For what would most likely be allowed, please direct your attention to the original post of this OOC. It explains everything, even to the point of mentioning what we're short on so far as races are concerned. Further, take a few minutes to peruse the CS tab for examples of approved characters, past and active. There is a rich array of information available for those who choose to look.
Afterwards, fill out the CS template and post here in the OOC for GM approval. The process is long, but this increases the likelihood that you will be invested in the character and the RP. Do the homework on this. It will bear decent results.
Another idea to put out there - try stepping away from your existing character pool. Creating something original, for me anyway, is less of a hassle than trying to fit an established D&D character into the mold of the CS provided here. In the end, it's not "what the GM will allow". That is explained in great detail here in the OOC. It's a question of whether or not you're willing to do it.
Well, this was a horrible situation, all around. The safety of the hangar turned out to be something of a barrel, the likes of which one may reliably open fire within for the purposes of hitting fish. Now, this euphemism was generally thought of as a good thing. But being up front with said euphemism, one would generally assume that they were the guy holding the gun. Being the fish was the least preferable situation in the arrangement; sadly the situation that Cecily and Caesar found themselves in at that time.
Caesar had been in lockup before. Being the Fish was a bad thing. A very, very bad thing.
Well, the venerable Mexican was nobody's bitch. Er, fish. Yes, nobody's fish. If he was going down, he was going down swinging, doing whatever he could to keep his charge safe. Perhaps they might even be sated with his death, if he put up enough of a fight. Maybe it wasn't true in this culture, but in his eyes, there was a certain amount of respect given to a worthy adversary, even in the hour of their death. If that was the only chunk of currency he had left with these people, then by Dama Muerte herself and every one of his blood-soaked ancestors, he was going to pay that bill and tip with extreme prejudice.
Besides, if this was really his Alicia's office, there might be a surprise or two in there that he could use to his advantage. Only one way to find out. "Niña! Put that bandana to your wound. Hold it hard, okay?" Adding a thought to the situation, he continued in a loud, clear voice, "This was NOT the greeting my daughter Alicia told us to expect, damnit!" Hell, it was worth a shot.
Caesar tried the door to Alicia's office. Locked. Hopefully, not a secure door. He held his .45 inches from the lock, on an even lateral plane, and pulled the trigger once. Hopefully, it would be enough to remove the pin cylinder entirely, mostly because he didn't have a larger bullet to push through the countermeasure. A swift kick followed up, and if luck was with the pair, they would be within the office in short order.
"Hold on, niña. Even if we don't get out, I promise they'll pay for every inch of ground with blood. We will make our people proud." Just for the hell of it, Caesar began recording their surroundings with his satellite phone, uploading to the company cloud in real time, open access. "Queensguard, private airfield, Justice, California." Caesar checked his weapons, and cracked his neck. He'd be damned if he went gentle. Valhalla, Land of the Remembered, Elysium; even Hell itself would simultaneously open their gates to him and fear their approach. "Cecily Ashworth and Caesar Gonzalez, pinned down by gunfire under routine investigation, in the manager's office of Alicia Gonzalez. Continue your investigation here. And light a candle for the fuckers we're taking down with us. They died well. I made sure of it."
Location: Trotting West on Holborn Hill Rd, between St. Etheldreda's and the West End
Mary accepted the notice and unfolded it, giving serious study to the document. Curious, one might say, that the benefactors of this gathering chose not to name themselves. Curious still was the fact that Almack's continually requested the aid of blessings and security assistance from a representative of the Catholic Church, when they had a few of their own Anglican clergy trained in Rome to do the very things she was capable of accomplishing. Well, maybe not everything. Among the few people willing to admit that, despite being a papist and a woman (coin toss as to which was the greater crime), Sister Hale was a vigilant guardian and talented Venator.
She sighed. Certainly, Mary would attend. Part of her vows to her Order forbade her from turning down such a request without cause, unless she could secure suitable replacement. She personally knew no one else in London with her skill set, and she could not rely on the massive network that was the Church to assign someone else to the social gathering at Almack's, certainly not with it occurring that evening. One of many downsides to operating out of England.
But "blessing the grounds"? If they wanted, she would sprinkle holy water and speak the appropriate supplications to God, but it would be mostly for show. Technically, she could consecrate the grounds, but that was a thing reserved for lands and structures dedicated to God and the Church. Almack's Assembly Rooms of Westminster, London hardly qualified. Now, acting as additional security? Certainly. It was part and parcel of her duties. Sometimes, her mere presence was enough. Other times, the rigorous years training with the elite Papal Bodyguard was required. Either way, love her or fear her, respect her for her history or downplay her because of her gender, Sister Mary Hale had the gift of Tanter, an extension of her senses that allowed her to detect the presence of Soulless, who like to strike from the dark and oftentimes masqueraded as the living.
Mary slipped the notice into her sporran bag and nudged her dappled, grey horse into a trot. It was the better half of a hour before she would make it to the West End market, owing to the presence of various Londoners out and about that day. With clear streets, the dutiful Sister could likely have made it in ten or less without pushing the endurance of her animal. But morning foot traffic would make that perilous to attempt, for the sake of others. She did wish to make good time, though. To the market and back with enough time to prepare for afternoon Tea and the coming event that evening was assured, barring any unfortunate circumstance. But it was still prudent not to dally.
Taking a big bite of her apple, Mary made her way down the thoroughfare. She nodded at the occasional familiar passerby, even smiled a little as the fancy to do so took her. She wondered to herself if she would see the Crypt girl at this function. It seemed the kind of thing she to which she might receive invitation, but Mary was unsure if this was the sort of gathering such a lady would wish to attend in the first place. The crunchy sweetness of her apple was quite satisfying. She chewed thoughtfully as she vigilantly rode down the street, resting the endcap of her polearm in her stirrup fitting and the haft against her shoulder. Yes, there was little mistaking who she was in this neighborhood.
"Osbaldean-tied cravat, you say?" responded Foy, placing a hand on his present neckware. "Hmm... were I to opt for the a cravat, sir, I should think to use a Napoleon method of neck tethering, given my potential role in the situation upcoming. The Osbaldeston seems a smidge old-fashioned for such a rigorous undertaking, does it not?"
Foy thought about that statement for a half-moment. He shook his head sheepishly and smiled with mild embarrassment. "My friend, as always you are a man of cognizant sophistication; perhaps moreso than myself. Of course. The Osbaldeston. I should think that the Captain may wish to engage in some manner of diplomacy before the festivities begin. Were one present for such adroit discourse, one would be hard pressed to be seen wearing a neck knot in the fashion of Londinium Regent. Capital notion, sir. The high collar that such a method of cravatting would provide should give the necessary appearnce of authority as well, in the likely event that my less genteel talents are called upon. Were I wearing a hat, sir, I would tip it generously to your sense of refinement."
His own elements of personal health and hygiene taken care of earlier in the day, Foy returned to his quarters to attire himself in fashion befitting a Gentleman Barber under contract with the Alliance. He picked for himself a particularly well-fitting suit consisting of matched slacks and high collared waistcoat (basically a vest) of mottled charcoal with a cream colored, linen dress shirt. Following the advice of his dearest friend, Foy produced a length of stitch detailed silk, also cream colored but distinguished by its material and wispy decoration. He folded it over thrice, wrapped it about his neck, and indeed tied a flawless Osbaldeston with manual dexterity generally reserved for skillful surgeons or those versed in advanced ninjacraft. He further secured it with a platinum tie pin in the shape of a single tiny rose. A pair of well polished Madisons adorned his feet, the epitome of style and function combined.
For the first time since Persephone, Foy looked to his standard firearms: Two Colt Pythons with customized grip and sights. He gazed down upon them, still in holsters on his embossed leather gunbelts, each filled to capacity with individual rounds of ammunition. A bit quaint, even antiqued in feel, but true classics never go out of style. Besides, they were the equal (or better) of any of the more modern firearms he would encounter within the nearest three planetary systems. He buckled them on swiftly and casually, obviously a man who was accustomed to doing so.
Also for the first time since Persephone, Foy took up his black long coat. He would very likely be doing one of two things that would justify a gentleman donning such an article of clothing - either he would be stepping out on business, or he would be receiving new, unintroduced guests. In a manner of speaking, anyway. Of course, there was the possibility that he would not survive the event; if he did indeed die, Foy wanted to be the most polished corpse on the field. It was the imperative of any good standing member of the Farradayan Gentry.
He peeked into his trunk one final time. There lay a partially disassembled weapon, one of such engineering genius and reliable personal service that it likely deserved its own name. Foy had yet to give it a proper one, preferring to refer to it as "My Callahan". A Callahan Full-Bore Auto-Lock, the best personal sidearm ever devised by civilized man. The immaculately dressed gentleman grinned, a certain sparkle in his clear, blue eyes. He took a knee next to the chest, and fitted the various pieces of the weapon together with speed and practice befitting a professional soldier. The seconds were still within the single-digit range when he affixed a strap to the firearm and slung it across his back. Better safe than sorry, especially if they were venturing into the coming situation hot. Yes, he would have to name his weapon soon.
"Ah yes, however could I forget you..." he spoke aloud, taking up his black felt bowler hat. It was a fine hat, his primary helmet in the battleground of aristocratic gentility. He carried with him as he exited his quarters, looking quite the Cosmopolitan. The additional ammunition he had pocketed did almost nothing to detract from his slim, athletic figure. As a little ritual, the polished man looked to his mirror. You are one Dapper Gentleman, Foy Coiffeur." he praised to himself. "Time to go to work, old boy."
William Harper
Location: Retribution, Bridge
"Aye aye, Sir." responded Harper. He brought the Retribution down to a respectable cruising speed as they neared the planet's upper reaches of atmosphere, and adjusted his angle of descent to match planetary movement and ensure a relatively smooth transition from artificial gravity to Whitefall's own natural. These little pieces of Alliance life he didn't mind. Of course, he had a serious twinge of guilt, knowing that the listed mission of the vessel was. Of course, now that the I.A.V. Retribution was a Black Ship, Harper couldn't ascertain quite what the actual mission had become, or even if their primary objective had been altered.
Mixed emotions, but a cool exterior. He decided to simply enjoy the moment, piloting the ship. It was all he really could do at the moment, at least until more information was forthcoming.
Harper brought the vessel low, selecting a vector of approach along a relatively flat and unpopulated route. The blip blip blip of sensors reading around topography kept a bit of his attention, as did the sobering reality that, if their sensors were manned and active, the other crew had every expectation of company coming hard and fast. "Captain, the Vengeance will be within visual just over this next rise. How do you wish to proceed, sir?"
Season: Late Fall/Early Winter Time Of Day: Night, middle of Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky General Ambiance: Desperate Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave
Specific Resolutions:
Cyneburg: An amazing display of Druid Fu brings Cyneburg to Sana, wherein she is harmlessly acquired and the two of you begin to roll harmlessly out of the way of the approaching baddie. Go Cyn. At the very moment she begins to realize that she was insanely successful, a strange white blur careens toward the both of them, seemingly unable to steer itself.
Sana: The amazing Tuck and Roll maneuver aside, Sana's hypothermia is advancing, now to the point that her skin is turning white and cold. Sana's taking cold damage. It's slow, glacial even. But as soon as Sana can feel her extremities, thusly begins the OW. But FIRST, you also notice the same uncontrolled, partially cartwheeling pale blur nearing your position.
Keystone: Spouts off a slew of interesting yet confusing profanities, all while nigh-suicidally advancing to intercept the malevolent, reddish mist-monster. Beyond the concept of rational thinking, he's actually somewhat effective - Keystone's flurry of dedicated barehanded attacks seem to cause the creature a measure of hurt - in places its misty form seems disrupted. Hey, it's just as surprised as we are.
Lerraina: Your first shot was impeccably aimed and finds its mark. Unfortunately, the arrow passes right through it, without so much as ruffling up a breeze. But wait! There's good news! Kyra manages to grab a handful of beltstrap that prevents your untimely fall onto the unforgiving ground below. (I know this throws off the second half of your intended actions for the round, but think of it an an opportunity!) Lerraina/Gretchin is pulled back up, with full action for the following round.
Calanon: The song is met with mixed success. That is to say, the creature doesn't seem to be affected, nor anyone who is attacking/has attacked this round. Everybody else though - Mixed effects of feeling calmer, for good or ill.
Ntaj: Somehow, Ntaj finds a way to scramble up a vertical pane of ice to get to his hanging tent. (The damaged section at the front is a likely point of egress) He arrives at his tent without issue. Go be a hitter.
Thomas: Ok, Thomas's background knowledge of many things mystical bears some fruit on the nature of your opponent. Maybe (if you can get this info to your teammates fast enough) this knowledge can turn the tide in what looks to be a painfully depressing outcome. So: Everyone who is RPing a sorcerer named Thomas in this storyline may click on the hider below.
What, are you kidding? Clicked on it anyway, didn't you? You must think I'm stupid. Grey: I'm PMing you the results.
The rest of you guys are asses.
Kyra: Good roll to catch your fellow bowgirl. It was precarious, at first - and oddly not the only lady hanging in a tree this week in my RPs - but you've got her. Hauling her back up without dropping your bow is interesting, but manageable. Mazel Tov.
Satilla: This ...was the most fun to resolve, I think. It resulted in a chain of reactions that led to some interesting results. First off, your dash over to an almost downed Sana is waylaid by that damned, random orange peel that keeps popping up. We're still not sure why, by all rights there really shouldn't be one in this climate. But here it is, conveniently explaining the slapstick that is to follow.
Satilla skids forward, arms waving, scream not quite escaping from her lips, t-boning Cyneburg's bard-saving tuck & roll. The three of them change direction and morph into a huge ball of feminine limbs and utter shock, pinballing off of the ice wall and rolling back toward the cave entrance. This day will live on in the stories of the northern Orc tribes for generations to come. Seriously, someone should start a slow clap, right about now.
New Round
The mist-like creature, at first moving with a sense of slow certainty that only two of these miserable feebs put before it could possibly pose a threat is quickly taken aback at the fact that it just got hurt. You can even see it playing out on its face, insomuch that it has something resembling a physical face that expresses. But there it is, flashing from arrogance to surprise, surprise to shock, shock to uncertainty, and then to rage. This big, vulgar, seemingly mundane brute punched it. Punched it, and it hurt.
Forget the spellcaster. Misty has a new target.
A sound, ethereal but horrifying, baritoned out of the creature. As it yelled, a halitosis reeking of old blood filled the semi-enclosed space between the cave and the wall of ice, where most of the group now stands. A sort of wind buffets up, only inside of the confines of the monster. Varying colors of red and pink swirl faster, and its features take on a more sinister tint. Its tendril-like appendages lash out at the insufferable fool that dared hurt it, wrapping around and lifting him a foot or so from the ground.
As Keystone rises, one can hear a suppressed groan issue from the large man. Resistance to unseen pain gives way to the massive sensory overload, and he involuntarily shouts in agony, trying to squeeze his eyes tight against it. Otherwise struggling against the semi-corporeal nature of his aggressor, Keystone is temporarily at the mercy of the creature.
His shout is cut off by a wet coughing sound. Gleaming sickly in the low light of the evening, blood sprays from the Pugilist's face; eyes, nose, and mouth raining their own rivulets of the crimson fluid; additionally the wound on his arm adds to the occasion. Instead of striking the ground, however, it is taken in by the monster attacking him. The beast's color darkens and it becomes less transparent as Keystone's blood energizes it. The disrupted part of its form from the earlier attack remains, but it is still active and vital.
Keystone is dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He raises a hand to his face weakly; he's not dead, but he's not happy. The beast turns to the rest of the group, apparently picking out his next course in the meal set before it.
I am late getting this post up. This is largely due to my work schedule kicking my ass during the holiday season. I was literally typing this up last night when I passed out in front of my computer, waking up fairly recently. My apologies for not having this out in the time I said I would.
HOWEVER, this means that I missed by time marker to post. As a result, some penalty must be put in place. I have decided to give the monster auto-hits for his attacks against Keystone for the round. Hopefully, this should be an example that no one is above the rules, not even the GMs.
@Lucius Cypher - Thanks for letting us know. If you need, your spot in the RP will be held until then, and we'll get some kind of work-around with your character going. Probably bunny him (minor stuff) or put him in stasis for the time being. If you can get a post in during this round, great. If not, we're still good.
You enjoy the holidays with your family.
NEXT ROUND BEGINS!
Ok, now remember: Happy calming song being played. If, in current actions you aren't attacking, you are being affected by this. The monster seems to be largely ignoring it.
Initiative:
Calanon Sana Satilla Ntaj Thomas Keystone Cyneburg Lerriana Kyra
Feel free to include the previous round's resolutions in your next post before declaring action, if you are so inclined. Remember: Declare actions, not results. Also, tag the next person in the lineup after your post. Last person in the lineup tags me.
Astrid's words came through the phone, loud and clear. One wounded, two kids (one with painful malnutrition), herself, Bridgette, and a mystery Engineer. "Understood. I'll have an appropriate Welcome Party waiting at the gate."
In the back of his own mind, Ash mused that he was, a great deal of the time, merely a person who passes information along from one source to another. In its own way, that was a form of leadership; allowing those with the skills and observations room enough to do what they did best. But it can lead to people thinking of him as a paper tiger - all threat and bluster, but ultimately unable to effect the results desired. The man himself knew differently, but sometimes, just sometimes he felt that the occasional example must be made for others to understand this, as well. A few incidents recently had him thinking it was high time for just that. But those incidents were relatively minor. Maybe a "wait and see" approach over the next stretch was appropriate. Before he reminded others. Ash was not power hungry, but he knew others outside of their walls were. His desire was to maintain discipline. Newnan was not a commune. It was a group of survivors, three years into an honest-to-God Apocalypse. The key word: Survivors.
Ash's head hurt. He rubbed his temples as best he could while still holding the satellite phone. Maybe he was taking his fleeting thoughts a little too seriously. The world outside was damned serious, no doubt. But his people meant well. The vast majority, anyway.
Taking Froggy's advice, Ash put a broad frequency range to his radio. Breathing a heavy sigh, he announced to anyone with their own walkie, "The next person who sees Neisha, send her to the Infirmary." He really hoped this wouldn't lead to more difficulty. Especially while they were entertaining guests.
The Great Bazhooli
Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)
Bazhooli nodded happily at Tatiana. He thought teaching dance was a fine idea. It was so much better to keep the arts alive than to totally forsake it for mere survival. His own art may very well die with him, unless he trained a replacement or raised an heir. A similar feeling must be within the ballerina. Teach others, be a vessel for your art. Who knows? Maybe he should, too. But none of this would be a possibility, at least for him, unless that guy in charge finally got finished being important and gave him that entrance interview.
"Nyet, Jack. Ve do not need the parking of cars in Harvard yards. Is okay. Is simple: Ve get routine down (this is hard part), ve tell you what we do, you tell audience, you make sure we get vhat ve need. You feel more comfortable, maybe again, there is room for, eh... panache? Da! Panache! But for now, back to practice." The Great Bazhooli resumed tossing bowling pins in the air, taking a step or two away from those around him for both his and their safety.
He did notice the acceptance of his request, concerning giving him a tour of Newnan proper, from Meghna. She also carried a radio - Bazhooli assumed that it meant she was important somehow. So, an important Newnanite was going to show him around, tomorrow it seemed. There were worse plans to have.
Bridgette Vinters
Location: (outside of) Heard County High School, Franklin
The second the truck began to pull around, Bridgette threw on her "ignore" switch and proceeded to block out any further communication from the other side of the fence. Crispy Michael Jackson wasn't going to shoot them, had apparently seen a movie that involved the mention of Crumpets, so that was ...recent... But now the prospect of completing their mission and getting back home safely, with the sick and wounded in tow, was paramount. Bridgette didn't particularly like the fact that Astrid went into the building by herself, and doubted that she would have known if anything amiss were to have occurred anyway. Moreover, if she did, the most she could likely do about it, from her vantage, was kill off a few people before succumbing to gunfire herself.
For these reasons, Bridgette felt herself become particularly vigilant, tensing as if planning to receive attack, eyes scanning for the arrival of her battle-sister from inside of the building. She reined Cadence around to face the truck, allowing him to take a couple of clopping hoofbeats toward it. "Alright, Trillium, we're a bout ready to book, I fucking well hope, so let's... wait a sec, Trillium Brite? Ow, girl. I'm sorry. Don't worry, we'll get you nice and hammered later. Nowish, time to put on bitch faces and run escort."
Henry set down the baby he was gnawing upon and reached for the buffalo wing sauce. The tangy yet sweet, savory yet spicy meat parted nicely between his molars, reminding him of how his mother used to make it back home in Londinium. Ah, Mom. He missed her greatly. He knew he would; the precaution of consuming her calf, barbecue-style, was so that a piece of her would always be with him. Thusly girded, he ventured into the expanse of the Black to seek his fortune. It was an odd and lonely life, particularly considering his dietary proclivities. More than once, he had to inform a potential long-term love interest that if they freaked out every time they saw a severed foot or bowl of entrails in the fridge, the relationship would never work. Invariably, they did freak out. It ensured that Henry remained well fed.
You know what? If you don't use that, I might later on.
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
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Lady Absinthia
Archangel89
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