained fletcher) could pull it off, it'd be him.

On the other hand, I personally learned archery back in the Boy Scouts. One of the things we had to do for that frigging merit badge was construct our own arrows from foraged materials. They had to be functional. We were kids, and pulled it off. Now, machined, rolled aluminum shaft ammunition with perfectly formed plastic fletching, uniform in size and exact weight, not so much. I can say from experience that getting a workable arrowhead, more or less even to the last one you made, is more plausible given the same tools and material with which to work.

But yeah, we don't have a dedicated fletcher in the group. Maybe the Survivalist Trainer can help out with that, if/when we get one.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

So, weapons runs to sporting goods stores, then? Painting ourselves in woad and ambushing potential bandits? Tactical military hand signs before we swing from trees Ewok-style and skewer our foes with fletched shafts of death?

Treehouse forts! A network of treehouses, linked by bridges, manned by our battalions of archerfolk!

...and lots of vegetables, too...

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

A Charisma 15 half orc gives a whole new spin on the concept of "eating your greens". <insert rimshot here>

But in seriousness, does she wear the veil as a fashion statement, or to hide her race from the general public?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Looking over the CS page, I'm noticing that six out of ten of us have Archery as a skill. While it does make perfect sense, it means specific tactics have to be used on occasion. It also means we should name ourselves "The Merry Men of Newnan".

We may have to overlook the fact that most of this group is female for the name to work.

Justice League: Futures End

A feeling of disbelief washed over Maxus-El as he heard that voice, endearing and abrasively optimistic at the same time. So very familiar, though he'd never heard it using the English language before. Being fair, he'd never personally spoken the language until earlier that day, himself.

If it were physically possible to do so, Maxus seemed to stand even straighter than his aristocratically groomed posture offered. A streak of honest emotion he didn't bother trying to bury cascaded over him. It was elation. Despite having just met the young prince, one might note with surprise that his face did not rupture as a grin was made manifest, so seldom he must make use of a happy expression.

He turned to face the voice, giving a quarter-second to reach out to her mentally, the lightest brush confirming his assertion. Not that he needed to, really. She was unmistakable enough. Involuntarily, Maxus took a step forward while raising his arms as if to begin an embrace, before remembering his upbringing and their situation. Instead, he tried to cover for his action by reaching to grasp one of Starfire's hands. A fairly formal gesture; he bowed, placing his forehead against the back of her hand, and rose with diplomatic greeting.

"It is an honor and pleasure to receive you, Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran. And quite too long, if I may be presumptuous. I am, as always, at my Lady's service."

His smile, genuine but just a bit suppressed now, continued. Reaching out to Starfire's surface thoughts, Maxus-El telepathically intoned in Star's native Tamaranian, "Does anyone here know about..." as he gave the slightest of hand gestures, once to her and once to himself.

"You are certainly looking well, Kori." he continued verbally, and in his recently acquired English. "What is happening here? I have questions, many questions... And we have catching up to do, when time permits."

Certain realizations, unshared among the group, dawned on the displaced prince. He took stock of his surroundings and shut down any trace of emotion on his face. Maxus was in the company of the Princess of Tamaran and a red, fuzzy neophyte with his biological father's crest outlined across his chest. There were likely others in the shelters around them. He was in the middle of a warzone with his only means of reliably getting offworld many miles away. His father, the initial purpose of his travel, was supposedly lost to the entity that razed his homeworld. Did Maxima know about all of this? Was she aware Koriand'r would be here? Was this her true motivation for sending him to this planet?

Maxus-El, First Prince of Almerac, may have found another compelling reason to stick it out.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

So, no one thusfar has taken up my invitation to PM and discuss relationships in the sleepy settlement of Newnan. So I'll start.

@Garden Gnome@Aewin@Nallore@SgtEasy

Talk to me, Newnan Group.

(If you guys aren't with Newnan yet, don't worry about it, and I'll be happy to accept your input/sarcasm equally.)