Sigil

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: "Tunnels", near Queensguard Private Airfield

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The decision to travel to the Morgue required a little more consideration than just, "Hey! Morgue seems like the place to be!"; there were other factors. The first one in Caesar's mind was the little matter of his trike. It wasn't particularly close to their entry point, in fact being well outside of their (legal) influence. But little things like boundaries, Caesar suspected, didn't mean much to men like this. Well, any more than they meant to him, at any rate.

Securing that vehicle meant a faster trip to wherever they were headed. It also meant that they wouldn't find it, wouldn't put two and two together, and wouldn't trace the intrusion back to him. But it wasn't obviously parked. Caesar put the odds at 50-50, them poking their heads above ground this close to the airfield. And Cecily's wound wasn't gushing blood at the present. She seemed to want to hit the Morgue first, and send someone back to collect the trike. Might as well. It would be slower, but more likely to avoid another gunfight and potentially make the situation worse.

"Ok niña. Morgue, get you fixed up. If you know somebody that can get that trike, that you trust, I'd like it if you would ask them to try. Let's get moving then."

As they began their thoroughly unglamorous underground trek, Caesar began speaking, remembering the message on the video from earlier. "I meant what I said before. About leaving town. I have some business to take care of, far away from here. You know what some of it is already. You should come. Stay out of town until eyes are looking at someone else. We'd leave as soon as you... as soon as the morgue is finished..."

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Outside Elisabeth's Office

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Keystone and his small group of MSS guards took position outside of the office, as instructed. Unless told otherwise by a ranking official in the company, he was to follow contract for this woman. But something was nagging him. Somehow, Caesar knew that it was this woman who was about to show up. It was one of the last things he had communicated to Keystone; then there was nothing. There had to be a connection there, somewhere.

Maybe it was just a healthy dose of paranoia, but just then the broad man didn't feel particularly safe. He was also very curious as to the nature of this visit. As glad as he was that he was packing a secure vest and firearm, it came with very little comfort in the closer quarters of this hallway, being in close proximity of other trained men with guns that he didn't command. Keystone touched his earpiece, and broke the tense silence with his deep, Cockney brogue, "Status at the 'ub? Eyes on us an' the client, yeah?"

He gave a quick smile to the Secretary's security, and made sure to pay plenty of attention to the details of these men. How they were standing, how they held their hands, the expressions on their faces. Where they kept communication devices, obvious weapons, and places for less obvious ones. Considering the close proximity, he judged the distance to them as opposed to how much ground he could cover before they could clear a weapon.

Keystone planned, consciously, how best to kill these men if need took him. Barehanded if possible, and how to respond if there was a hint of alarm inside of that office. Safe, not sorry.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Back to my original two, it seems. Plus a claimed NPC cat, that I guess Tatiana and Jack will be taking care of. Still, out of all of my character deaths in this RP, I think I will miss Bridgette most. Very sad.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Don't worry...

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: The Hordebuster

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The Hordebuster carried on as it was designed, forward with dread certainty. Were he outside of the vehicle witnessing its approach, it would likely a very intimidating sight. But piloting this beast (as one does not merely drive a truck like this) gave him a sense of righteous motivation. He was going to get there, he was going to save his people, he was going to get the wounded back home. As if to underscore the afore mentioned dread certainty, he began to come across the Dead. A trickle at first, but in rising numbers.

The few that straggled on the road met with a gruesome end, caught by the giant wedge on the front of the vehicle and flung far and wide. The pitter-patter of metallic clunking sounds percussed in Ash's ears, a good half of them popping like overripe fruit as the Hordebuster rolled through. Most were off the road, but it was a small matter of time before they decided that his massive truck was a more attractive lure than whatever they were after originally. After taking the call from Astrid, the obvious answer: They were interested in Newnan. Explosions did that, apparently.

They would be safe inside the 'Buster, all of them, if he could get his people inside. Newnan had good walls, they would be okay, too. But they had to move fast. About that time, Meg's voice came through his radio.

"Good. We'll be there in less than a minute. Hold tight."

Less Than A Minute Later...

There were times that Ash was bothered by his kneejerk ability to bury his emotions under a layer of matte granite rationalism. Disturbed, even. It allowed an open, genuinely feeling person like himself to do things that were horrible in nature, barbaric even, without hesitation or moral compunction. Then there were times like now that he was grateful to be able to bury his almost compromising grief and shock. More death. So much more death. People he didn't know, people he did. Bridgette was dead, outright. Some lady he'd never met, impaled on the limbs of the fallen tree. Others in the back of the crashed truck, but Ash couldn't tell if they were living or dead from his vantage. And Astrid - She wasn't dead yet, but it was inevitable.

Two of his went out, and he lost them both. More than that, he had really taken a liking to them both. Ash could easily say that women like that didn't exist anymore. And that was truly a shame. "You don't get a bullet, Astrid." he responded to the Shieldmaiden, quietly. "Not unless you ask for it or you're already dead. When we're done here, if you need help with something more appropriate, talk to me." The gruff Captain tapped the handle of his machete. One soldier to another, if she wanted a warrior's death he would be honorbound to provide it. But not right then. Right then, he climbed atop the fallen tree to assess the situation more fully.

He tried very hard to avert his gaze from Bridgette's corpse, though he was glad to see that the same courtesy he had offered Astrid had been given to her. Ash deepened his voice and addressed everyone present. "Here's the deal: We have a clear path back, or at least we did five minutes ago. I need everyone able to get the wounded over this tree and into the back of the 'Buster. Now, some of the Dead might have decided to follow us back, so we need to make this quick."

"Meg: Take a drive back up, see if you can pull off any of the Dead trailing us. Grab a bag of Molotovs if you think you'll need them. We've got three."

"Jack: Cop, right? Climb up the 'Buster's ladder, get a good vantage point. Lookout." Ash offered the Massachusetts native his carbine. "It'll just get in my way."

"Bazhooli: You've got good arms. Help them with the wounded and supplies."

Ash himself pulled his machete and began cutting away branches from the downed tree, clearing an easier path for the transfer. "Let's look alive, people. Lot to get done, little time to do it."

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: The Hordebuster, Crash Site

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"Is nothing, Jack." responded The Great Bazhooli rather optimistically. "You kill next one."

Inside the Hordebuster, Bazhooli looked about with a small amount of wonder on his face. This hunk of moving parts and scarred metal was a home, rather than just a machine built to splatter dead things across the countryside. There was a bed in back. There were weapons. There were supplies, pictures, and the faint but unmistakable smell of young liquor. He didn't have the opportunity to see what had been done to the dump bed of the vehicle, at least not yet, but he was very curious. It reminded him of his train car, the place he had lived for quite some time before his circus was destroyed by raiders.

He maintained his optimism, though, fighting back the sorrow of losing his people. He looked to Jack, pointing out various interesting bits inside of the cabin. For some reason, The Great Bazhooli did not feel that he should begin plucky conversation with Ash, at least not at this time.

When they reached the Crash Site, Bazhooli had reflexively reached for two of his knives. It took a second to realize that these were the people they had come to assist. He felt a little foolish, smiled awkwardly, and kept quiet. When he was given an assignment, he blurted out a quick "Slushayus', Kapitan!"₁, and immediately jumped into it. For the sake of easier labor, Bazhooli leaned his rifle against the Hordebuster, near the suicide door from which he exited the truck. Easy access in case of an emergency. He glanced back at Jack. They didn't actually know each other, at all really. But they were both very new to this group. There was a sense of camaraderie about that - he didn't know what to expect from these people, but he was united with Jack and Tatiana in that same uncertainty, he reckoned. Nothing to do now but trust, be useful, and get back to Newnan and his cat, wherever the hell Schrodinger had gotten himself off to.

Translations

1 = Aye Aye, Captain!

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Black James(!)

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Location: Building 1 (Tower)

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James got the message loud and clear through his radio. A single person coming up to the Northern exit. They didn't use that as an entrance, generally. Hell, he wasn't even sure that they could crack the gate open to let someone in. He held the walkie up to his face, staring at it for a second. James wasn't actually sure how to proceed. Either someone generally let him know how to best help, it was outside of his duties (and therefore easy to ignore), or it fell into one of the few things he was really good at. He snapped out of it, and spoke into the mic.

"Naw man, that's... naw. Ain't nobody shootin' nobody right now. We got enough dead folks and not enough bullets." Well, if there's a guard for the North Gate, they've got to know how to open it. So, what was that thing that Ash and Zoie kept saying when someone showed up unannounced? "Aight, y'all know the drill. Guest drops weapons. Security detail to the North Gate. Y'all crack it open when detail shows up. I'll be there in two minutes."

James nodded over to Guy. Of course he had this. It's what Guy did. Well, aside from shoveling pigshit when he pissed off the Boss. He gathered his weapons up and began to move toward the North Gate at a jog. Damned unexpected visitors, making him run again...

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

@Lady Amalthea @Sigil @Dragoknighte @rivaan @POOHEAD189 @Lucius Cypher @IcePezz @The Grey Dust

On second thought, there are still things that the characters can react to, if they so choose. The dead Orcs wandering away, Sana passed out on the ground, retching uncontrollably at the bathtub full of red stuff that just got emptied on the group, etc. For anyone who wants to initiate action or react to the setting as it sits, here is another round's lineup. If you've got nothing else that you want to do, just give us a simple PASS.

Then I will return you to our regularly scheduled GM, with standard posting requirements. Yay!

Cyneburg
Kyra
Thomas
Keystone
Calanon
Satilla
Lerraina
Ntaj
Sana - still out cold

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

@Lady Amalthea @Sigil @Dragoknighte @rivaan @POOHEAD189 @Lucius Cypher @IcePezz @The Grey Dust

We now return you to your regularly scheduled GM, and standard posting requirements.

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

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Updates

Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night, middle of
Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
General Ambiance: Sticky
Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave

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Specific Resolutions:

Calanon: The arrow passes right through, barely ruffling a breeze within the creature. Technically, it struck precisely where it was intended to strike. The results, however, were far less than ideal.

Keystone: The one-handed grip continues. It's not going anywhere, but then again, neither is he. He manages to get another had on the thing, somehow getting a solid handful of wispy bad guy.

Cyneburg: Congratulations! Cyneburg has successfully walked the distance required and recovered the knife resting on the cold ground.

Lerraina: Excellent shot for the nomme de guerre'd rogue. The arrow inserts nicely into the side of the head of the nearest undead Orc. It slowly slumps forward and falls face-first onto the forest floor. The remaining Walking D'Orcs take absolutely no notice whatsoever, continuing on their quiet, shuffling path deeper into the woods.

Kyra: Two of the three daggers make connection, the third clanging into the ice wall. Both tear ragged gashes along the side of the creature, who lets out a truly inhuman sound approximating a shout, if a shout were somehow related to blacksmith's tools smashing to shards of white-hot iron upon each other and falling, sizzling, into a ceramic bowl of electrified blood.

Ntaj: Naked Half-Orc striding and leaping, his shortcomings flapping about in the breeze as he brings the "Pope On A Rope" down onto the held and injured Crimson Mist. More to follow.

Sana: Still unconscious, but were she awake, would likely be very unhappy with her current state of well-being. She seriously needs a band-aid and a cup of hot cocoa.

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Wrapping Up (kinda)

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The beast, gorged on now atomized blood, could do little but try to escape from the grasp of the burly Human fighter. It was quite a new experience, being able to be held physically by flesh and bone; irksome and (ironically) unnatural, to its experience. Only slightly less so were the lines of damage put upon it by silver, magic, and the occasional mundane item under the proper circumstances. But none of that really mattered as the Jar of Ow descended upon it. What cohesion remained to the creature was violently dispelled in a manner most grotesque.

If we will recall, the last position of Keystone was underneath the Mist, and the last position of Satilla was next to him, waiting for her moment to step up and heal the poor bastard in the extremely likely event that he gets horribly injured. Again. Well friends, location is everything - and here's why:

The Crimson Mist seems to separate into its namesake components, Crimson and Mist. The Mist portion, resembling so much white steam, puffs upward and evaporates almost instantly. The Crimson bit of it, comprised mostly of Keystone's blood, re-liquefies and splats heavily upon both Satilla and Keystone like a poorly timed chamberpot. Big one.

Meanwhile, outside of the Wall O' Ice, the fallen Orcs continue to trudge deeper into the woods. The last of them are beyond the range of visible light, although someone with infravision or darkvision might still notice a few shapes walking off in the outer range of their perception. (Of course, that last part hinges on the character's knowledge of the withdrawing undead Orcs in the first place.) The ground outside is littered with sharp shards of bone and splattered with blood, along with the regular flotsam and jetsam that accompanies any skirmish of this type. The odd finger, sharp object, last will and testament scratched into the ground with the odd finger or sharp object, etc. Suffice it to say, the place needs a good dusting, or for nature to reclaim it.

There is a lasting quiet in the surrounding woodland, broken only by the remaining embers of the campfires and the sound of a chilling wind.

🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed)

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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"Omelette, you say?" began Foy in response to Jahosafat's metaphor about breaking eggs. Nonetheless, he took it and ran with it. Reavers be damned, his joviality was not to be threatened by something as trite as mortality. "Indubitably, my dear Sir. After all of this unpleasantness, we should most assuredly take brunch. Break out the champagne, some hickoried fish, and a lovely, light omelette, just as you suggested. Perhaps we may be able to scare up some nice molasses bacon and a citrus beverage, eh old boy?" He clicked his tongue twice, playfully jabbing his elbow in the direction of Jahosafat's ribs.

But brunch, indeed! Foy had not had a proper brunch in almost two weeks. It seemed a pity. While years training with some of the most ruthless organizations in the 'Verse had certainly given him the proper roughening necessary to do without things that many folk considered basics for survival, Mr. Coiffeur would, with absolute certainty, much prefer to have as many tiny luxuries as he could acquire, given any setting in which he found himself. Of course, no proper Farradayan Brunch would be complete without a slice of cantaloupe or two, but the chances of finding fresh melons on an Alliance Black Ship seemed about as likely as the good Captain Quinn spontaneously farting the Londinium Planetary Anthem, complete with cowbell solo.

These were the things that Foy Coiffeur thought about, whilst standing in a ship involved in an atmospheric chase with Reavers and Outlaws. Nothing he could do about the situation, nothing at all. Rather than wring his hands and stutter about their possible impending doom, he would much rather promise himself creature comforts of dignity and refinement, and let the Pilot and Gunner see to their part in the madness.

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William Harper

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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"I am a leaf on the... nooooo, we're not doing that." thought Lieutenant Harper, changing the elevation of the Retribution gradually. He didn't want to seem like he was initiating a maneuver on the Reaver vessel, but he did want to get their attention (ok, he really didn't, but there was a bigger issue at play). Putting a piece of flourish to the added height, William fluttered one of the engines every couple of seconds. It was not enough to alter their arc or vector, but enough to draw the attention of the skybourne predators, as a fish with an injured fin might alert a shark in the area. And if their attention was focused on the Firefly vessel, all the better for him, in his estimation.

Though he had to give credit to the Firefly's pilot, whomever they might be. That kind of maneuvering on an older vessel, apparently in a state of disrepair, in atmo no less, was worth noting. Provided they could meet in a less hostile setting, he would love to trade notes.

When he figured that he was high enough, he scanned visuals for that "tower" that Moreau was discussing. He pulled up the individual overrides for the escape pods, punched in the corresponding alphanumerical combination, and hovered one hand above the Execute command. All the while, his other hand roamed the console, punching up the next string of preset commands for optimal engine output in preparation for the moment he needed to "Gun It". Everything was set to go with two simple hand movements. Two fingertips making connection with a pilot's console, and they would find out if Moreau's plan held value. Then of course, he would have to immediately switch it back to manual and try like hell to either stop or pull them out of a suicide dive.

Oddly, and in a very terrified way, it made Harper a little homesick.

"Go on your mark."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Armory -> Headed South on LaGrange Street

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Now, The Great Bazhooli was no doctor, but he could tell right off when someone was dead ad trying to get back up. Now, if he lacked the basic wisdom to make that determination, he cat sure as hell seemed to be overabundant with it. Go figure. Schrodinger had a better grasp on survival than the extreme majority of humankind. Go kitty.

With this in mind, the flamboyant Cossack twirled the knives in his hands, nearing the fallen-but-animated form of Newnan's newish arrival, Sophia. He didn't know her, really not at all. But there was no sense in getting bashful around new people now. A glance to his left showed Jack approaching alongside swiftly but cautiously, looking a little happier now that he was armed again. The Great Bazhooli responded to his comment about their luck in directed, even syllables.

"Da. Luck is shit." Faster than blinking, the odd Cossack let one of his knives fly. It embedded deeply into the corpse's eye socket with enough impact to send it reeling backwards and fall heavily to the blacktop below. "Vill get better."

He broke into a solid run, barely pausing to recover his blade as he made for the Hordebuster, already pulling out of the parking lot in front of them. The machine didn't stop for the pair. The only courtesy given in that situation was that a suicide door in the sleeper cab opened and the massive vehicle slowed down. Did not stop. Slowed. Luckily, there were solid steps and a handhold in the form of a vertical bar next to the door, designed for purely this purpose. Bazhooli stowed his knives and leapt onto the truck, making handy use of bar and steps both. Instead of entering immediately, he leaned out to grab Jack, intent on helping him inside.

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Black James(!)

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Location: Hordebuster -> Building 1 (Tower)

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Having exited the Armory moments before, James didn't get to witness the sudden undead revival of Sophia. He had already dropped off his precious cargo of flammable liquid and firestarting materials, running yet again despite his protests out of sheer principle. Because that was smart, yes? Running full-tilt with huge, canvas bags full of liquor, glass, and bic lighters. Really something he should be doing.

Now burdened only by his raw awesomeness and the biggest Anti Materiel Rifle that god or man ever saw fit to grace/curse the Earth with, the ebon hogger made his way into the Courthouse and began his climb up to the tower. Step by precious step, he plodded his way upward, unslinging his rifle on the way. Upon reaching his favorite sniping position, he put an eye to the scope and turned his gaze over to the old Probate Court building, specifically the open tower at the apex of the building. It was the exact spot that those fuckers from Eden had used to fire down upon them from before, and represented the only vantage higher than his own for miles around.

Satisfed, at least for the moment, that it was unmanned, James glanced to his side. Guy was already there, set up with Alicia's old rifle. He was about to make mention of it, complain, shout a word or ten of forbiddance, but stopped himself. This was the purpose of the weapon. Guy was the second best range shot in Newnan. It would be unwise to put it in anyone else's hands right then. Guy seemed to know both halves of James's mind, his face taking on an apologetic look. James shook his head and waved it away. They were good. Guy was a good man, one of Ash's people from Virginia. Trustworthy type, even with that month of shoveling pigshit under his belt for leaving post. (A mistake that James was certain would not happen again.)

The two each took a side, and began their scrutiny of home, plus what lay beyond. Guy was the first to break the silence. "So, you're in charge until Zoie's back up or Ash gets back, huh? That's gotta suck."

"Yeah, that it do. Just one day. Few hours. I gots this." He really didn't, but he wasn't about to tell anyone else that, not any more than already knew he was nervous about the whole, gooey ordeal. He was a farmhand and one hell of a hog hunter. That's what he did. Leading an armed defense with redundant strategy? Not so much. "Aight, y'all. In position. Keep the info comin' to Big Daddy James." Of course he was nervous. And he just announced it to anyone with ears on. Figures.

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Ash Holloway

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Location: The Hordebuster

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The second, and I mean the second that everyone was onboard the still moving Hordebuster, Ash kicked it into a higher gear and made for the main gate. He opened a channel on the radio in the truck, addressing everyone still on Newnan's main frequencies. "Rescue Team: <ahem>" He realized that the "Team" consisted of two vehicles. Revising his tactic, he tried again. "Meg. Switch to alternate freqs. Let's keep this separate from Newnan's business. Ill keep my belt radio focused on home."

"Front Gate! Open up as soon as it's safe to do so." Ash switched out to alt frequency, addressing Meg again. "Alright, our people are down Smokey Road. Just stay on LaGrange, it'll turn into Smokey after a little bit. Keep heading west, and stay just out of sight of us, if you can. You're running scout. Keep us informed on what you see. If things get too hot or something is impassable, tell us. Come back if it isn't safe, sit tight if it is. You've got this, Meghna. You're our girl."

The Hordebuster passed through the front gates, not slowing even as he gave a cursory wave to Jim. Habit, purely. If Ash smoked, now seemed to be an excellent time for it. Hell, after the past few weeks, he might just have to start. Of course, they would have to devote a healthy amount of their crop space to making that particular vice stick. Maybe after a long while of expansion, it could be something to look into. Not today; today two women that he had come to appreciate and respect (and a HELL of a lot more than he realized until an hour ago) were in need of help. And wounded parties. But mostly, his Valkyries motivated him.

It was rare for his 'Buster to make an appearance outside of the walls. If it was, that meant priority was assigned to the mission at hand. This day's activities? Very much priority. The big, mechanical juggernaut continued down LaGrange, its driver grim but cautious. "You guys keep weapons ready. Holstered or pointed straight up at all times, but ready. This could be a setup."

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks (Officer's Club)

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As much as Reginald liked social gatherings, and he did, there was always the lightly disappointing moment where the festivities began to wind down. Most everyone had taken some variety of trauma this evening, and most of them did not have decades of combat and life experience to steady their nerves against the looming unknown. The Lord Major had all this, plus the added benefit of being mildly pickled at the time. But only mildly. Nevertheless, it was understandable, if a hair disheartening, that these good people were heading out. The very least he could do, as casually suggested by Aziza and his nephew both, was to provide escort of some kind.

"Hmm, yes quite. Capital notion, that. Miss Tarek, as you seem to already have a capable guardian this evening, the absolute least I can do is to offer my personal car and driver to see you safely back to your places of residence. Perhaps a man to ensure the security of your domicile prior to your entry as well, considering your brush with ruffians earlier? Cairo is my city, madame, such as it could possibly be for any Englishman; at any rate I should not want a good friend (or a new one, Sergeant Walsh) to come to misadventure. Especially not after the forming of our Fellowship this evening."

Fellowship. He liked that word to describe their eclectic group of mostly foreign adventurers set together to unravel the mystery of that Ring they had all been dreaming of; that Ring (or persons attached to it) that they were meant to seek somewhere within the boundaries of Cairo, either Old or New.

"Yes, yes... I rather like the sound of that. The Fellowship of the Ring. Smashing name for our group. I suppose someone will have to write about this in the foreseeable future. At the very least, if all goes awfully and I survive this, I shall have to call us something in my memoirs. Hmm..."