Larrisa, Crescent City | Afternoon He Who Fights Monsters [Lord Wraith] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE
Claire Quinn stood among the crowd outside of the alleyway. Rain washed over her dark jacket, pooling beneath her feet as she stood atop her tip toes to get a better look at what was going on. The young woman had only recently caught wind of the spree of killings that had been happening in Larrisa. The media believed it to be a serial killer of some sort, but once reports of how mauled the victims were reached the Venari huntress she knew that no human could have been responsible. She wasn't sure what was responsible for the attacks; pictures weren't available to the public, leaving her and her scholar, Kletus, in the dark on the matter. He'd suggested she come out to the site of this particular murder to get a good look at it herself so they could determine what kind of Hellion they were up against. Now that the girl was here, however, she wasn't able to do that. The police had arrived first and made sure no one could get anywhere near the body. Claire manuevered her way through the crowd, pushing anyway that didn't budge as she stepped up to the front of the group. From there, Quinn could only see a portion of the corpse's leg and little more. Damn it. Noctis wasn't going to be able to determine a damn thing from where she was standing. I need to get at the body. But how?
It was then that the Venari huntress noticed another man just as eager as her to get a better look. Her first assumption was that the man was either a necrophiliac or a psycho. However, as his conversation with one of the beat cops continued, Quinn was able to guess that he used to be on the Force. Probably Forensics. It was a mostly baseless assumption, but a normal beat cop wouldn't be so eager to get a look at a dead man. The stranger was an anomaly that would've only briefly held the Venari's interest if it weren't for what he did once the cop told him to beat it. The civilian Richards had identified as Sheridan used the flash on his camera to blind the officer, and then used the brief opening to toss a small drone behind him. It was quite resourceful of him. Quinn found herself impressed with the clever little move. She pushed through the crowd once more, slinking in behind the man and glancing over his shoulder at the phone he was using to control the drone. Claire was able to make out a rather huge bite mark in the victim's throat, like a rapid dog had tried to rip it open. It was a gruesome sight to be sure, but it helped narrow down what could have caused the attack. She wanted to know more, however.
"Hey, buddy." Claire tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "I could use your help." Claire didn't know a damn thing about forensics. If she did get at the corpse herself, she wouldn't know what to do with it. However, this guy seemed like he might be at least a little bit useful in that regard. "I'm gonna get us a closer look at the body. Just stay here, kay?" The blonde smiled.
Quinn took a moment to take in her surroundings. The alleyway wasn't very large and there was little room to maneuver. With the crowd at her back, the officers wouldn't dare try to shoot her. There were four beat cops in total, with Richards being the closest. Two more Forensics cops were bent over the body. I can handle this. She thought confidently.
The short young woman lifted up the yellow crime scene tap, bending down a little to get underneath it. Claire wasted little time, stepping right up to Officer Richards and throwing a clean punch directly at his nose. The blow held far more power than a girl her size should have been able to deliver. Quinn took a quick step forward, moving one hand to pull the officer's gun from it's hostler while using the other to shove him to the ground, kicking his feet out from under him for good measure. Claire let the magazine slip out of the pistol before tossing it with surprising accuracy toward the closest beat cop's temple. The officer stumbled from the blow, but did not fall. He pulled out his own gun, anger clear on his expression. "Freeze-" He started. The huntress then vanished from sight, catching the men off guard. "Hyperhuman!" Someone shouted from the crowd. She moved quickly through the shadows, appearing directly in front of the third officer. Claire opened up on him without pause. She threw a left handed blow at his diaphragm, and then a right blow into his ribcage, aiming for the liver before finishing up with a headbutt directly to his nose.
Without skipping a beat, the girl disappeared once more. She crossed to the final officer, a bullet impacting against the wall behind her as the officer discharged his firearm. Shit, that was close. Claire thought as she swept his legs out from underneath him just as she reappeared. Claire dropped to the ground atop him, raining down a series of bone rattling blows to the skull until she was confident the man was unconscious. With that handled, she pulled his firearm out of it's holster.
Claire stood up, brushing off her jacket. She turned toward the crowd, lifting the gun into the air and firing off a couple of shots to drive everyone else away. "Get over here and take a look!" She shouted at Sheridan. "Won't have long until more cops get here, so be quick about it. I'm Claire, by the way." The young woman was incredibly casual about the whole thing, even if she was horribly out of breath now.
Andrew is a lanky Caucasian male with light blue eyes and a stupid sideways grin. He’s almost always the tallest guy in the room, standing at six feet and four inches tall. It’s only natural his avatar be of the same verticality. Graves is a tank, so of course he’s built like a linebacker, whereas his creator is skinny enough that most his of real life friends know him as ‘Twig.’ The dichotomy was initially a little difficult to adjust to, but eventually his mind was able to comprehend having two separate body types. Both Gray and his character have long nearly silver hair that they tend to keep up in a ponytail. Keeping with the theme of ‘blood,’ Graves tends to favor crimsons, blacks and silvers. His armor is admittedly more for looks than practicality. It covers his shoulders, back, arms, legs and sides- but lacks a breastplate in any capacity. This is the case for two reason: One being that he wants his enemies to think he’s vulnerable there, and give the courage to get in range of his pike. Two being showing off his sick abs.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Graves has been called any number of things for his less than stellar behavior: jerk, asshole, dick, bastard and jackass all being common substitutes for his name. He isn’t particularly malicious. He doesn’t wake up in the morning, wondering who he can screw over today. But Graves is selfish to his core. He cares only about himself. Every action he takes is to get ahead, others be damned. He’s abrasive, standoffish and horribly arrogant. His crude sense of humor tends to be bent toward insulting others and joking at their expense. He very smugly thinks he’s the greatest person ever, and that anyone who doesn’t see that is a moron. It’s easy to see why he doesn’t have many friends; mostly because he takes advantage of people, treats them badly and then dumps them off before they can get too close. Once upon a time, however, he was different. Graves used to be pleasant enough. He had a small but dedicated circle of friends that he would drop everything for. He was generally joyful and kind, and there was a lot less edge to his humor. Was Bludd perfect? No. But back then, in great contrast to the present, Graves wouldn’t hesitate to help someone else- even if he didn’t get much out of it. It’s speculated that Andrew is putting up a front; that he’s building up a toxic and unlikable character to push others away, to avoid getting burned again.
When Andrew can’t hide before a pike and a fake face, he’s a lot quieter. He hides his emotions from his coworkers and peers, keeping some of the choice words he might have to himself. He avoids conflict whenever possible, to such a degree that he’s willing to bend to views he doesn’t agree with just to avoid a confrontation. Gray is weak. He knows he’s weak. That’s why, when he plays Pariah, he likes to pretend he’s strong- it’s an escape from his sucky ass life and sucky ass 'friends'. He wishes he was tougher, but never makes any strives to actually become more confident and assertive. In game, he's pursuing that power fantasy- he hunts down the toughest of the tough and trains himself until he's strong enough to beat them. Then he moves on to the guy stronger than the last, repeating the process until, one day, he stands above everyone. He isn't anywhere near completing his goal. But, hey, he has nothing but a shitty part time job to do outside of play Pariah- he has plenty of time to dedicate to the game.
B A C K G R O U N D
Andrew was born in a little town in Ohio to two loving parents and eight siblings. He was unlucky enough to be one of the middle children, so it was no surprise when he was overshadowed by the rest of his family. He found that the best way to get any attention from them was to act out- so he was a bit of a devil when he was younger. He eventually grew out of it and accepted the fact that he was meant to be ignored and merely tolerated as a background figure. His town was small, and his high school even smaller- which meant finding friends and penetrating the normal clichés was quite difficult for someone that had gotten used to quietly observing. Gray wasn’t exactly an introvert. He could be loud, excitable and social- but he just…never got the chance to. He didn’t have many friends at all. That is, until he had scrounged up enough cash for his first MMO. He used his low grade laptop to play the game at its lowest settings; it was choppy, constantly lagged and rather ugly…but he loved it. He loved everything about the game. Gray retreated from his garbage normal life into the world of a generic role playing game. He ignored his tanking grades, few acquaintances and boisterous family to play for hours on end. He started off grinding on his own, as most do. But he chanced upon a party of likeminded individuals that needed a secondary tank. Andrew melded seamlessly into their company. They were all chill, cool guys and gals that were always willing to help Andrew learn the game. They continued to play together for months, the size of the group ever expanding as they built up a sizable guild of their own. Andrew became near addicted to raiding. Fighting bosses was the most visceral and exciting experience he’d ever had in a game. Eventually Andrew was (somehow) able to graduate high school and purchase a real computer. All was well for him. His family only occasionally harassed him for being a bum. He had a steady job at a backwater gas station, making minimum wage for very little work. He had made a decent circle of friends for himself within the guild. Life was simple; it was good.
But nothing ever stays good for very long. Rumors began to arise within the lower ranks of the guild that Gray’s circles of friends, the founders of their company, were cheating. Accusations ranged from merely using gold farming bots all the way to increasing their characters’ stats to impossible levels. Gray defended his friends religiously. There was no possible way they’d do something like that. His aggressive resistance to their false claims earned him a fairly bad reputation in a short time. The rumors continued to spread, to the point where other guilds were putting in tickets to the server admin to have their guild investigated. With the moderators getting involved, Grays’ friends found themselves backed into a corner- they had been breaking the rules, and would soon suffer the wrath of the ban hammer. A meeting was held, and a rash decision was made. They would find a single member to put the blame on, plant evidence that they were responsible, and then report them to the administrators. Andrew was chosen. It wasn’t out of personal distaste for the guy; most everyone liked him well enough. But he had already tarnished his own reputation among the lower guild members and lacked many close friends who could help him fight the claim. The next day, Gray logged on to a single message: he had been permanently banned from playing the game. Of course Andrew sent in a support ticket. He tried to fight the claim. However, he found no success- and was eventually forced to abandon his first and favorite MMO. He had been devastated. Things only got worse when someone leaked a log of the meeting to him where his so called ‘friends’ had decided to use him as the scapegoat for their actions. He brought the logs to the mods that had banned him; nothing came of it. He wasn’t trusted, and they had tossed his evidence aside as fake.
A T T R I B U T E S
R O L E
Tank
A F F I L A T I O N
Sikth
P R O F E S S I O N
Bounty Hunting: A video game is all about killing things for Andrew. It's what he enjoys most about Pariah. So what better profession than one that let's him kill things? Bounty Hunting covers a wide array of different targets over the entire game world. He's given a list of hunts to choose from that can range from simply kill twenty of X monster, to beat X raid boss in less than forty five minutes, to even going after other players. It's a profession that doesn't ever get boring or tedious and allows Gray to indulge his murderous tendencies on virtual mobs. Certain epic jobs are available for all hunters and can only be completed a certain number of times; making the bounty hunting profession extremely competitive for those looking to make the most from their job.
W E A P O N O F C H O I C E
Graves currently wields an oversized halberd he refers to as a pike, despite being corrected multiple times; Graves is not wrong, everyone else is. It's nearly as large as he is, and is designed to allow him to land as many hits on as many enemies as possible from various ranges.
B E N C H M A R K S
Tough Skin- Graves is naturally more durable than other non-tank characters. He doesn't wear particularly heavy armor; however, his naturally high health pool allows him to take incredible amounts of damage for a character with relatively low defense gear. The trade of for this is he's weighs a hell of a lot more than other classes, and is thus slower and can be kited by ranged or agile enemies. He gained this trait through hundreds of hours of getting the shit kicked out of him without armor on, which has led to increased durability without the need for heavy armors.
Potion Addict- Graves has been relying on potions for his tanking abilities since he started playing Pariah. After chugging down countless elixirs, his physiology has an easier time adapting to the ingested liquids. Potions last longer and are more potent on Graves than others. A small side effect being that Bludd can’t function very well without them in his system. He usually carries potions for lifesteal, iron skin and healing- to make him even harder to kill.
Blood In The Water- Much like a shark, Graves gets a sort of sixth 'sense' whenever a target is bleeding. It allows him to track them within twenty five meters (doubles if he was the one that made them bleed); it's less like echo location and more like a compass that points him in their general direction. It won't reveal the exact position of a hiding enemy, nor does it tell Graves if they are above or below him- simply where they would be on a two dimensional field. Dozens of hours of trying to hunt down that last monster for his bounty hunting quest has made the tank a decent enough tracker.
Enhanced Strength- The weapons and armor used by a tank are heavy. Graves is required to have above average physical strength if he wants to use them effectively. This also means he's able to carry more (when not impeded by his regular gear) and hits slightly harder with unarmed attacks.
Executioner- Graves tends to fight harder when his enemy his on the back foot. He pushes his advantage and attempts to go for killing blows as often as possible. A slew of decapitated and mutilated foes behind him, Graves has learned how to more effectively hurt enemies that are already wounded. Enemies very close to death's door take more damage from Graves' attacks, although he also heals less off of them and takes more damage from them- so he has to be careful with certain monster types or enemies with 'deathrattles.'
Monster Bestiary- Graves has studied the average field and dungeons mobs extensively. He has a fairly good grasp on what most common enemies are capable of, what their weaknesses are, ect. More rare beasts, especially those he isn't high enough level to be fighting anyway, wouldn't apply.
Boss Bestiary- Bludd is a raider at heart. He loves MMOs for the massive, titanic battles between huge parties and giant bosses. It's his favorite part of Pariah. Thus, he's invested quite a bit of time into learning some of the boss enemies in the game. The tougher, higher end leviathans that require teamwork, determination and raw power to defeat. Knowledge is power in these sort of encounters, and Bludd has made sure he knows about the general workings of the bosses he's likely to face.
Meditative Healing- Since Graves' combat stance is entirely based on healing, he figured he could use an out of combat healing ability too. Essentially, Graves can sit down and focus his magic on repairing his wounds. How long it takes depends on the severity of his injuries. The stance is extremely taxing, takes awhile to start and takes forever to finish if he's hurt- and it can't heal things like broken bones or eviscerated organs. He'll need a real healer for that.
Metalworking- Required field to get to Weapons' Repair. He uses this as a source of income, creating very basic items and selling them either on the market or to NPCs. He would much rather get money from killing mobs all day and pawning off legendary raid items, but sadly working the marketplace is the only real way to get a stable source of income.
Weapons' Repair- Graves likes his Pike. It's his favorite weapon. He isn't very good with much else, and doesn't have a backup for when it breaks. So, instead of constantly paying vendors and other players to fix it for him, he decided to spec into Weapons' Repair and do the damn thing himself.
R O U G H V I R T U A L H I S T O R Y
Andrew came by Pariah through rather interesting circumstances. He was scrolling through online forums, looking for something to replace his beloved original MMO when he came across an advertisement for Pariah. The game looked absolutely phenomenal; and Gray had always been fascinated by the idea of VR. He had only gotten to play with a system like that once or twice, but he loved every nanosecond of the experience. He couldn't afford it, however. Not on a minimum wage job. That is until he caught wind of a giveaway being done by a local game store. The place had just gotten a shipment of VR headsets and wanted to attract buyers; so they held a raffle contest. Five people would walk away with a copy of Pariah and one of the headsets. Andrew knew he had no chance of winning, but he decided to enter anyway; there was a small fee, but...what the hell. Why not give it a try? Imagine his surprise when he gets an email from the company, informing him that he had won. Gray rushed over to the store the moment he finished reading it and picked up his package. Thus began his journey in Pariah.
Graves is not a name known by many, simply because he keeps to himself for the most part. He has a rapidly growing reputation, however, among the more attentive members of the bounty hunting community. The profession is used by a large chunk of the player base; however, the few hundred or so individuals that claims to be 'professional bounty hunters' are a highly competitive and inclusive group. So when some no name young blood starts snatching up important contracts and taking down a high level bosses and esteemed players, the smarter heads start to turn. He's an above average raider that joins public groups, dominates his enemies and takes what he needs before disappearing again.
Andrew is above average at best. He's no professional, and lacks the experience or gear to take on the really big names. Yet. He's dedicated himself to becoming the absolute strongest hunter in the name; and he's going to do it by almost any means necessary. The only thing he's wary of is teaming up with other players. He's partied up a handful of times, but never long enough to get attached- he knows where that particular road leads. However, there are some obstacles which cannot be overcome alone. Some enemies cannot be defeated through sheer force of will and hours of scrolling through guides and wikis online. On occasion, Bludd has to team up with others- usually to do bosses or gank unsuspecting targets that he can't beat alone. His temporary help always gets a 'piece of the pie' so to speak; he makes sure they get something out of the effort, even if he's an asshole to them while doing so.
Bludd received his primary weapon a few months ago in one of the hardest grind sessions of his life; it's priceless to him, and it fits his playstyle perfectly. The pike isn’t exactly anything special, but it’s Graves weapon of choice no matter the circumstance. He uses it consistently, and has yet to hear of any item that he'd rather have over it. He and that dumb ol' pike have been through a lot together. Why give it up for something unfamiliar? His current weapon is reliable. And if Gray needs anything, it's a little bit of reliability in his life.
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon TIME // Afternoon
Graves T. Bludd had never been lauded for being of good report. He had a reputation among anyone that had run into him for being crude, crass and volatile. The man had made more than one sexually charged joke in his time playing Pariah. He found it humorous to watch other people squirm, and it tended to be an effective means of making people with good intentions avoid him- after all, who'd want to spend time with a creep? His strategy of making himself as rude and unapproachable as humanly possible worked with most players. Graves's attitude was widely considered as toxic beyond repair. Only a select few tolerated his bullshit behavior, and the number of people whom did it in any way Bludd appreciated was even smaller. Elian was a good example of running with how he acted in the right manner. She carried on just long enough for the interaction to not grow tiresome, and the dancer rarely moved into territories Andrew was uncomfortable with. However, it was quite easy to play around with Graves incorrectly. He turned on people quickly, having no qualms showing hostility toward someone for one misinterpreted joke or side comment. The Blood Knight's explosive anger was a defining trait that he had little control over.
Mirage's innocent enough jest hit all of his buttons just in the wrong way. She suggested that the two of them had some kind of deeper connection in the past as lovers. That was her first mistake. It went against every barrier he had ever tried to put up. In a handful of words, the ranger had managed to bring his whole persona under questioning by everyone else- he'd have to do something drastic to reset the scales. He couldn't have people thinking there was any truth to that statement. Her second, more grievous mistake was painting him as inadequate. Andrew Gray's self esteem had always been fragile. He tended to keep it protected through a false devil-may-care attitude. After all, if he pretended to be cool and strong and brave for long enough, everyone else might start to see him as those things. To have his ego put under the microscope by a total stranger made the warrior's skin crawl. Compound both of these together with the normal pre-dungeon stress that weighed on the tank, Mirage had unknowingly created the perfect storm for pissing the tall man the hell off.
The Blood Knight slowed to a halt. He closed his eyes, taking a handful of deep breaths in an attempt to keep his anger under control. The halberd found itself stabbed deep into the soft earth, top half first. He started to remove his steel gauntlets, tossing the metal vambraces to the ground alongside his large weapon. Look pissed off. He mentally prepared himself. He had to play up how easily enraged he was. Andrew, while a hot head by nature, was not nearly as explosive as Graves showed himself to be. Everything was apart of a clever, almost subconscious attempt to be someone he was not. In a way, Andrew was playing a character. He didn't think of it as Roleplaying, but it was quite clear in his mind that Graves and Andrew were two different personas he swapped between whenever he played Pariah. It was funny. He could be himself in real life because he never had to drive unwanted attention away. Nobody in his bumfuck, backwards town cared about him. Even his parents were distant. He'd never say it, but...honestly? He liked having to fight off people's attention. In some twisted way, Andrew didn't actually want to be alone.
The huge crimson fighter turned around to face the group at large. His intense gaze locked onto the woman's. One could tell a lot about someone by looking into their eyes. And looking into Graves' eyes was like staring into the sun. They burned with an intense passion, fueled by unquenchable anger, as they directed themselves toward her own gaze. He stepped forward, his face contorting with indignation. "Liar!" The fury in the tank's voice was unmistakably. It thundered, loud and deep, directly from his very soul. "I don't even know you, you little fucking whore!" Graves reeled his arm back in the most telegraphed punch ever thrown. Anyone with even an ounce of combat experience could have seen it coming and reacted accordingly. It was an impossibly sluggish movement. Even as he rocketed his fist forward, one might swear they could see it aimed past his target's head. His footwork was all wrong, too. There wasn't any twist of momentum in the blow, so it lacked a significant amount of force behind it. It was all a finely crafted act. The anger, the incompetence, all of it- an attempt to show everyone that he was an asshole and a monster that no one in their right mind would want to associate with.
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon TIME // Afternoon
Graves T. Bludd had never been lauded for being of good report. He had a reputation among anyone that had run into him for being crude, crass and volatile. The man had made more than one sexually charged joke in his time playing Pariah. He found it humorous to watch other people squirm, and it tended to be an effective means of making people with good intentions avoid him- after all, who'd want to spend time with a creep? His strategy of making himself as rude and unapproachable as humanly possible worked with most players. Graves's attitude was widely considered as toxic beyond repair. Only a select few tolerated his bullshit behavior, and the number of people whom did it in any way Bludd appreciated was even smaller. Elian was a good example of running with how he acted in the right manner. She carried on just long enough for the interaction to not grow tiresome, and the dancer rarely moved into territories Andrew was uncomfortable with. However, it was quite easy to play around with Graves incorrectly. He turned on people quickly, having no qualms showing hostility toward someone for one misinterpreted joke or side comment. The Blood Knight's explosive anger was a defining trait that he had little control over.
Mirage's innocent enough jest hit all of his buttons just in the wrong way. She suggested that the two of them had some kind of deeper connection in the past as lovers. That was her first mistake. It went against every barrier he had ever tried to put up. In a handful of words, the ranger had managed to bring his whole persona under questioning by everyone else- he'd have to do something drastic to reset the scales. He couldn't have people thinking there was any truth to that statement. Her second, more grievous mistake was painting him as inadequate. Andrew Gray's self esteem had always been fragile. He tended to keep it protected through a false devil-may-care attitude. After all, if he pretended to be cool and strong and brave for long enough, everyone else might start to see him as those things. To have his ego put under the microscope by a total stranger made the warrior's skin crawl. Compound both of these together with the normal pre-dungeon stress that weighed on the tank, Mirage had unknowingly created the perfect storm for pissing the tall man the hell off.
The Blood Knight slowed to a halt. He closed his eyes, taking a handful of deep breaths in an attempt to keep his anger under control. The halberd found itself stabbed deep into the soft earth, top half first. He started to remove his steel gauntlets, tossing the metal vambraces to the ground alongside his large weapon. Look pissed off. He mentally prepared himself. He had to play up how easily enraged he was. Andrew, while a hot head by nature, was not nearly as explosive as Graves showed himself to be. Everything was apart of a clever, almost subconscious attempt to be someone he was not. In a way, Andrew was playing a character. He didn't think of it as Roleplaying, but it was quite clear in his mind that Graves and Andrew were two different personas he swapped between whenever he played Pariah. It was funny. He could be himself in real life because he never had to drive unwanted attention away. Nobody in his bumfuck, backwards town cared about him. Even his parents were distant. He'd never say it, but...honestly? He liked having to fight off people's attention. In some twisted way, Andrew didn't actually want to be alone.
The huge crimson fighter turned around to face the group at large. His intense gaze locked onto the woman's. One could tell a lot about someone by looking into their eyes. And looking into Graves' eyes was like staring into the sun. They burned with an intense passion, fueled by unquenchable anger, as they directed themselves toward her own gaze. He stepped forward, his face contorting with indignation. "Liar!" The fury in the tank's voice was unmistakably. It thundered, loud and deep, directly from his very soul. "I don't even know you, you little fucking whore!" Graves reeled his arm back in the most telegraphed punch ever thrown. Anyone with even an ounce of combat experience could have seen it coming and reacted accordingly. It was an impossibly sluggish movement. Even as he rocketed his fist forward, one might swear they could see it aimed past his target's head. His footwork was all wrong, too. There wasn't any twist of momentum in the blow, so it lacked a significant amount of force behind it. It was all a finely crafted act. The anger, the incompetence, all of it- an attempt to show everyone that he was an asshole and a monster that no one in their right mind would want to associate with.
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon TIME // Afternoon
Graves Bludd moved at the vanguard of the raid party, his massive frame providing a shield for the weaker members of their group to take cover behind if anything went wrong during the trek over. He felt the weight of his gargantuan halberd. It was perfectly balanced, with the center of balance at the head of the polearm. The weapon's cumbersome nature was oddly comforting to the brazen warrior. He'd always been of the opinion that the heavier the weapon, the stronger the fighter. He scoffed at people like Ebon, who thought a tiny toothpick of a sword was a worthy tool for a warrior of any real merit. His halberd could lob a monster's limb off in one clean swing. It made Andrew feel...powerful. In control of any situation, so long as he had his 'pike' in his gauntleted fists. He held the weapon at chest level, hands at an even spread on the shaft. This was his default stance. It allowed him a degree of versatility in any situation, as well as the ability to quickly swap to another stance if necessary.
The Blood Knight marched ever forward at a reasonable pace, keeping his eyes peeled for any would be ambushers. The short girl and the warrior were of the same mind: it was too quiet. Every dungeon Graves had raided possessed some form of outward defenses that needed to be pushed through. A small skirmishing force, meant to keep wandering players from easily approaching the heart of the dungeon. It made Bludd restless. His axe head demanded blood be spilled soon. The less time he spent fighting was more time spent walking with the ragtag party in relative silence. He wasn't wholly against quiet. In fact, Graves was usually mute during any activity that involved more than two people. He had vowed to keep distant from others. Relationships had never done anything for Andrew except leave him hurt and betrayed; it was better for Graves to be alone. If only I could play this stupid game alone. He grumbled to himself. He loved the contents of Pariah and other MMOs. The fantastical adventures, the visceral combat, and the compelling nature of a player driven narrative drew him in. Singleplayer RPGs never sated his desires like a good MMO did. The only drawback was that the game necessitated he work with others, which meant getting close to people.
Ew.
Graves was glad he'd found Elian. Unlike most people that formed parties, the irreverent dancer kept Bludd at arms length- so far, anyway. Her banter was actually enjoyable to engage in. He never had to worrk about any of that touchy feely bullshit. The Blood Knight hoped his working relationship with her remained just that: work. They only went to one another when a dungeon was too difficult to do with moronic pubbies, or there was a raid that required large parties. She provided most of the teammates, all of whom tended to be new faces, and Graves provided his overwhelming badassery. A win-win, in his mind.
One of the other party members spoke aloud what the tank had been wondering earlier. He looked over toward the smaller frame of Rael, raising a questioning brow in her direction. "No kidding." Graves returned. She was correct, things had been far too quiet so far. He could only assume something was up. "Could be they're scared shitless of us." He joked. "Or it could be a trap." The large man grew serious, turning around to address the entire party. "Hey, fuckheads!" He crassly called to get everyone's attention. "Tighten up! Tanks on the outside, squishies on the inside. Don't leave our flanks exposed, unless you like it up the ass by surprise. Got it?" Bludd turned back around, moving forward once again. "Amateurs." He muttered just loud enough for the smaller tank to hear. "They're gonna get us wiped. I'm betting on it."
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // The City of Thorinn TIME // Afternoon
Graves Bludd moved at the vanguard of the raid party, his massive frame providing a shield for the weaker members of their group to take cover behind if anything went wrong during the trek over. He felt the weight of his gargantuan halberd. It was perfectly balanced, with the center of balance at the head of the polearm. The weapon's cumbersome nature was oddly comforting to the brazen warrior. He'd always been of the opinion that the heavier the weapon, the stronger the fighter. He scoffed at people like Ebon, who thought a tiny toothpick of a sword was a worthy tool for a warrior of any real merit. His halberd could lob a monster's limb off in one clean swing. It made Andrew feel...powerful. In control of any situation, so long as he had his 'pike' in his gauntleted fists. He held the weapon at chest level, hands at an even spread on the shaft. This was his default stance. It allowed him a degree of versatility in any situation, as well as the ability to quickly swap to another stance if necessary.
The Blood Knight marched ever forward at a reasonable pace, keeping his eyes peeled for any would be ambushers. The short girl and the warrior were of the same mind: it was too quiet. Every dungeon Graves had raided possessed some form of outward defenses that needed to be pushed through. A small skirmishing force, meant to keep wandering players from easily approaching the heart of the dungeon. It made Bludd restless. His axe head demanded blood be spilled soon. The less time he spent fighting was more time spent walking with the ragtag party in relative silence. He wasn't wholly against quiet. In fact, Graves was usually mute during any activity that involved more than two people. He had vowed to keep distant from others. Relationships had never done anything for Andrew except leave him hurt and betrayed; it was better for Graves to be alone. If only I could play this stupid game alone. He grumbled to himself. He loved the contents of Pariah and other MMOs. The fantastical adventures, the visceral combat, and the compelling nature of a player driven narrative drew him in. Singleplayer RPGs never sated his desires like a good MMO did. The only drawback was that the game necessitated he work with others, which meant getting close to people.
Ew.
Graves was glad he'd found Elian. Unlike most people that formed parties, the irreverent dancer kept Bludd at arms length- so far, anyway. Her banter was actually enjoyable to engage in. He never had to worrk about any of that touchy feely bullshit. The Blood Knight hoped his working relationship with her remained just that: work. They only went to one another when a dungeon was too difficult to do with moronic pubbies, or there was a raid that required large parties. She provided most of the teammates, all of whom tended to be new faces, and Graves provided his overwhelming badassery. A win-win, in his mind.
One of the other party members spoke aloud what the tank had been wondering earlier. He looked over toward the smaller frame of Rael, raising a questioning brow in her direction. "No kidding." Graves returned. She was correct, things had been far too quiet so far. He could only assume something was up. "Could be they're scared shitless of us." He joked. "Or it could be a trap." The large man grew serious, turning around to address the entire party. "Hey, fuckheads!" He crassly called to get everyone's attention. "Tighten up! Tanks on the outside, squishies on the inside. Don't leave our flanks exposed, unless you like it up the ass by surprise. Got it?" Bludd turned back around, moving forward once again. "Amateurs." He muttered just loud enough for the smaller tank to hear. "They're gonna get us wiped. I'm betting on it."
The strength with which the wannabe superheroine yelled caught Claire off guard. She had expected the vigilante to back down. There was a deep, powerful rage teeming up inside of this odd stranger. It surprised Noctis just how much the woman seemed to care about a couple of worthless scumbags. 'Why the hell does she care so damn much?' The perplexed huntress thought to herself, unable to grasp how someone could take heed of such...dogs. That's all that they were to miss Quinn. Nothing but a pack of wild mutts trying to tear each other apart to get at the last scrapes of food left. They were a sad, pathetic lot. But not worth Claire's pity. The city's gangs were too dangerous to show mercy to. If she had half a mind to actually do something about the parasites that infested Crescent City, like the sad idealist in front of her did, Claire wouldn't hesitate to kill them. The prisons were already stuffed full of thugs that would eventually be let out, only to murder, rape or steal again. A single bullet to the head was cheap, effective and irreversible. The evils of the world were better eradicated than simply pruned and then allowed to fester and regrow. That was how the Venari had taught her to see the world. Death was the most effective means of protecting the lives that mattered.
But none of that was Claire's job. She wasn't a vigilante. She didn't work for the city's incompetent police force. Claire was a hunter in the Order of the Venari, and one of the last defenders against the encroaching darkness. She couldn't waste her time dealing with petty criminals. 'Even if I haven't seen a damn thing for months.' Noctis grumbled internally. Hellions and Draoi posed a far greater danger to the world as a whole than any mobster or street thug ever could. If even a single one slipped past the Venari's guard, everything could be compromised. One crazed magician showing himself to the world at large had the potential to destroy everything they had worked so hard to protect. Every single mage, monster and 'At least, that's what Kletus says.'
Claire started to prepare her responses to everything the other woman was saying. She waited, listening to every misguided point the vigilante brought against the Venari huntress. Her worldview was laughably idealized and her moralistic crusading didn't belong in the real world. That line of thinking is what got good people killed. The scum of the earth didn't deserve protecting from one another; they should be left to fight, so that there's less of them left to attack innocents when the dust clears. Mutual destruction of both gangs would have improved life for that neighborhood drastically. Now that this moron had let them go, they would return to plague the good people of Los Paradiso again. She didn't need Noctis's help? 'Ha!' Before Claire jumped in, the vigilante had only just got up from a horrible beating. She was surrounded, out numbered and unarmed. No amount of endurance, strength or tenacity would overcome the sheer number disadvantage. Claire had saved her life; she was sure of it.
“You’re a monster!”
"H-huh?" Claire blinked. The indignation the Venari had felt faltered. 'She really thinks I'm...a monster?' Noctis's angry, furrowed visage splintered into confusion. She was so sure her actions had benefited this vigilante, and society as a whole. One less gangbanger and a still living hero was a net gain for them, right? Yet Claire couldn't shake how that simple, singular word had effected her resolve. "No I'm not." She responded with a frown, glancing over at the corpse of the dead man. "He is. I...I kill the monsters." Her voice was more reserved now, her tone lacking the edge it had possessed when they first began to argue. Was it possible that Noctis was wrong? That she was the one with the twisted view of how the world worked, and not this person she'd just met? The stranger spoke with conviction. She really believed what she said. It was enough to make the Venari question herself. It made her look into her heart, glancing at the darkness that touched her soul.
The words of her mentors came rushing in like a tsunami, drowning out those thoughts. Her introspection drowned in a sea of stubbornness, bringing back Noctis's earlier sneer. "You don't get it." The young woman growled. "This isn't any place for someone like you. The world is dark, it is cruel and the only way to fight it is with everything you have. You're just going to get yourself killed if you try this shit again, okay? So...Go home, hero. Take off that stupid outfit and go home before you die. There are better ways to help than trying to shove your stupid morals into a fight. Go home."
With those words said, Noctis pulled her scarf up higher on her face and started off at a walk toward a nearby alleyway. She didn't want to confront that idiot any longer. There was more of the city left for her to patrol.
Go Home, Hero [BlackSam3091] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE
The strength with which the wannabe superheroine yelled caught Claire off guard. She had expected the vigilante to back down. There was a deep, powerful rage teeming up inside of this odd stranger. It surprised Noctis just how much the woman seemed to care about a couple of worthless scumbags. 'Why the hell does she care so damn much?' The perplexed huntress thought to herself, unable to grasp how someone could take heed of such...dogs. That's all that they were to miss Quinn. Nothing but a pack of wild mutts trying to tear each other apart to get at the last scrapes of food left. They were a sad, pathetic lot. But not worth Claire's pity. The city's gangs were too dangerous to show mercy to. If she had half a mind to actually do something about the parasites that infested Crescent City, like the sad idealist in front of her did, Claire wouldn't hesitate to kill them. The prisons were already stuffed full of thugs that would eventually be let out, only to murder, rape or steal again. A single bullet to the head was cheap, effective and irreversible. The evils of the world were better eradicated than simply pruned and then allowed to fester and regrow. That was how the Venari had taught her to see the world. Death was the most effective means of protecting the lives that mattered.
But none of that was Claire's job. She wasn't a vigilante. She didn't work for the city's incompetent police force. Claire was a hunter in the Order of the Venari, and one of the last defenders against the encroaching darkness. She couldn't waste her time dealing with petty criminals. 'Even if I haven't seen a damn thing for months.' Noctis grumbled internally. Hellions and Draoi posed a far greater danger to the world as a whole than any mobster or street thug ever could. If even a single one slipped past the Venari's guard, everything could be compromised. One crazed magician showing himself to the world at large had the potential to destroy everything they had worked so hard to protect. Every single mage, monster and 'At least, that's what Kletus says.'
Claire started to prepare her responses to everything the other woman was saying. She waited, listening to every misguided point the vigilante brought against the Venari huntress. Her worldview was laughably idealized and her moralistic crusading didn't belong in the real world. That line of thinking is what got good people killed. The scum of the earth didn't deserve protecting from one another; they should be left to fight, so that there's less of them left to attack innocents when the dust clears. Mutual destruction of both gangs would have improved life for that neighborhood drastically. Now that this moron had let them go, they would return to plague the good people of Los Paradiso again. She didn't need Noctis's help? 'Ha!' Before Claire jumped in, the vigilante had only just got up from a horrible beating. She was surrounded, out numbered and unarmed. No amount of endurance, strength or tenacity would overcome the sheer number disadvantage. Claire had saved her life; she was sure of it.
“You’re a monster!”
"H-huh?" Claire blinked. The indignation the Venari had felt faltered. 'She really thinks I'm...a monster?' Noctis's angry, furrowed visage splintered into confusion. She was so sure her actions had benefited this vigilante, and society as a whole. One less gangbanger and a still living hero was a net gain for them, right? Yet Claire couldn't shake how that simple, singular word had effected her resolve. "No I'm not." She responded with a frown, glancing over at the corpse of the dead man. "He is. I...I kill the monsters." Her voice was more reserved now, her tone lacking the edge it had possessed when they first began to argue. Was it possible that Noctis was wrong? That she was the one with the twisted view of how the world worked, and not this person she'd just met? The stranger spoke with conviction. She really believed what she said. It was enough to make the Venari question herself. It made her look into her heart, glancing at the darkness that touched her soul.
The words of her mentors came rushing in like a tsunami, drowning out those thoughts. Her introspection drowned in a sea of stubbornness, bringing back Noctis's earlier sneer. "You don't get it." The young woman growled. "This isn't any place for someone like you. The world is dark, it is cruel and the only way to fight it is with everything you have. You're just going to get yourself killed if you try this shit again, okay? So...Go home, hero. Take off that stupid outfit and go home before you die. There are better ways to help than trying to shove your stupid morals into a fight. Go home."
With those words said, Noctis pulled her scarf up higher on her face and started off at a walk toward a nearby alleyway. She didn't want to confront that idiot any longer. There was more of the city left for her to patrol.
Member
Emma
Captain Uni
xVampire3go
Byrd Man
shylarah
Ezekiel
Antlers
Memoria
Natty
Eddie Brock
