@Lady Amalthea
Basic action is to advance two squares, moving to flank Kyra. Speaking of which, I believe she is next.
Basic action is to advance two squares, moving to flank Kyra. Speaking of which, I believe she is next.
Sigil Member
Literary Hatchetman
STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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Keystone
Location: Deymins Tower (2F)
Interacting With: Huh?
The first inclination that Keystone had in this confusing time was vocalized with the sage advice of "Boy might ought put some pants on, if'n he wants t'keep fightin' evil with us today..." as he strode through the door to the room that was now revealed as a bedroom of sorts. A bedroom hidden by magic. And protected by undead soldiers.
Nope, nuh-uh, complete and utter negative. The kindly old guy tending to the ever so needy and despondant dead guy in the bed was a nice touch, too. Admittedly, that was a little strange. Not completely unprecedented to Keystone, but strange nonetheless. Whomever this person was, he was special to the peculiar, robed antagonist. The undead thing was here for a reason.
This was one of the times when Keystone wished that he brought more to the table than his ability to hit things. It was damned useful, granted, and everybody respects the living weapon; it was just that so much more was going on here than was obvious and he didn't even know what questions to ask. He did know that this was likely the person responsible for the death of so many townspeople (and orcs), and lacking other practical option, handled it thusly:
Striding into the room fully, Keystone held his hands at the ready. As he moved purposefully, coming to stand next to the Ranger lady with the platinum hair, he leaned back on his usual underclass sarcasm. "Allo then! Sodly Bintfist, at your service, m'Lord! Sellin' buttons, we are - how're ya stocked on fasteners, oi?"
William Harper
Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Jacqueline, and Fitz Townsley - Doctor of Engineering. Harper filed away the names, regarding them with a polite nod but not offering his own name immediately. Perhaps it was the polite thing to do, though his mind was elsewhere. Hwightened awareness, some may call it, thoigh others had less fashionable words to describe the status of being him recent days.
Harper was very slightly startled when his and Daphne's second round of drinks arrived, hers in an octagonal tumbler and his in a tall mug. It was only noticeable by a sudden flick of his eyes in the direction of their server which was quickly smoothed over with a smile and a single folded piece of scrip for a gratuity. He raised his glass momentarily and took a sip of his extremely low-alcohol concoction. It tasted strongly of bitter ginger, but looked very much like a red lager.
Amid this, he too wqs curious as to the nature of the friendship between Daphne and the young Dr. Townsley. Also amid this, he realized he was hungry. Before the server left, Harper made mention of menus, if such things were readily available. He might not be able to relax fully, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about making his own meal tonight. And from the amount the Captain was imbibing, he hoped she would not begrudge him the offer of a fried sandwich or pepper-dipped poultry wings.
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: La Hacienda
Caesar's attention did not linger on the quip offered by Maria, nor did he react as she brushed past him. Though it was something that would ordinarily coax out a growl or strained look, this day it was just a second or two worth of additional time to wait before getting down to serious business. He did appreciate that his former spouse otherwise made good on his request, and further appreciated that she removed his tiny grandson from the equation, too. Their seclusion was preferred. Provided that Natasha was on the up and up, being surrounded by a grieving and heavily armed family was counterproductive to her survival as Caesar's concerns were spoken aloud.
He decided to address her points, going down the line, before getting to the heart of the matter. "It's a viewing, Natasha. Funeral comes later. Thank you for seeing to my grandson. I am sure he will be fine." Even if she was a plant, or a mole, or whatever Juno called their workers of espionage, a prescription filled by a local third party for antibiotics was a very minimal risk scenario that would help the boy. "And no, Cecily is good. I need to talk to you about something, and I need you to not react when I tell you. This last part is very important."
A wet growling sound issued from the venerable Mexican as he cleared his throat. He was not accustomed to giving speeches, nor was he a particularly talkative individual otherwise. And phrasing things delicately was not within his forte of social skills. Caesar thought to start out easy anyway, to the best of his limited ability. "The woman who brought you in to Justice and assigned you to this case is part of the group responsible for Alicia's death. This raises questions. I need to know what you know about Dr. Amy Chang. Things that don't fit into a standard background check. Starting with why she chose you for this assignment." There was no anger in his voice, no accusation. There was concern. There was hope that Natasha was truly ignorant. But there was a distinct doubt about that last part. If Alicia was right and thee were people inside of Juno who didn't agree with what they were doing, he wanted an inroad. Or a weak spot upon which to apply pressure. Hopefully this would uncover the former and not the latter.
Reginald Keystone
Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks
The Lord Major too stock of the paperwork he had been handed. While the main reason he wanted to get the inventory reports in the first place was to look over foodstuffs and travel supplies, he did give an order to a full accounting. This was partial at best. Of course, he knew that such things took time to accomplish; one could not just wave one's hands and magically have a complete, up to date supply report. He did like to keep the soldiery on their toes, though. You let a garrison get too relaxed and mistakes get made.
As he looked through the papers, Reginald began to break into a sweat. Not an uncommon thing in Egypt, perspiration, but this one coincided with a sense of cold pressure in his abdomen, quickly turning into streaks of discomfort. It was not a life threatening malady, at least not in his experience. The discomfort was with him for a bit of time now, since the first interview with the young starlet Josaphene. It was a trifle at first. Recent minutes saw it grow in intensity until the pain became noteworthy. At first, Reginald questioned the nature of his ailment. It seemed too light to be considered one of the trials that other members of his Fellowship had endured, and yet it continued to intensify. Perhaps this was just the beginning of some sort of branding or internal struggle against powers long dormant under ancient sands.
Reginald's pretense at looking over the partial report ceased as the feeling reached a roaring crescendo, prompting him to drop the papers and grip the edge of her desk with both hands. A sickening, gnawing feeling lanced through himand he began to double over in agony. Suddenly, a thought hit him through the haze of pain. He quickly leaned to one side tightened the muscles in his stomach. And then it happened:
A fleshy sputtering sound issued from behind the Lord Major's desk, quiet at first but, like his discomfort, quickly breaking into waves of intensity, given sound approximating a "pffffftWHOOOOOOMP!"
And then it was over. Just like that, the curse of his mysterious torture came to a close, quest unnecessary. Reginald wondered at life's little handouts like that, and vowed to stave off future repeats of this curse by taking a bran muffin in the mornings with greater regularity. A satisfied sigh later, he picked up his reports and again began to review them for excesses to commandeer. "Well then," he said aloud, fanning the air about him, "I'm certainly happy that it waited until I had the room to myself..."
@Lady Amalthea
Hey, umm... requesting an edit on my first post. The kitchen is apparently not in the main house, gotta fix that.
Hey, umm... requesting an edit on my first post. The kitchen is apparently not in the main house, gotta fix that.
Location: Ville au Camp, Kitchen House
The wet, hacking sound of flesh being split asunder rang from deep within the sleepy Louisiana house. Again and again a heavy cleaver rose and fell, hewing its target like the work of an uncaring butcher, guided by a strong, practiced hand. The work was fast and efficient, if not demonstrating the utmost of precision. The man holding the cleaver didn't seem to care. Quite the opposite, the impressively tall man seemed delighted at his efforts, smiling down upon the now fully disarticulated hunk of once living tissue with anticipatory glee.
The tall man had the forethought to don a nearby apron to prevent the bulk of the splatter from ruining his clothing, what clothing he still had on at the time. The apron was not remotely large enough to cover the bulk of the cleaver-wielding man's muscular frame, though it did conceal the important bits readily enough. His long, unkempt hair swung lazily in front of his face as his smile parted into a delighted, nigh maniacal grin. He inspected his stained chopping utensil, nodded, and gave a satisfied growl.
"Mmm, beefy..." he murmured, lifting his handiwork up off of the counter; a grand, rectangular wooden cutting board containing the irregularly chopped remains of an unknown number of thick, meaty steaks. Using the flat edge of the cleaver, he scraped the steaky goodness into a lightly oiled, heated cast iron pan and listened to the satisfying sizzle of meat hitting heat. A few tiny bowls of ingredients were arranged nearby; coarse salt, freshly ground pepper, minced garlic, oil, cilantro, and tiny amounts of cumin, cinnamon, and paprika. He dumped the entirety of them into the pan just the second that the meat started to brown. This was the last salvo in what promised to be a very mediocre breakfast. For him.
Far be it for him to only have chopped steak for breakfast; he had already set a covered plate of eggs to the side (a good full dozen and a half of them), along with a full loaf of some manner of crusty bread and comb-in-jar honey, persimmon jam, whole sauteed mushrooms, a pitcher of cold milk, and a basket of juicy, red pears. A kettle of water was going on the stove for tea, as he was beginning to develop a taste for it these past couple of millennia or so (and if he were honest with himself, because he knew Evelina had a great fondness for it). But the steak had to be prepared last, served barely cooked yet still steaming hot, and comprise an amount equal to everything else present. Such was the glory of seared herd mammal.
Sitting down to the table, he briefly wondered what everyone else was going to have for breakfast. He shrugged, then jammed a fork into his morning repast and tore into it. The apron was still on him, still covering everything that screamed for modesty in the barest sense. In fact, the only clothing that was readily apparent on the man in his present state was an untied burgundy ascot tie and a pair of thick cotton socks. From the angle of the main entrance to the kitchen, one would swear the man wasn't wearing pants, and for good reason. But again, important parts covered by a frilly, floral apron suitable for domestic work. Plus his boxers, but they were fitfully concealed as well. While he ate, he considered his day so far.
His was an interesting morning. He had awoken in his workshop out in the Mill, head positioned awkwardly on a worktable on top of one of his arms, the other still clutching a mallet. He had been working late again, doing his part to see to the upkeep of the Destrehan Plantation and the growing Armory. He had no problem using his gift to summon/fabricate items of use from his Hat, but doing so to the exclusion of other methods seemed lazy. Even irresponsible. Plus, it just felt good to fire up the forge every now and again, and pound away at an orange-hot, malleable bar of steel. He was just putting the finishing touches on a series of melee weapons, bone and horn handles, leather wrappings, final whitesmithing of completed blades, etc., and had just lay his head down for a moment to rest his eyes. When his eyes were fully rested, it was early in the morning. Very early. The sun had not yet crested the horizon, and his antique pocketwatch told him that it would be a while before it would. So, he did what any man in his position might: He wrapped chains around his limbs and hefted his anvil, using the shaped steel as weight resistance while he put himself through an impressive regimen of ante meridiem calisthenics.
Naturally, it made a man hungry. And so he sat, awash in the bliss of fresh, hot food, his signature Hat set upon the table next to his plate and mostly without respectable clothing otherwise. Eve had mentioned something about an early start to the day, which made him assume that others might also be awake. Well, maybe he could be persuaded to give up some of his fine repast. It looked to be an excellent Halloween this day. Full of potential. Promise. Other optimistic things. He may as well greet it healthy, strong, and well fed.
His pants... well, he'd take them out of the oven when they were good and ready, and not a moment before.
Submitted for approval. Please be gentle, he's had a rough day.
Ash Holloway
Location: Armageddon
Ash really hoped that he didn't hear that right. Eden? The crazy bastards were going directly into Eden? True, he had given it massive consideration himself just moments ago, even with damned good reasoning behind the decision. As for James, he even expected to die that day. Ash doubted that it was even his idea, to hear the big Texan speak of it. The fact was, they all probably had reasons to kill every last one of those Godless sons and daughters of bitches that called Eden home. The fact also was, if he was on the other side of this crack in the earth, he would be the one snapping orders to get underway and put the hurt to those people, hard and fast.
He was a little stunned to hear it all. Even a little jealous, and not just because Thana was over there with Gavin. Ash had been preparing for this inevitable strike against their enemies. Training hard, honing his edge. He wanted a piece of the action, selfish though it was of him. People needed him back home. Survivors. There had to be some of them left. Thana's dog tags sailed across the gap between them, striking Ash in his stomach. Reflexively, his free hand went up to grab them before they fell. As he realized the significance of this gesture, he shook then in the air and called back, "Hell or high water, Thana! Now I'm telling you, keep your ass alive to get them back!" Ash added her tags to his own around his neck, and began backing toward his Hordebuster. "I know I can't stop you. Please do this smart. Back off if it doesn't feel right. Good hunting."
The man and the Soldier came into perfect agreement within Captain Holloway. They may have lost their ground, but their enemies would fear the dying throes of Newnan until they took their last, gurgling breath. Ash climbed into his truck and fixed the grate back over the window. No sense taking chances now. He fired up the engine, shifted it into gear, and turned his Hordebuster back in the direction of Newnan. Deep inside of him, he was in agony. His best friend just died in front of him. He was separated from his love. His home just got swallowed up into a hell-like abyss that opened in the ground, and there was the very real likelihood that everyone he knew back home was dead already. As the truck began its necessary but highly depressing trip back north toward the crater that used to be Newnan, Ash fired up his walkie.
"This is Ash. Anybody in town, please respond. I repeat, this is Ash, anyone please respond. Over."
Static.
Location: The Other Side of Armageddon
There was a lot going on at one time. Too much. A simple meeting to collect cathartic yet expected news had turned into a reveal the likes of which was going to change lives. Perhaps that change would come in the form of those lives ending. Perhaps it would just be the efficient removal of limbs until these people looked like fleshy doormats with screaming heads attached. Hell, maybe she would be called into the presence of her ancestors and asked to atone for her misdeeds in life. To be united with her people, even through the veil of death, would be an acceptable conclusion to the day.
Offhandedly, Thalia wondered if Valhalla and the Land of Honored Dead were compatible in the afterlife. Either way, her people definitely deserved a place in either. Maybe she'd get a chance to see her Shieldmaiden sisters again.
Shaking off the thought, Thalia climbed up the side of Lola's tank and opened the grill on the rear landing. Most of the interior was damp with melted snow, placed there earlier to kill the coals before they took off. She slung Astrid's shield about her back and reached inside of the grill, at first patting her face with a pocket of cool, mostly dry ash. She closed her eyes and rubbed dark circles around her eyes with a bit of softer, charred wood, filling them in with her fingertips. The same char was used to paint simple vertical lines across her mouth and onto her cheeks. As she worked, she spoke a quiet prayer.
"Jesucristo, el conquistador, que en la cruz fue conquistado,
Conquista el Edén, para que sean conquistados conmigo en el Nombre de Dios,
Que sean humillados, derrotados a mis pies para completar lo que me han ofrecido."
"Nuestra Dama Muerte, te suplico amorosamente en la medida en que Dios te formó con tu gran poder sobre todos los mortales,
Y en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo, oro para que te dignes ser mi protectora,
Hasta el último día, hora y momento en que tu Divina Majestad manda llevarme ante tu presencia.
AMÉN."
Thalia climbed back down and looked into her friend's eyes, her own liquid hazel orbs showing through a mask of Mexican Death. Seriousness gripped her voice as she answered, "Yeah. Those assholes killed people I cared about. We can go play." Thalia breathed in deeply, filling her lungs to capacity and blowing it back out again. She leaned her neck to either side until the vertebrae popped noticeably, and then continued. "But as long as we're doing some killing, the name is Angel. Familia Gonzalez.
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