Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Caesar in the streets, El Jefe in the sheets?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Charnobylisk

I think it's WAY to soon to discuss that with any seriousness. Body not cold yet, emergency on, etc. And knowing Ash (i should, really), he'd be the type that goes for points in common, with just enough difference to lay on some stress every now and again.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Nallore

Yup, I did say any question. I didn't think the Smith sisters felt that way about Ash, though. Just be careful, he's in a vulnerable place right now.

...unfortunately, that vulnerable place is Newnan.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Nallore

...a gentleman never tells. Fortunately, Ash is kind of an ass, so look for the notches in the sleeper cab.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Lady Amalthea

Okey-Dokey.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

There have been questions about the physical breakdown of The Hordebuster. To answer a lot of these questions, I have placed an additional hider in Ash's CS under Relationships, oddly titled "The Hordebuster". Go fig.

Anyway, the picture is not exact, but what is when you're looking up something on Google Images. I input specs, they spit back out the nearest match that hits the right keywords. World keeps on spinning. The text takes priority over the pic, but it is a pretty good representation of the vehicle BEFORE dead people started gnawing on living ones.

If there are any additional questions, fire away. Specifics make for spiffier posts. Thanks!

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

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: As few people as possible

Night deepened, until eventually people decided that the relative safety of their numbers would assist in keeping the less aggressive predators at bay; those that ran on two legs as well as four. The broad pugilist cracked his knuckles, regarding the remaining wood for their low campfire. More than enough to see them through until morning, provided it remained about that size. There should even be sufficient embers for scratching together a quick breakfast while camp was struck and the Ranger Lady went scouting.

Already his mind drifted toward oat bannocks, maybe parting with just a bit of his precious fruit preserves from his provisions. Tea, strong and hot, certainly. Maybe shaving a little potato hash. Maybe. Yes, he was looking forward to breakfast, seeing as he had to part with his own supper that evening. Unexpected guests, and all. Not that he was bitter. Well, not very bitter, anyway. The best meals are the ones you looked forward to. Keystone allowed himself a small smile, and prepared for watch.

"Right, then, Sona. Wake the next'n in two hours. Get me?"

The uncouth brawler set a quick mat of sticks on the ground near the fire and set his oversized backpack upon it. If the rains came heavy, his pack would be elevated from the wet ground. He sat down carefully on his pack, making sure he wasn't dropping assward upon anything particularly breakable or perishable, and closed his eyes. Most people in his experience didn't quite ready themselves for a night of guard duty like this; Keystone wasn't exactly most people, though. His training left him open to new techniques and learning experiences, some of which weren't rooted purely in the realm of the martial. What he readied was one such technique.

Keystone held his hands in front of himself, palms facing outward and only the first two fingers of each one outstretched, pointing upward. As if pushing against a great weight, he extended his arms, simultaneously exhaling the whole of the contents of his lungs in a slow, controlled breath. The scarred man opened his eyes, senses focusing on everything and nothing all at once, and he clasped his hands in front of him.

There he sat, near the fire, unmoving. His eyes seemed distant, and he spoke with a sense of plainness and calm the likes of which none of the present group had experienced from him. "Sona, please see to the fire, if you would. Two hours."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash, James, & Jefe

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Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Each Other, Survivors, Leann

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In the instant following Ashton handing over Alicia's sniper rifle to her father, all manner of Hell began breaking loose. Caesar snapped to attention, the mild amount of warms and fuzzies he felt at the moment supplanted by the sudden re-awareness of the urgency of their situation. He still neglected speech, but gave the Captain the slightest, almost imperceptible nod before snatching the rifle's strap around his torso and retrieving his machete.

A blur of motion caught Ash unprepared as Caesar brought his blades to bear, the first whipping toward his neck with speed he couldn't have hoped to match if he were braced to receive it. Cold steel slid across Ash's skin, just below his jawline before he realized Caesar's intent: his head was being pushed roughly to the side as the older man's second blade thrust past, impaling an undead eye socket with a sickening pop.

Simultaneously, Ash's recruit seemed to have caught whatever infected Caesar earlier. The Marine turned into a blur of urgency and polished steel, laying waste to many animated corpses and clearing the path before her. The engineer was duly impressed, even if his grief-wracked psyche wouldn't let him show it. If there was a moment to take, that moment was now.

His own sorrow at the loss of Alicia had to be put aside. This was a time for survival - his and his community's. Ash forced himself to say, if only in the brooding darkness of his own mind, that she was but one soldier. Soldiers fought, soldiers died. They did so for a greater purpose, if they were lucky. His novia did just that, if Black James was to be believed. To die now, to let these survivors die now, would make her loss pointless.

His tears ceased. Hell, his emotions ceased. Newnan didn't need them right now. Newnan needed the Captain. Ash put away his gun and replaced it with his large, knuckle duster fighting knife.

Take command, secure your people, get to the Infirmary.

Back at the Hordebuster, James was not having a good day. He'd be damned if he was going to let another one die, likewise he'd be damned if he was going to sit this one out. True, if he stayed in the 'Buster for a good long while, the area would eventually dissipate and allow him more freedom of movement. The inventor of this life-saving road beast used to live in it, for crap's sake. There were stashes of supplies somewhere in here, enough to keep one going for a while were they so inclined (though James was a little fuzzy on how he relieved himself in the truck, or what he was supposed to do with it after), but that really wasn't an option here. The resident Blackneck was going to get these people to safety. Or at least help.

"Ok, James," he said to himself, "You gonna get both these white niggas out the street and under a roof, and you gonna have fun doin' it." Minimal psyching up necessary, the generally optimistic James grabbed both his rifle and Alicia's pack, shouldering them both and tightening down the straps with a solid yank. He slung open the door, hit the power locks, and hopped down from the great vehicle.

The Ralls Rd. survivor who addressed James earlier, the one who wanted the cigarette, looked to him with with uncertainty. "Tell me what to do, where to go, who to talk to, whatever it is and I'll do it."

James grabbed a midsized woodsplitting axe from the floorboard and closed the door behind him. He straightened the brim of his almost jaunty cowboy hat on his head, and addressed the concern in a non-judgemental, straightforward tone. "Here's what you gonna do. Raise that hammer high and bring it down on anything gets too close, y'understand? See them folks down there?" he said, pointing at Ash and Caesar, "We meeting up with them, and pushing to that building over there. Stay close behind an' keep breathing. C'mon."

Ash looked back to James, noting he had a passenger in tow. A clear, cold voice he barely recognized as his own issued, "Hold the line here, Jefe. We're expecting company." A ragged gurgling prompted Ash to action - he held his machete out to keep the creature at bay, its point sinking into the thing's sternum. Its progress was halted, giving the monotone engineer the opportunity to insert knife into cranium at his leisure. The effect, while not remotely as flashy nor as skillful as his elder companion, was an excellent example of pragmatic execution.

Caesar grunted in affirmation, the most direct line of communication he'd made in a while, and gave his machetes a twirl to sling the putrid, blackened blood from them. The bladesman widened his stance and braced to defend his position.

From around the side of the Hordebuster came the standard redneck warcry of "YEEHAW!" as a jogging vision of dark skin and overalls obliterated a Walker skull with a one-handed sweep of a woodaxe; his other hand clutching his hat to his bandanna-swaddled head. He continued his afternoon calisthenics toward the other two Newnanites, (hopefully) with Dexter in tow. James looked dead at Ash, asking, "We gone?"

Ashton nodded grimly at James, repeating his question back to him verbatim, as a statement. "We gone."

"Offensive Wedge - Caesar takes point. James, you and I flank at weapon's length. New guy, bring up the rear. Make for the courthouse, meet Leann in the middle. And GO."

The venerable Mexican, surprising even himself, found his feet moving along to Ash's orders. Perhaps it was his state of grief; letting the man who was supposed to be in charge dictate to him actions which were, in fact, reasonable. Without a growl or comment, anyway. Two steps later, Ash and James began their own jog, weapons at the ready, flanking their pointman.

There was an appreciable amount of space and hostiles between themselves and their Commanding Officer. The removal of these obstacles from their path did demonstrate a marked difference in their styles of melee combat: Caesar led the way with fluid but brutal motions, the perfect example of calm and rage warring within a man of considerable skill and experience as he dealt death with both hands; a master of his craft punctuated with obvious emotive content. Ash demonstrated effective and straightforward technique, not too defensive and not overreaching; Economy of Motion, reserving what energy he might need if a huge push was required. James... James found an opening and planted an axe-head into it. He made a rotting skull resemble a canoe and moved onto the next one, existing merely in the moment. Truth being, he'd rather be shooting.

Steadily they cut their way to the Infirmary, meeting up with Leann on the way.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Plasma
Yah, Black James is addressing the issue with Dexter. All good, will hurry.

The Expendables - Team 2

Priest

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Priest

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Character Summary

Name: Caesar Hannibal Gonzalez
Aliases: Priest, Padre, El Jefe, Machete
Age: 58
Birthday: May 16
Ethnicity: Mexicano
Birth Place: Monterrey, Chihuahua, Mexico
Location: Seattle, WA
Gender: Male. Quite.
Major/Minor: None/None
Occupation: Owner/Operator: Machete Security Solutions, Former Federale Commandant
Languages: English, Spanish (both fluent)

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Appearance

Height: 5'6"
Weight: 165
Build: Intimidating, Venerable
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Black, long
Skin Tone: Worn Leather
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Yes.

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Psychology

Driven * Volatile * Protective * Intimidating

Sexuality: Hypermasculine
Relationship Status: Divorced
Personality: Caesar is a frightening man, the likes of which should only be allowed around polite folk in dire emergencies. If he's anywhere in public, the shit has officially hit the fan and it's best to duck and cover before you get any on you. Or through you. Or ripped out of you. Did I mention that he's a very frightening man?

He does have a soft side, or more accurately, a less hard side - he is loyal, protective, and actually a good, decent man. His "Boondock Santos" mentality drives him to "destroy that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish". Another bit; he has a daughter. Caesar simultaneously is overprotective and fully confident in her ability to kick much ass and take many names.

El Jefe is obsessively driven to complete any task of worth to which he sets himself, particularly if it involves tequila or gratuitous violence. He is the confident alpha-male who strolls through life, scarred and tattooed, accumulating horrifying stories of bloodshed and turmoil while carving more and more notches into his proverbial bedpost. This may explain why he is attracted to twisted women.

Caesar Gonzalez, if I have not mentioned previously, is a very frightening man.

Habits: Growling, Staring
Hobbies: Honing his collection of sharp things, and Fùtbol.
Fears:

• Losing his daughter
• Being weak
• Running out of alcohol

Likes:

• Fùtbol
• Sharp Things
• Booze
• Fighting
• Motorcycles
• Bird Watching

Dislikes:

• Lazy Folk
• Bigots
• Drug Dealers
• People Fucking With His Hair
• Men Flirting With His Daughter
• Down Time

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Cards On The Table

Specialty Skills:

• Sharp Weapons
• Thrown Weapons

Standard Skills:

• Small Arms
• Stealth
• Security Tech
• Motorcycle
• Helicopter
• Seek The Guilty (Investigation/Surveillance)
• Close Quarter Combat
• Large Arms

Current Supplies:

• Snakeskin boots, Worn BDU pants (grey), Smiley boxers, Leather biker vest, Black long coat, Studded leather bracers, Large black bandanna. Regularly carries Credentials (Corpsec, Federale (Ret), Weapon Permits,Passport etc., plus alternate identity creds), Keys, Wallet (on chain, containing containing $1000 cash, 3 credit cards (platinum), Corporate Debit Card (for business expenses, 50K limit)
• Machete
• Machete
• Knife
• Knife
• H&K USP .45 (12 round capacity)
• Extra Clip .45
• Large Gentleman's Flask, filled with fine tequila, inside vest pocket over his heart
• Harley-Davidson Scorpion Reverse Trike, Custom
• Residence: 75 S. Main Street #201, Seattle WA (Pioneer Square neighborhood), Built in 1900 - The upper two floors = Living Space, Ground Floor = garage and business space, freight elevator from garage, external ironwork stairs - Historic brick bldg in Pioneer Square. 8736 SF, not including terrace. Flooded with natural light and features high ceilings, 3 walls of exposed brick, hardwood floors, sleeping loft, modern bath & stainless steel appliances, electricity, gas (optional) fireplaces, full roof terrace, 0 br, 4 ba, 4x garage on bottom floor.
• Satellite Phone (encrypted, lots of spiffy apps)

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History

Why The Expendables Recruited You:

Caesar was one of the first choices for the original Expendables team. His history and contacts set him as one of the legendary few, hardboiled, testosterone-fueled, ties cut to the world badasses of his generation. His reputation had him committing acts of wholesale extermination against very bad people, without pity or remorse. The other side of that coin: He would go out of his way to save an innocent and no lengths be wouldn't go to respond to a wrong done to him and his.

Unfortunately for the team, Caesar declined. He had a new family and business to think about, and the occasional act of carnage the U.S. government paid him to do. The second time around, his situation was different. He responded more positively to the invitation.

History Before The Expendables:

Much of Caesar's history has been redacted, owing to the classified nature of his work. What is known about him, in fact and unconfirmed rumor, can be summed up thusly:

Ceasar Hannibal Gonzalez began his career as an officer of the Policia Judicial Federal. He racked up a hell of a reputation, ascending the ranks quickly because of his brutal but effective methodology in dealing with people deemed untouchable or above the law. Eventually, he became a Commandant, training many under him to work as an intimidating, result producing unit.

This continued for quite some time, until he was approached by a cartel. Caesar refused to be bribed off like so many other Federale Agents and Commanders. Instead, he went to war. (Insert blood, blood, more blood, carnage, betrayal, drugs, money, yet more blood, betrayal, lots of explosions, and multiple limb removal, etc.)

Disgusted by the whole situation, Caesar retired from the Mexican Federal Police. In his opinion, it was too corrupted by the drug cartels to be useful to its people anymore, a hypocritical organization feeding upon itself. Instead, he emigrated to the United States to work with the DEA (and occasionally FBI/CIA), taking on jobs they deemed too dangerous to send in one of their own, or to have plausible deniability of their involvement. These people, though assholes in their own right, seemed to actually be interested in doing harm to the cartels. And it sated his desire for violence. He remained a part-time government asset, based out of San Antonio, Texas.

In this time, he married a Senorita Maria Santiago. They had a baby girl, Alicia. Very shortly thereafter, he liquidated his holdings and founded Machete Security Solutions, a private security firm made up of former military, law enforcement, retired Federal agents, and the like. He even trained a cadre of his own men from scratch, including his little Alicia, to act as his go-to people. They took contracts in many global hotspots, took jobs with corporate security, bodyguarding, and the like, including some unofficial and grey market contracts with various government agencies.

Caesar spread his badassery worldfuckingwide.

He moved his family and his business away from the desert and into the foothills of Appalachia; Chattanooga, TN. The proper infrastructure was in place, land was relatively cheap, not too close and not too far away from first-strike targets if the shit really hit the fan. He put his girl into college, despite much bitching from her end. Business ran well, clandestine and above board. He even sought professional help for his mindnumbing anger issues; his therapist recommended taking up bird watching as a means to channel his more aggressive energies into something more relaxing. Shortly after, the good doctor took his own life. The official coroner's report listed cause of death as: "Lobotomy via Garden Weasel, Self Inflicted". There was some professional disagreement concerning the findings.

Caesar kept the books, and actually got around to watching birds.

The enigmatic Caesar Gonzalez got the call to join the Expendables (the primary team) during his time working as a freelance government asset. He was put on their radar after a wetwork involving him taking on the role of a priest to get closer to his target. Rumors have put together that the Priest is Caesar.

He didn't want to immediately jump into a structured team, lone wolf type that he was, and so declined the invitation. That, and he wanted to make sure he could be around to see his little m'hija grow into a fine woman.

And she did. Truly a fine woman, but too much like her papi.

History Since Joining The Expendables:

Caesar was Cynthia's first recruit. After the greenlight for form her own team, she began with dossiers already on file. It had been a while, but Caesar was still in amazing form and, now that his little Alicia was an adult capable of making her own decisions and killing her own people, he felt it was a good time to get back into the game. Caesar wasn't initially too happy with being contacted out of the blue, nor did he feel very good about a private organization having a dossier, highlighting his personal and professional history. It would take a little digging on his part before decades-old paranoia relaxed enough to take a meeting with these people.

Upon accepting membership, he added the Crow On Skull tattoo to his already impressive collection of body art (right inner forearm), purchased a small building in the Pioneer Square neighborhood of Seattle to be closer to his new side venture. His company's security, communication, and surveillance tech instantly became a great asset to the new Expendables, and Caesar became a permanent fixture with their group. Caesar was keeping busy and making money from this arrangement from both jobs and tech sales, he had a base of operations in the Pacific Northwest now, and his autumn years were looking up.

He even acquired a new handle among the group. While most everyone else refers to him as El Jefe, his dossier with the original Expendables prior to discovering his true identity simply labeled him as "The Priest". As such, he is addressed as either Priest or Padre while on assignment. After some consideration, he approves of his new mercenary identity. Granted, having a code name and being part of a team was a new experience for him. He generally worked alone, or was the boss. There was a period of adjustment before Caesar Gonzalez, Ex Federale/Government Assassin, became comfortable operating as Priest, Private Contractor with The Expendables. Arguments occurred. Heads butted. Valentine and he even came to blows once, though it was forgotten about after a round or six of drinks and high-stakes poker.

Over time, he truly came to trust his new teammates. Trust was a thing which, in his old life, got you killed. Gradually, he came to the realization that these people were very much like him; badasses in their own right, doing what they felt was the right thing. Caesar was never military. The feelings of brotherhood that came with armed forces watching over each other in times of conflict was a very new thing for the man, especially as his origins place him with a corrupt organization, members of which had betrayed him on more than one occasion. He remained merely a professional asset for the longest time before letting himself accept these people fully. Once he did, Caesar began to understand what it meant to be an Expendable - an organization as unique as he was, back when he worked alone.

What he didn't think was such a great idea was his daughter joining the club. That took some time to get used to.

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Extras

Character Quote:
"El Jefe improvises..."
"You just fucked with the wrong Mexican."
"You know what? I'll do it. Just tell me how badly you want him beaten."

Theme Song:

Most Memorable Kill: Bungee/rappelling down a hospital wall, using a man's intestines as rope. El Jefe improvises.
Most Memorable Injury: Maria. She broke his heart. Muy triste.
How You Got Your Code Name: Caesar found himself on a low-rent job, offered by the CIA. It was his first job since officially emigrating to the United States, and a total wetwork. The objective was to assassinate a heavily guarded Cartel Kingpin in his home country. The most effective method of getting him alone was to masquerade as a Catholic Priest. While taking communion, away from his bodyguards and in a neutral place, Caesar split his head wide open with a woodaxe and made his way back out, killing several bad men with knives and various improvised sharp items. Over time, the moniker of "The Priest" (or "El Padre") kind of stuck.

Anything Else:

roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659

_{*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy. I understand that I will not be warned if I break a rule or am coming close and accept that I can be kicked out if I break any of the above listed rules.}