Sigil

The Expendables - Team 2

Yupyup, that's a good one.



This works pretty good, too.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Well, food is a priority, and James has that smoker...

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

@Salrynn

Volunteer as tribute? Wow. Keeping watch with Keystone isn't that overtly hazardous to one's health.

Unless beans are involved. All bets are off.

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

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: Sona, The Rest Of The Amended Group

Keystone was not a fan of the woods.

Scratch that, he was not a fan of the woods in the middle of the night with rain looming in the distance after a cold dinner of crackers and beer while trying to locate a wandering Elf in a potential warzone.

Otherwise, the woods were great.

Considerable annoyance turned into full-fledged agitation as he continued his search, almost blind in the depth of darkness around him. While he was alone (he really hoped) and irrational, he wasn't stupid. Every so often he would glance back, careful to keep the embers of the cookfire within his field of vision for bearing. He wasn't about to go out far enough to escape shouting distance, if shouting was called for.

After what seemed like ages, he finally came upon the object of his search. She was obviously moving with much less difficulty than himself; Keystone had often heard that the Sylvan Folk had bright eyes capable of seeing in moonless nights as clearly as an overcast day. Whether that comparison was accurate was anyone's guess, well, anyone who wasn't an Elf, but she seemed much more capable of going for a light jog just then without getting a foot snagged on an errant root and bashing her nose sideways on a tree trunk than himself.

Keystone took a deep breath to steady most of the anger from his voice, and addressed Sona with a harsh whisper, "Psst... over 'ere!"

When he met up with the formerly missing Bard, Keystone decided that it was a good idea to share his opinions on the situation while escorting her back to camp in a calm and orderly manner. Well, for him.

"Right... I got nary a sodding clue what you was doin', creeping about in the trees like that. Are you bloody daft? There's a war on, right? Any clue what could've happened?"

Keystone growled softly and shook his head. They were nearing the campsite. She was safe, as far as he could tell. That's all that mattered in the short run of things. Logically, he knew this. Didn't stop the more colorful of his language from creeping to the forefront, however.

"Look, we're supposed to be guardin' a fonging merchant's shite out here, not exploring every bit o' misplaced music we come across. We look after Cremmy's wares and each other. Next time you go wandering off, if some pervy Orc decides he wants to start a'tappin' his mank danglies about your forenoggin before roastin' you with spring apples, you can count on me to raise a glass in your loving memory. Got that, lil sister? You scared the crap outta us."

Upon actually reaching the campsite, the not-quite-enraged brawler took to note newcomers making themselves comfortable around their little corner of the trees. Under the best of circumstances, travelers would meet in favorable camping sites, maybe share a meal, trade news, maybe goods and services. But these were hardly the best of circumstances. He was, for this reason, hesitant to trust.

"I'm sure you lot are goodly folk. As you've been welcomed to the fire by them what's in charge, I got nothin' new to add to it. That said, I've been trying to talk Watch Rotation, and every bloody socket-cocking time, somethin' buggerall happens and we get led astray. So here's the deal:"

Keystone paused for a second or two, just to make sure no one else was going to appear in the bushes or start playing music. Satisfied, he continued bluntly.

"We know for a fact there's someone else out there what knows exactly where we're laying our heads tonight. Plus, hostile lands, right? Now, if it passes with our fearless leaders, I'm taking first watch. And second, and however many else we've got till we leave this place. Rest of you can suss out how you're taking shifts with me."

"Any questions?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

Ashton Holloway

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: All present

---

The din of melee combat rose from behind Ash's group, prompting the battle hardened engineer to raise his Detonix .45 to the rear. The five to their front were far enough off as to not be an immediate threat and could be handled in a moment or two. The sight behind them all was downright disturbing, though he wasn't certain what part about it worried him more: the herd of Living Dead that seemed to spring up noiselessly behind them, or the uncommon battle-rage that had overtaken the resident combat trainer, Caesar.

On the one hand, the scattered Dead had noticed their warm, living bodies and closed up the hole they had pushed through, effectively surrounding them. They had the option of fighting a hard fight forward, or wasting bullets to push back.

On the other hand, there was pain and anger the likes of which Ashton had never seen on the man, and he was using every piece of it to turn large dead things into several small dead things. The Captain's conscious mind wouldn't let him process what might be the cause of such a reaction, but deep down, honest dread grabbed his stomach with icy claws, pouring venom through him.

Pulling up behind the Latino Berzerker was the truck that he and Meghna drove out in this morning, carrying at least one other person. As the truck pulled closer, he could make out the details of Meg's face. She looked worried, and she kept looking to Caesar. Something happened.

That feeling of icy dread? Just got worse.

Then, pulling up from the rear came the sound of a familiar engine; an alcohol-burning diesel Freightliner. He knew this truck. He built this truck. Some of his blood was in the welding. He had lived in it, worked in it, weilded it as a weapon against a sea of death. The Hordebuster.

The halt Ash had called earlier stood, their situation actually much improved from ten minutes prior. He addressed Leann about just this. "We have been reinforced. All non-combat can pile in the back of the 'Buster; it's as secure a position as we've got. I want you in there, too. Newnan can stand losing me. It still needs you.

We can be at the Infirmary in two minutes. I'll check with 'Lici and James, see what their status is."

The awful feeling continued as Ash jogged past Caesar, the old man giving him a stare of uncertain meaning. Curiosity, morbid and intense, splashed across his brain. His pace quickened. Once he reached the Hordebuster, now just behind Meg's truck, he hopped up the mounting steps and grabbed hold of the window grate with three fingers of his machete hand.

"Ok, you two are in deep shit, but I'm glad you're here. I need you to swing this big bastard around the truck and run blocker for our unit. Destination's the Infirmary. You're taking on passengers, back in the dump body. You read me? Do you fucking read me, James?"

Ash peered into the cab, noticing a number of people that weren't Alicia. He saw her rifle. He saw her bag. He saw the blank and sorrowful expression on his friend's face, wanting to tell him something but unable to start.

His voice grew quieter as he asked a question; one for which he suspected he knew the answer. "James. Where is Alicia? Tell me, James. Alicia. Where?" The slightest twinge of fear colored his voice. Too many details were piling on top of each other. Somewhere far inside the depth of his reason and understanding, he knew. He wouldn't let himself believe outwardly until he heard it confirmed by another, but he knew.

---

Black James!

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Ash

---

"She gone, man. he began, voice almost as quiet as Ash's. "Dead took her. Whole lot, nothin' we could do. I'm sorry Cap. I'm... I'm so sorry. She made sure these folk got out, though. She died a damn hero."

James was not about to question or abbreviate Ash's orders today. The dazed Captain stumbled from his truck and landed in a heap. James waited until his friend recovered his footing and handed Alicia's sniper rifle down to him. Ash nodded to James, his stone visage betrayed by two vertical streaks of moisture, parting the dust on his face.

"I know you, Ash. Don't hold it in. Not for too long, anyways. You find me after, we gonna talk, ok?"

The esteemed Mr. Grady handed off Alicia's last clip, then acquiesced to the order of his executive officer, pulling the Hordebuster around and forward to receive guests.

---

Caesar Gonzalez

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: No one, with any appreciable communicative skill

---

Were it possible for his face to become any grimmer, it did the moment he recognized the rifle passed from that monstrosity of a dump truck down to Ash. It was silly name for a man, Ash. The word summarized how Caesar felt, though: Burned down to scrap and twisting in the wind.

An involuntary streak of anger shot through him. How dare that man take his girl's rifle? It was never his. M'hija would bootstomp any man that touched her weapon without permission. Taking it, accepting it - it was disrespectful. Caesar's fingers tightened around the hafts of his machetes as if he were bracing for a charge, before he even realized he was harboring this amount of aggression for the man.

Wrapped in his thoughts, Caesar barely noticed the man approach until he was right in front of him. That event, of itself, was strange. The grief stricken bladesman, were he inclined to speech, could tell you that there were five remaining Walkers in their general vicinity, plus the telltale shuffling of one in the building across the street. These threats, obvious and unobvious, were completely within his ability to perceive.

Perhaps that was why. Decades of experience and an almost preternatural intuition did not identify the man as a threat, overruling his emotional need to open someone from crotch to clavicle and play a rousing session of "Pin The Tail On The Central Nervous System".

This man with a stupid name; this man who was not good enough for his daughter in life, and not good enough to carry her rifle now that she was dead, now stood right in front of Caesar. He could see the emotion in Ash's face, but only in the details. Only in the small lines. The Soldier had taken over his psyche, that much was true. But that Soldier had to fight hard to supress the part of him that cared for Alicia. Caesar could tell, and he could recognize pain.

The first piece of surprise that penetrated the shell of the former Federale came when Ash held Alicia's sniper rifle out to him. A single tear escaped Ash's cold, emotionless exterior when Caesar reached out to accept it.

He still wasn't in full posession of his rational, conscious mind, but he knew that Ash was saying something. In reflection, the gist of the message that got across was, "We have a job to do. All of us. We will grieve later, but right now we have to fight, and we have to be smart about it. We need you, Jefe. Please help us."

The younger man with the stupid name that wasn't worth his daughter's time was right. And maybe a good man. Maybe. Caesar nodded his affirmation and followed him, shouldering his m'hija's weapon.

There was a lot of work left to do.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

A sudden sputtering sound issued from Keystone's lips, a bout of laughter that he (for whatever reason) tried to keep in. He waved away the grand gesture of intimidation the undead knight put to him, and gave up all pretense of holding back his mirth.

He laughed. Loud and long and clear. He pounded his fist on the wall, even wiped a tear from one eye. He wasn't sure if he was royally screwed, or if this was just another step in the convoluted plot that was his life recently.

"Boy, I'll tell ya, ya bony git..." intoned Keystone in a weary bass, "I ain't laughed so hard since I was a li'l girl. Really. Bra-sodding-vo. Look at y'self. You're about a menacing as a bloody housecat just now. And I'm not leavin', for a couple reasons what should be plain."

Keystone glanced around at his surroundings, really noting the subtle and not so subtle changes.

"So let's have it, then. How 'bout you fill in a couple whys for me? I got time. Obviously you do. We can both use a rest."

During the as yet one-sided conversation, Keystone kept his hand on the wall. Carefully, he tested his ability to manipulate and respond to Earth, pressing a fingertip lightly and trying to leave a mild indentation.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

Caesar Gonzalez

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: The Dead, his own demons

---

Caesar's brain was adrift in a haze of rage and pain. He could clearly see his baby girl in his mind's eye, back during the halcyon days of her childhood. A bright, happy child, with long dark hair and a perpetual smile on her face. He remembered giving Alicia her first knife - it was a switchblade, classic stiletto style. It was like a toy; her training like a game. "Oh, good, you got a point on Papi! Ok, Papi needs to go lie down and maybe get some stitches."

She liked street food and sharp things. Fútbol, bareknuckle boxing, and spending time with her father. But she was a big girl. She knew the risks. He just wished, prayed, that it was him taken by the horde instead of Alicia. He was an old man. It was closer to his time anyway.

His thoughts drifted away from his only legitimate daughter, interrupted by one of the survivors they had picked up. He was offering condolences, he assumed. He had the look of a man trying a little too hard to appear sympathetic. It could be that Caesar's attitude was coloring his perception. At any rate, it would be unfair to vent his frustrations on him, regardless of his intention.

He didn't move, didn't speak. Didn't twitch a muscle, except to stare at the man with red-rimmed eyes. After an uncomfortable moment, he returned his vision to the abstract distance, spending the rest of the drive in silence.

The return to Newnan did nothing to lift his spirits, particlarly considering the compromised state of the place. He was still unable or unwilling to find the means to verbally express himself, but he did begin to stir from his grief-induced stupor. Caesar looked to the injured girl. A makeshift splint comprised mostly of duct tape and old cardboard steadied her break. She could not be moved outside of the truck bed, at least not far before the splint folded. They had to get to the infirmary.

Unfortunately, a vast array of dead people stood between them and the inner wall. Any one of them could reach in and snatch the young lady, or a group could hold up the truck before it got to where it needed to go. No one else was going to die today. Not if he could help it.

Caesar became as a creature of instinct. The old man fell away, replaced by a feral creature with a handlebar moustache and bared teeth. He was El Jefe. El Jefe continues. El Jefe is a force of fucking nature.

Caesar jumped from the back of the truck yet again, both machetes free before he hit the ground. The raging meleeist ran in front of the slow moving truck, hair trailing behind him as some manner of knight's favor or latino superhero's cape. He quickly closed the distance between Meghna at the wheel and a smallish group of shambling dead at their twelve.

El Jefe exploded into a Living Mexican Cuisinart.

His signature blades led the way, whirling in front of him in a synchronized pattern; figure eights over figure eights, designed to cause retreat in a living opponent and open up their defense. Against the Dead, if formed a dynamic barrier, lopping off bits of hand and moving bodies off to the side. It opened a path, allowing his machetes equal access to the monsters around him.

His left machete parried away a grapple initiated by the Walker in front of him, giving ample room for his right to enter its cranium from below, black blood and ichor spilling from underneath its chin as it twitched and groaned no more. Shifting his weight, he whirled the stilled corpse into the path of another, knocking both of them to the ground as his blade pulled free with a sickening squeltching sound; the noise of barely liquefying bone being torn away from itself by tempered steel.

Another corpse, snarling, stretched its mouth wide, unnaturally wider than human anatomy would allow; unrestrained by intact connecting tissues at it was. It bore down on Caesar's exposed upper arm, chomping solidly and leaning into its prize of living meat.

Except that it couldn't.

Teeth, upper and lower, found the edge and flat of the old man's oversized chopper, denying it a meal and another life lost. A swipe with his free blade opened its abdomen, making the ground perilous with slippery, putrefied innards. Simultaneously, the dentally mired weapon twisted perpendicularly to its previous angle, depriving the creature of several of its teeth before a backhanded slash deprived it of the top of its head. A blackened tongue and bit of brain cervical vertebrae worked atop a decaying mandible for a heartbeat, maybe less, before the former person gave up the ghost for a second time. It collapsed into a heap atop its own removed intestines, a threat to the living no longer.

The third and last Dead One had righted itself and stumbled at its would-be dispatcher, mindless to the momentary carnage it would be subjected to. Caesar ducked low and circled his machetes around, one after the other, cutting the disgusting thing off at the knees. It attempted to step one more time, only succeeding in falling forward as shins, ankles, and feet stayed behind, unresponsive to the commands of their dead master. Gravity and momentum propelled the now much shorter Walker onto the extended blade of Caesar. It was held aloft on that merciless plane of sharpened steel by adrenaline and the solid willpower of a man who had just experienced the deepest loss of his life, and sought to punish something in the meantime.

His free blade smashed into its head. Then again. And again. And again. The abomination slid off of the extended machete, dropping to the ground with a lifeless, squishy plop. But Caesar didn't care. He hacked at the thing's head again and again, over and over, relentlessly, doggedly. A growl of rage and aggression escaped from behind angry teeth, building until anger began to be choked off with sorrow, deep and profound.

The tide of emotion nearly overpowered him. He sunk to one knee, breathing heavily. The old man leaned on one machete, panting, before rising to stand tall. He didn't care how many of these things there were in his home. His home. Nor did he care who destroyed the wall and brought them there.

They were all going to die. Every last one.

The truck pulled up behind him, its road clear. Time to move again. Time to cut a swath to the Infirmary.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

Ashton Holloway

---

Location: Newnan, inside the outer wall
Interacting With: Leann, Maria, Kristina, Lorna

---

So the plan had changed. If the Armory was indeed secure, then obviously the Infirmary had priority. Doc Viv was treating her own chest wound, which sounded a LOT like something she'd do; Ash had his reservations about the woman, but there was no denying her stamina and tenacity. She was a survivor, even if she had to bury everyone else around her. There was an odd, wary respect there.

Then again, an upper torso shot was tricky in the best of times. During an apocalypse, patching yourself? Yeah. Vivian was the only doctor on premesis, and a doctor, any kind of, was worth more than gold. The irony with that expression being, gold was damned near worthless these days. If their stockpile of weapons was indeed safe, then she was the biggest priority.

Now, of course, the trick was to get into the inner wall while dragging a wounded enemy along.

This place crawled. Ash saw the Dead everywhere, in various states of mobility. Plus an unknown number of living hostiles. Standing around was doing them zero good, and they had just received marching orders. Ash kept his machete and .45 where they were, nodded to Lorna, and assumed the vanguard alongside her. The removal of Ash's jacket displayed a rather large knife, definitely not military issue, with a nasty looking knuckle duster. The jacket found a fitting temporary home on their new Marine ally; between it and the M4, Lorna looked quite at home.

The best the group could manage was a brisk walk, what with their unwilling, injured cargo. Straight up the main road. While it may have made them targets for any snipers laying in wait, Ash sincerely doubted they their unwanted visitors had the time to select and occupy strategic attack points within the area. Besides, Leann and Ash knew these streets better than anyone. If there was a suspicious position, they'd be able to avoid with little difficulty. The Dead, on the other hand - he wanted to see them coming.

"Ash, Lorna - Clear a path." came Leann's order. Ash nodded, responding "Yes ma'am. It's in my job description.

The observant combat engineer kept his eyes peeled for the first in what promised to be a long string of aggressive corpses. True, one could see them milling about in the distance (a difficulty that would have to be swept away later), but his mind kept him on more immediate threats.

The nearest Walker was a particularly nasty one whose impact on the blacktop liquefied it from the waist down. A matter of irony, it was incapable of actually walking. Ash jogged ahead and planted his blade into the side of its head, rendering it inert. He twisted the blade free and waited for the others to catch up.

Lorna certainly seemed to handle her first Newnan kill with gusto, complete with mildly sarcastic concern for his jacket: ”Sorry about the jacket, I’ll clean it after we clear out the vermin. Where to, boss?”

"Clothes get dirty, even in Newnan. I'm sure I'll find my way to forgive you." Moving forward, Ash scanned the immediate area, noting clusters of two and three between the team and their destination. He wished he had his bow. It would have made the situation easier. He raised a hand to stop their progress, motioned to his eyes and pointed ahead. Almost from nowhere, he remembered Lorna's comment from earlier, concerning him being "after somethin'". Ash smiled, addressing his new partner.

"Don't you worry, Ma'am. I'm spoken for. You'll like her, too - major hardass. Makes life interesting."

---

Black James!

---

Location: Road outside of Newnan
Interacting With: Zoie

---

"That was you? Well hell, little lady, I've heard of you, too! ...and I do miss green tomatoes. Can't wait till the harvest comes in. Hey, climb yo ass aboard the 'Buster and let's get outta here. We can talk more after we do what we gotta do back home.

Zoie's treatment of one of the Ralls Rd. survivors, "Froggy to me means more than a set of deep fried legs on a plate with some grits.", instead of being offputting, just reminded him how much he missed grits, too.

"...mmm... Can't wait until the corn comes in, neither..."

The moment he heard two bangs on the roof, James shifted the Hordebuster into gear and started them back on the road. He wasn't sure what he'd find when they got back, but he had people now, a fair amount of them. If they could look beyond whatever the hell reason Leann recalled them, maybe they'd be willing to pitch in and make their little slice of not-quite-hell a little perkier.

Plus, it's where he kept all his stuff.

Seven more minutes found him within sight of Newnan. He pulled the 'Buster to an abrupt stop. No so abrupt as to cause Zoie to spill over the front, Superman style, but a little rough nonetheless. What he saw gave him pause.

There was a gaping hole in the wall near the main gate. The remains of several already rotting corpses lay strewn across the countryside, on and around buildings, twitching incessantly or not at all, some few (comparatively) still out and about, cruising the area around downtown looking for something warm and moist to chew on.

There was no way in hell he was going to let any of these people out here. "Hey girl!" he called through cracked window up to Zoie, "You sit tight up there, don't you come down now, ok?" James turned his attention to the people inside the vehicle, and continued. "We might have a problem. We're here, don't you worry, but I was right. Somethin's powerful fucked-up 'round here."

James figured the best chance for surviving would involve them staying right where they were until proven otherwise. He grabbed his Barrett .50, swung open the grating around his window, and carefully raised it up to Zoie. "If'n you intend to stay up there, little lady, you might wanna take a more proactive approach. Get me? Otherwise hop on in back."

"But watch out, we've got friends in there. And away we go..."

Foregoing the gate proper, James maneuvered the Hordebuster through the gaping hole in the outer wall. When he saw the totality of the splattage left by the unprecedented force of nature (the unwitnessed Zombnado), he took the moment to truly appreciate the scene, in the manner prescribed by his upbringing:

With that, the intrepid group consisting of James, Richard, Jamie, Dexter, Zoie, and Doc Froggy rolled at a cautious pace up the main thoroughfare inside the apocalyptic street beast well known to the Newnanites as The Hordebuster.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

Black James!

---

Location: Road outside of Newnan
Interacting With: Zoie, Richard

---

The interjection from his guest in the Hordebuster was noted, though it seemed a little... grainy. He was painted as a reliable and altruistic guy, true, but for all this man in the back knew he was being led away to have his innards broiled in fine brandy and served to mildly ravenous marmosets while still attached to his conscious, breathing body.

Upon hearing himself referred to as "Chocolate Thunder", James felt a bit taken aback. He initially felt insulted, but during the next few nanoseconds, his thoughts drifted toward the more positive aspects of this particular Nom de Guerre. maybe not for himself, but for the next vehicle he gets and makes his own. Ash had the Hordebuster (well technically, HE had the Hordebuster now, but that was a mere detail), and maybe James would have his Chocolate Thunder.

Yeah. He liked the sound of that. Chocolate Thunder.

Basically, his internal monologue looked something like this:

James shot a quizzical look back at Richard. There was something he just couldn't place, but he had more obvious issues at the forefront. Namely, the lady in front of him who threatened small arms castration in the event he attempt anything ungentlemanly. Ironically, his kind of lady.

Now, while the events of his very recent past weighed and muted his more bombastic charisma, it was very difficult to fully squelch the totality that was James Mandingo Grady. He addressed his newest acquaintance as such.

"Why hello, Miss Zoie, and it is just beautiful to hear another South Georgia drawl. You're from Albany? We're practically neighbors! Leesburg, GA, born and raised. Did some o'my best hoggin' out by Albany. Go ahead and climb in the back, if you wanna - you and your friends. It ain't all that comfortable, but it's up off the ground."

"By the way, most my friends call me "Black James!"; seein' as we're neighbors, you can too. C'mon up, we gotta roll."

---

Ashton Holloway

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Leann, Maria, Kristina, Lorna

---

Orders being to kill strangers on sight left a dilemma, what with Ash and Maria having two of them in tow. They seemed trustworthy, even helpful, but as soon as that order went out to the general public, their lives would become perilous inside the walls. He glanced to Kristina and Lorna, then immediately removed his coat and patrol cap.

"Kris, please stay with your sister at all times until we have this sorted out. Lorna, you're with me. Wear these, if you would," he said, handing his coat to Lorna and cap to Kristna, "They'll legitimize your presence somewhat."

The absence of his coat exposed arm coverings; otherwise they resembled fingerless gloves. Obviously not military issue, they were black, close fitting, and covered him from mid-digit to elbow. Ash noticed the odd glance, and felt need to explain. "Industrial cut sleeves. Machinists use them to keep from slashing themselves, and some bouncers. They're good against bites, too."

"Ma'am," Ash started to Leann, "If you would please restrain the prisoner before I remove my foot, I'd be grateful."

"Detain the prisoner, set a guard. Equip at the Armory, radios all around. Evaluate and secure the infirmary. Set details: One for the wall, one to sweep. No more prisoners. Heard on all counts, ma'am." A thought struck suddenly he felt the need to vocalize, "If I might suggest, unless they're already present, we should sound a general assembly at the courthouse. And set a detail to receive and brief the other Run teams."

"Alright, Team A. We have our orders. All together, then. Don't waste bullets on the Dead if you don't have to."

"And welcome to Newnan."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Charnobylisk
Good clear roads and the odd assault rifle tend to make one early. Just means we get first crack at the fun in Newnan.