In whatever way you wish to introduce yourselves to the plot is acceptable, @Kidd, @RedXCross. I intentionally left it vague as is regarding the garage and the town itself so you may set yourselves up with where you both live and work, as well as some general concerns that were brought up in the character sheets. Speaking of those, feel free to migrate them.
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 6 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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6 yrs ago
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Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
6 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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7 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
7 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
7 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Most Recent Posts
As for myself with Brannor, @Hekazu, if that person undertakes any overtly hostile action, the arrow's going to be loosed. If they just watch, do not notice, or present themselves as not a threat, then obviously I will not have him take the shot.
The mountains of the land, wreathed in their seemingly ever present damp mist, peered high over the valley and city that laid nestled between them. It was these peaks that sheltered a strange focal point, one wherein light was never quite bright enough and day never seemingly long enough. Not for lack of either, but more that every day between the frequent and pouring rain, they existed as a boundary to the outside world and contained it from the restless, peering eyes. A surprise it would not be to anyone who expected those strange others to seek out a place like this, or rather that they merely existed here all along, but it mattered little which it truthfully was; this place, this darkly forested and rigorous terrain, concealed from all others deathly and grim secrets.
Here shadows of men existed, trapped by their own doing or that of others. The downturn had not been kind to this remote place far to the northwest, its once more densely populated and growing industry laid bare now. Those who had not escaped it found it ever more difficult now and with each passing year more and more people and businesses seemed to vanish. Entire swathes of the already grey, wet industry and its concrete now more hollow than ever. Crime flourished from these things, born of desperation and ever increasingly fewer means to enforce the law of the land, but in large part that there was so much open to it now. The peering eyes and resistances had fallen to the wayside, these troubles becoming just another piece in the greater puzzle and accepted as much.
The further north one drew toward the border, the more remote and desolate things became. Driving through these mountainous passes, one could find only the rare town of no more than a few hundred at best. Commerce and trade along these routes, once frequented by rolling convoys of trucks, had become more quiet than most any era those alive now could recall. These people however, did not envy those to their south - those of the sprawl. As while they knew life was more difficult, more problematic, their communities would persist with some semblance of consistency.
The west, beyond the mountains, laid the sea and with it some coastal gatherings that remained. Once, these fisheries and their fishermen, often plunged into the cold waters, but few ships stayed today; many having abandoned the profession. These ghost towns dot the coast, remnants of the earlier days when legality and industry were more favorable. Now? Now they stand as testament to how far the world has fallen...
It took wars and foreign powers conflicting to unsettle the global power, but really more than anything it was the darkness in the hearts of men - the greed and want crushed their economy and industry. As was proof in this city, the wooded area of Silverstone; its name having been inherited from prospectors countless years past. But even these shadowed souls paled in comparison to those of darker things yet that dwelled among them, hidden in plain sight. True fiends, true monsters, more than men call this place home as well. Not that they had no others, but that this situation of isolation and misery is easily exploited.
These things, these others, are not numerous but they can be varied.
Some feed on the lifeblood of their victims to grasp at what was once their own life, others wander restlessly without definitive purpose or reason to exist, cursed for eternity to feel a drive that they cannot answer and cannot find. Others yet are shells of their former selves, furiously grasping for any tie to humanity they can maintain. These terrible, terrible few falter often, evading their own destruction by sheer myth - by being legend; things of mockery and joke.
But they are very real.
A real enough threat that the surrounding land to the north of the city of Silverstone, in the town of Jennings, has come to witness in small part. No more than a thousand-five-hundred in its population, it was formerly one of the most stable regions in the state. Protected by its great granite mountains, surrounded by passes, filled with fresh water and lumber, it had few wants or worries short of harsh winters and winding roads. That has changed however, as a recent incursion of unusual attacks by the wild life have surged beyond any expectation.
There's no doubt its wolves, but there's no explanation as to why or even how.
Yet...
@RedXCross@Kidd
Here shadows of men existed, trapped by their own doing or that of others. The downturn had not been kind to this remote place far to the northwest, its once more densely populated and growing industry laid bare now. Those who had not escaped it found it ever more difficult now and with each passing year more and more people and businesses seemed to vanish. Entire swathes of the already grey, wet industry and its concrete now more hollow than ever. Crime flourished from these things, born of desperation and ever increasingly fewer means to enforce the law of the land, but in large part that there was so much open to it now. The peering eyes and resistances had fallen to the wayside, these troubles becoming just another piece in the greater puzzle and accepted as much.
The further north one drew toward the border, the more remote and desolate things became. Driving through these mountainous passes, one could find only the rare town of no more than a few hundred at best. Commerce and trade along these routes, once frequented by rolling convoys of trucks, had become more quiet than most any era those alive now could recall. These people however, did not envy those to their south - those of the sprawl. As while they knew life was more difficult, more problematic, their communities would persist with some semblance of consistency.
The west, beyond the mountains, laid the sea and with it some coastal gatherings that remained. Once, these fisheries and their fishermen, often plunged into the cold waters, but few ships stayed today; many having abandoned the profession. These ghost towns dot the coast, remnants of the earlier days when legality and industry were more favorable. Now? Now they stand as testament to how far the world has fallen...
It took wars and foreign powers conflicting to unsettle the global power, but really more than anything it was the darkness in the hearts of men - the greed and want crushed their economy and industry. As was proof in this city, the wooded area of Silverstone; its name having been inherited from prospectors countless years past. But even these shadowed souls paled in comparison to those of darker things yet that dwelled among them, hidden in plain sight. True fiends, true monsters, more than men call this place home as well. Not that they had no others, but that this situation of isolation and misery is easily exploited.
These things, these others, are not numerous but they can be varied.
Some feed on the lifeblood of their victims to grasp at what was once their own life, others wander restlessly without definitive purpose or reason to exist, cursed for eternity to feel a drive that they cannot answer and cannot find. Others yet are shells of their former selves, furiously grasping for any tie to humanity they can maintain. These terrible, terrible few falter often, evading their own destruction by sheer myth - by being legend; things of mockery and joke.
But they are very real.
A real enough threat that the surrounding land to the north of the city of Silverstone, in the town of Jennings, has come to witness in small part. No more than a thousand-five-hundred in its population, it was formerly one of the most stable regions in the state. Protected by its great granite mountains, surrounded by passes, filled with fresh water and lumber, it had few wants or worries short of harsh winters and winding roads. That has changed however, as a recent incursion of unusual attacks by the wild life have surged beyond any expectation.
There's no doubt its wolves, but there's no explanation as to why or even how.
Yet...
@RedXCross@Kidd
While I see nothing actually wrong with that idea, @Lucidnonsense, I would ask you further elaborate and incorporate it into the current concept of "antiheroes and unfortunate souls fighting against the overwhelming dark".
This is good, @Phoenix. We are in need of another member.
Thus far, the current idea is that Chris' car has broken down on him during his travels, getting him to interact and hold some conversation prior with Piper. Is that correct? He could be coming to collect his car, inviting another interaction - about the aforementioned injuries - or some other mechanism such as having his card declined or the like? Something to credibly bind the two together before I put my pieces into motion; they're not going anywhere and can be easily reforged, whereas your characters I would rather not alter or bend.
@Kidd, @RedXCross, provided you are still interested and have settled on that notion, we may begin this weekend. While just the three of us, I can assure you we will not be so lonely.
Scowling, her attention did narrow as she witnessed the woman pierce her own hand and cut a thin line across it surface. As soon as it welled with blood, the figure's eyes expressing her doubt about whatever she was to perform, it became clear that it had indeed succeeded. This however did nothing to please the armored silhouette who kept her distance from both door and witch, her tattered robe and scuffed armor rustling slightly; almost speaking volumes to the irritation that filled the savage soul's heart. It was a vile thing what she had witnessed - what the old hunter could see before her - the woman using blood to fuel magic. Everything within the ranger's spirit, the very essence of her own enchanted blood, simmered with disgust and contained rage.
The usually refined Sakaala's lip quivered slightly, still watching the great gate before them within the cave of tinted metal ores, but more than anything focusing upon Isabeau.
Everything about this ordeal made the sorcerous warrior regret allowing the assassin before her, palm still red with her own blood, to live let alone bring them all here as they were. Anyone, she truly meant it at heart, anyone who dared toy in the magic of blood was truly uninitiated. It served nothing but to ensure she distrusted them wholly; only mortals and more twisted things ever dared make such sacrifices. Blood was power, pure at that, and many more "monstrous" things relied upon that very gift in their flesh. She herself did and to see the way these creatures spread it across some golden metal figure, sacrificing a part of their very essence, drove her to anger.
It was pure arrogance.
"Unsurprising." She growled, her voice low as she came to watch the path before them take shape.
Her strong arm's fingers unfurled from their clenching shape, the elder of the two knights taking stride before her. She would take up the rear guard, for if anyone was going to stand a chance to fend off a mage in surprise, it was another one and a sorcerer at that; someone whose magic was unpredictable, strange and internal. She could only hope the others were so wary as to delve into this den as she was, but she voiced not this concern.
She knew they were likely to be observed now if they were not already and no amount of directing or informing would change that; if trickery were to come to fall on them, there was to be little surprise. These traits, these truths really, filled the aged leonine figure with calm again - the need to focus and to be serene. Hatred was what had killed her people; she would never become that.
@ArenaSnow@Belwicket@IcePezz@Jon Y@The Fated Fallen@vietmyke@Zero Hex
The usually refined Sakaala's lip quivered slightly, still watching the great gate before them within the cave of tinted metal ores, but more than anything focusing upon Isabeau.
Everything about this ordeal made the sorcerous warrior regret allowing the assassin before her, palm still red with her own blood, to live let alone bring them all here as they were. Anyone, she truly meant it at heart, anyone who dared toy in the magic of blood was truly uninitiated. It served nothing but to ensure she distrusted them wholly; only mortals and more twisted things ever dared make such sacrifices. Blood was power, pure at that, and many more "monstrous" things relied upon that very gift in their flesh. She herself did and to see the way these creatures spread it across some golden metal figure, sacrificing a part of their very essence, drove her to anger.
It was pure arrogance.
"Unsurprising." She growled, her voice low as she came to watch the path before them take shape.
Her strong arm's fingers unfurled from their clenching shape, the elder of the two knights taking stride before her. She would take up the rear guard, for if anyone was going to stand a chance to fend off a mage in surprise, it was another one and a sorcerer at that; someone whose magic was unpredictable, strange and internal. She could only hope the others were so wary as to delve into this den as she was, but she voiced not this concern.
She knew they were likely to be observed now if they were not already and no amount of directing or informing would change that; if trickery were to come to fall on them, there was to be little surprise. These traits, these truths really, filled the aged leonine figure with calm again - the need to focus and to be serene. Hatred was what had killed her people; she would never become that.
@ArenaSnow@Belwicket@IcePezz@Jon Y@The Fated Fallen@vietmyke@Zero Hex
Keeping watch on the figure who rifled through the fallen, their presence struck the aspiring knight of the wild world as little more than a scavenger - picking at the bones like any other hungry scrounger. A part of him felt it in ill taste, but what good would these things be now to those already dead? Lest a powerful holy man raised them from the dead and back to the world of the living once more they were unlikely to have need of them. This however, did nothing to keep Brannor from fixing the target within his sights; if he needed to let the shaft fly and its deathly point strike, he was not going to allow it to fail. His fingers flexed gently upon the bow and the arrow drew back ever slightly further.
This place, this city, it all felt of ambush's ilk. There was nowhere to hide, to run, to withdraw to that was truly safe. The smoke and ash concealed movement but these monsters seemed everywhere. They had the advantage of numbers but, owing to the Silver Lady's favor he understood it, lacked the skill and ferocity the survivors and the advancing reclaimers had. They might have won the battle for these winding, clustered streets, but the real war was far from over.
Cities do not just find themselves razed and their populace gathered for the presumed slaughter without the figures of the land taking notice. There would be others, soon, to fight these fiends - Brannor could feel that in his heart, beneath the armor of his chest.
But for now, he set his mark on the potential quarry before him and was ready as ever to fight more powerfully than these creatures could dare.
@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher@Ryonara
This place, this city, it all felt of ambush's ilk. There was nowhere to hide, to run, to withdraw to that was truly safe. The smoke and ash concealed movement but these monsters seemed everywhere. They had the advantage of numbers but, owing to the Silver Lady's favor he understood it, lacked the skill and ferocity the survivors and the advancing reclaimers had. They might have won the battle for these winding, clustered streets, but the real war was far from over.
Cities do not just find themselves razed and their populace gathered for the presumed slaughter without the figures of the land taking notice. There would be others, soon, to fight these fiends - Brannor could feel that in his heart, beneath the armor of his chest.
But for now, he set his mark on the potential quarry before him and was ready as ever to fight more powerfully than these creatures could dare.
@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher@Ryonara
You can expect me to post tomorrow evening as I am available then.
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