Sigil

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

I'm finding that the multiple errors are keeping all but the most determined from posting, and even then it's short & sweet OOC text. Perhaps we should cut the members and our GM a little slack.

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

Post up. Were we back to the collab or were we moving on?

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

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: 5:30 - Orc: Lancer, 5:30 - Horse: Lancer's (Butterstuff), 7 - Orc: Fighter

The indomitable brawler, Keystone, rose from his less-than-ideal seat atop the head of the Orc he had just concussed into oblivion, and took a second to survey his surroundings. This was a problem. His group was outnumbered, disorganized, and lacking in basic, raw combat ability when compared to their aggressors. Despite this, they were not merely mowed down like grass before an arching scythe, which arguably is what the Orcs had in mind. While their immediate doom was not forthcoming, it would arrive nonetheless unless their tactics altered. Keystone took a breath and tried to organize his thoughts.

To begin, he decided to order the attackers in a circular pattern (of purely his own devising, of course) resembling the face of a clock. He had just neutralized Six O'Clock and Six Fifteen, as he reckoned it, and set his sights on the object of his employment: Cremwise's Wagon and the Employer Merchant himself. Unfortunately, two others had also taken direct interest in Cremwise and his stuff. Oh yes, Seven and Seven Forty-Five. It's your turn next.

His plans for the Axe Wielder and the Archer would have to be put on hold, however, as the sound of horse hooves beating rhythmically on the ground came swiftly nearer to the mission-bound Pugilist. Keystone looked to the noise as it was joined by a guttural war cry, screamed with Orcish baritone. Five Thirty, mounted and with sword swinging, closed on his position as he endeavored to move closer to the wagon.

The blade bore down on Keystone from above, expertly swept at his neck from atop charging horse. He barely had time to raise his arms to deflect Five Thirty's longsword, catching the blade across his bracers. Dwarven masterwork clashed against Orcish steel, ringing loud and flatly in the damp morning air. A chip of metal flaked off of the weapon, glinting dully as it twirled in the air, descending earthward. Though the blade was turned, the force of the blow, bolstered by the pressure of sprinting horseflesh, knocked Keystone to the ground.

From his back, Keystone looked to wagon. Cremwise was still in trouble. He had to move, fast.

The Monk-trained fisticuff artisan kicked himself to a standing position. Five Thirty had turned his horse around and kicked it into another short charge, intending to finish what he started. This put Keystone in a bad position - he had to take down a mounted opponent lest said opponent killed him before he could be of any help to his employer. On the other hand, if he didn't do something about the two marauders approaching Cremwise, and right now, this was going to go very bad, very quickly.

In two seconds, maybe three, the Cavalorc would be upon him again, with no guarantee that he could block another incoming attack of this nature. He could scarcely reach the rider, unarmed as he was, with a blow powerful enough to unseat or incapacitate, even if he could get close enough without getting a sword inserted into his face.

Keystone internally sighed, knowing what he must do.

He assumed a low stance, one fist at his hip and one hand in front, two fingers raised to help judge speed and distance. This was tricky, maybe even cruel, but it had to be done. Keystone exhaled and relaxed his body as best he could, given time limitations, and stood directly in the path of the sword, now barreling toward him point first.

"Sorry 'bout this, Butterstuff." he whispered, gritting his teeth in preparation for what was to come.

The instant before his life ended, Keystone cross-stepped to the other side of the approaching animal, spinning his body and planting his feet in such a manner as to imbue a single, devastating hit with as much strength as he could muster. The combined power of the brawler's raw physicality and the charging horse reacted as knuckle met skull. Not his attacker's, but the horse's.

Somewhere inside the beast's cranial cavity, brain jostled against skull twice; one side and then the other. This manifested externally by he horse giving a cross between a very perplexed look and an eye roll, its jaw skewing in one direction and its tongue lolling outstretched to the other. Were horses capable of speech (or anyone, after taking the hit), it would have given a resounding "Wuzzafuck?" before its inevitable collapse. The poor animal's head tilted listlessly to the side and its body followed, crashing to the ground in a breathy glorping sound, like someone dropped a massive sackful of pork chops onto a marble floor.

Five Thirty screamed and gurgled in sheer painful confusion while his leg broke the horse's fall onto the packed ground and remained there, mangled and pinned under eighty-five stone of forcibly unconscious riding beast. His sword lay another arm's length out of reach, but that was hardly his biggest concern at the moment.

Sensing an opening, Keystone looked back to the wagon. They were nearer. He couldn't get to the merchant before the other Orcs did. There was a bit of desperation in his voice as he yelled, "Cremwise!", both to indicate to him that he wasn't forgotten, and to draw the attention of any allies to his peril.

If the Pugilist couldn't get there himself, perhaps something representative of Keystone could. He quickly unsheathed a kunai from his bandoleer and hurled it at Seven, the Orc with the great axe. He seemed the most menacing to the employer at the time, and he wanted to keep his ensorceled, bone-handled seax on him in case the archer next to Seven figured him as a target. The blade sunk into Seven's lower back. Not the lung puncture he was hoping for, but if this didn't distract him, he had a few more that might.

In the back of his mind, Keystone was still irritated that breakfast was interrupted. He was really looking forward to oat bannocks and black tea.

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

Keystone's got the next move in this round.

I'll mention again, we're not supposed to call our targets in the OOC. We get our place in the lineup, and choose our actions in our posts. Otherwise, it comes dangerously close to metagaming.

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

Well, he's got a lot of good quotes, like: "..."

OOH! Here's a good one: "... , ..."

Anyway, yeah, he doesn't talk. But he's still very expressive. Hope your characters like bugs, too. Fair warning.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ashton Holloway

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Lorna, Meg, Zoie, Dexter, Maria

---

Ash rolled back out of the truck bed with a decided "Damnit.", taking cover behind it the moment the tire went flat. His carbine flashed to the ready position. Zoie had confirmed one of the intruders by name; it was a woman Ash had not seen in town before that moment. He knew everyone who lived inside those walls on a first-name basis, so by Leann's last standing order, her life was forfeit. The question became: Does he let the new girl hack her to ribbons, or does he pump a bullet into her from here? Zoie was quite the backwoods wordsmith. Looked pissed, too. Ash decided not to intervene with her sudden feelings of hostility. She could have her one, but after this they needed to stay close and get to their objective. Besides, this absolutely reeked of Personal.

Ash thumbed his weapon to semi-automatic and raised it. He wasn't sure if the bullet that shredded their tire came from this woman, or someone else. Logically, if it was her doing, Zoie would take care of the threat. But if it wasn't, then they needed to get moving, and now. Then again, they did have sniper support. Ashton had to make a call. Good thing he was packing a walkie.

"Maria? We got shots fired, somewhere roughly on our 9. Can one of you give us support?"

Keeping an eye out, Ash addressed the group, "Less than a block, guys. I say we hoof it.

---

Black James!

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Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Maria, Sid, Tom's Fan Club

---

James noticed their fellow Newnanite, and immediately felt both relieved and concerned. "Hey, that's Tom! I like that guy. Let's give 'im some love."

The Dead took notice of the now uncovered man, prompting a few of the closer ones to shamble toward in hopes of turning the man into a Manwich. James decided immediately that this simply would not do. He raised Alicia's sniper rifle to his shoulder, and spoke quietly to Maria as he went to work, the rifle making barely more noise than its parts sliding across each other with a muted clack.

"So guys, there were these two Walkers, right?"

*clack* One of Tom's undead fans got his cranium ventilated, and collapsed like so many rotting racks of short ribs.

"Now, they was both gnawin' on this Clown. Feel me?"

*clack* Another bites the proverbial dust.

"One looks over at the other'n and says..."

*clack* James hoped Tom appreciated the effort.

"Hey! Does this taste funny to you? Hyuk hyuk..."

---

Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Froggy

---

Flatlined. Someone else he cared about, dead. Ok, so it wasn't love, but damnit it was something. He wasn't even sure if she was a good woman or not, but that really didn't matter anymore. Vivian was someone in his life, and now she was gone.

Motherfuckers will pay.

Caesar ripped off his surgical gown (really more of an apron) and reached for the pistol at the back of his belt. He chambered a round and looked to the blood-spattered Doc with sorrow and rage conflicting in his eyes. He leaned in close, over Viv's corpse. For just a moment, he considered pressing the barrel of his gun into the man's eye and blowing his brains out of the back of his head. Then, a harsher punishment came to mind. For the first time in a while, the old man spoke. It was a low, gravelly, quiet voice, but it was highly unsettling to anyone listening.

"You. You... are the Doc now." He nodded, emphasizing his plain and simple words. "Barricade this door after I leave. Do what you need to with the body. Anyone tries to get in here angry, you kill them."

The emotionally compromised fighter had a purpose in telling the Doc to take care of the body. Ordinarily, he would have preferred to handle it himself, as he was close to Vivian. But Caesar needed to see if this guy could do what was necessary to survive, or if he was just lucky these last couple of years. If not, his upcoming course of action would have to be altered, in a manner to which Froggy might object.

Caesar unsheathed his trademark cutters and started to the door. It was his intent to clear this building if it was required, and escape to the outside after. Basically, he had a fairly nasty itch to kill something just then, and was fully intent on scratching it as vigorous and messily as possible.

"You need a gun?" he growled. It was less of a question than was implied.

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

@rivaan

Hey. You're up. Best of luck to ya.

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

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: Medieval X-Men, Cremwise, Cyneburg

Frig. Doublefrig.

Yes, two separate frigs sounded in his mind; the first being the appearance of the group of armed and angry Orcs, the second being the swift injury of his teammates. No, this would not do. Adrenaline coursed through Keystone's blood, dilating pupils and energizing muscles, his senses sharpening in the face of very unpopular odds.

Barely controlled rage colored his face, held back in a tenuous grip by the iron will of his training. His anger was a tool to be used at his discretion; it was not his master. Not anymore.

Regardless, a growl escaped his lips as he opened himself to a portion of his fury, pointing it directly at the Orc with spiked gloves. If nothing else, he would challenge the creature most like himself in this brawl. Not that he gave a rats' hindparts about glorious, honorable combat; he might just have had something to prove. Besides, pugilists deserved pugilists, especially out here in the sticks and mud, away from their more urban environs. He nodded directly at his chosen opponent, and charged.

Five quick strides powered the broad Human into melee range with Spikey Orc, the balls of his feet connecting with the soft earth beneath him. His arms raised into close, parallel lines in front of himself, fists halfway closed. A very occidental technique, familiar to most who spent any time near a warehouse fight or brawler's pit. He closed to strike what promised to be a powerful, crippling blow, moving his arms apart just a little more for the balance necessary to flatten this supposed Orc Pugilist.

It would have been a glorious hit. One that survivors of the skirmish (of both sides) would have talked about for many years to come. Sadly, it did not make connection. His intended target was no stranger to these techniques, and when the stalwart brawler came charging at him, he knew exactly how to counter it. An instant before Keystone got to him, the Orc stepped forward and turned to the side, launching a swift jab into the hole the prideful Human left in his defense. The opening Keystone left in his handwork was obvious; only an amateur would have been that stupid as to open himself up as such to end a fight quickly. His glove spikes would penetrate flesh and break out teeth. Hell, the bastard might even lose an eye.

Except Keystone wasn't stupid.

He fell to his knees, skidding feet forward in the mud. The Orc's jab thrust solidly into the area his face used to occupy, catching only air. The look of surprise on the face of the brawler Orc was priceless, but Keystone couldn't see it. He was already behind his would be dispatcher, going after his real target: The Goblin with the ceramic flask.

Continuing to ride his momentum, he transferred the force of his movement into a rising uppercut. Stone-conditioned fist connected with Goblin crotch with the force of a charging stallion. The creature's four and a half foot frame immediately crumpled forward as its eyes crossed impossibly close; so close they started to rotate into its skull. The air was driven from the foul thing's lungs, so powerful was the pressure to its pelvis from the 'nad squishing powerfist, the noise issuing from the pitiable creature would remain in the collective racial memory of his people until the death of the age, and even longer in bardic tale. It was a horrible, twisting scream, part cry for help, but mostly a grievous and squeaky grovel to be released from this horrifying pain with the sweet gift of a quick and merciful parting of its soul from this earth.

Animals capable of fleeing the forest, sensing the unnatural, guttural hell inflicted on the poor goblin, ran for their very lives. Nearby Fey folk, sophisticated and safe with their concealing magics, perched safe atop the higher branches of nearby trees in sacred and protected groves, witnessed the act via scrying inside their own space of earth and trees, exclaimed "Daaaaaaaaaamn!" and professed a lack of belief in a higher power after having witnessed such a spectacle. Some exchanged coins, wagers grudgingly settled. A brief conversation ensued concerning asking the possibly neutered Goblin if he would join the Dryad Boys Choir, owing to the newfound ability to hit notes so high as to elude even the most undeveloped Fey child's vocal limitations.

It was a shuddering, screaming, whimpering breath - an exhalation of one who knew what it meant to truly be damned; the noise one may make, were they mercilessly rectally violated with a seven foot, red-hot iron cactus. Such was the suffering heaped upon this green and floundering bastard. But it didn't end there, oh no. It did not cease.

The nearest Orcs stood in mute horror, faces screwed into incredulous visages of confusion and fear. Reflexively, many covered their own manly bits with their hands in sympathetic pain as their outies became innies, and at least temporarily, their testicles were purely ornamental in nature. All except for the one who took a swing at Keystone earlier, the one with the spiked gloves. He turned about just in time to see the Errant Pugilist snatch up his Goblin companion and wrap his thick arms around the still quivering 'nad obliteration victim. Keystone's back was partially to him. He wouldn't get a better chance to avenge his partner's danglies.

The Orc stepped in close and hammered in a notable inverted fist strike, aimed at Keystone's kidney. The brawler noted the incoming attack and was able to twist his body just enough to make the connection in a area slightly less vital. The spikes of the Orc's massive fist were able to penetrate the tooled hide of Keystone's coat and enter his torso, scraping along his lowest rib but blissfully unable to dig deep enough to puncture a lung. The sheer force of the blow removed the air from his chest, and Keystone swore he could have heard a cracking sound that was either a seam in his leather breaking or some manner of osseous tissue at the fracturing point. Keystone spun around to avoid another such strike he likely could not mount a passable defense against, only to barely avoid a sweeping haymaker aimed at his skull.

The spikes tore shallow furrows in from his cheekbone to his jawline. It was just torn skin, so far. As long as he could finish this before his energy wore down and most of his blood still moved within his body, he would be okay. Now, Keystone had stamina. No question. Blood, well, no more than the next guy his size. Keystone stepped out of swinging range of his opponent, letting the sleeper hold put to the Goblin silence him with a quiet gurgle. At least the screaming stopped.

"Ey, Sunshine. You should kill me, or you should sodding run." He dropped the Goblin into a heap, and stepped over it, intent on pummeling the Orc senseless. The Orc obviously had the same idea, licking his jagged teeth with a long, pointed tongue, fists raised, and closed in on Keystone.

The two clashed, launching immediate, quick punches. Keystone and the Orc both evaded the first exchange, gauging each other's reflexes and comparative strength. It was all our Xiang trained protagonist needed. The Orc was not privy to training of proper footwork, compared to his strength training and fast hands. It was an overbalancing style, not completely unlike the first fighting method Keystone was exposed to. It had weaknesses when tested against a person of broader martial exposure.

Keystone feinted a low attack, providing a high opening for the Orc to exploit. The expected attack was intercepted at the wrist and turned wide as a snap kick took the Orc's balance from him. Keystone followed up with a vicious palm-heel strike, knocking the creature back into a tree with force sufficient to knock the breath from its lungs. The brawler followed up with a jumping backfist, connecting at the temple. Bare fist hit skull, skull hit tree, and the semi-conscious Orc slid to the ground.

The last experience that the Orc was able to register was a dark and heavy weight pressing its head to the ground, and a booming voice, muffled by what he really hoped wasn't the human's arse atop his ears, urgently asking, "CAN YOU SMELL, WHAT THE 'STONE IS COOKIN'?!?" before an unknown force ripped into his face, stealing his life's breath and replacing it with horrifying, odoriferous darkness.

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

@rivaan

Hey, umm.. post on the previous page has Lady A getting onto us for calling which of the bad guys we were going after until we're given the go ahead to post. It looks too much like we're organizing the fight while it's going on, hence metagaming. Pick an opponent available when your character's turn comes around.

(psst, she's doing it this way as a test, to see how we follow instructions and rp fights)

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

Gotcha. Ixnay on the tactic-speak and kill claiming until after my action is greenlit.