The Harbinger of Ferocity

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm

Song was not the most intelligent of men, wise for his age maybe, but uninitiated to the deeper mysteries of life and the way certainly. Yet one thing was clear, that the sudden crash of the low flying aircraft was anything but natural. Its nose dipped and suddenly the entire airframe shuddered as it pivoted into an uncontrolled spin, ending in a hard stop against the ground with a globe of flame erupting from it. Setting the binoculars down for a moment, thinking hastily, Song gave the phone in the shack a stare. He could call the police, they would know soon enough as it were, but they could be told sooner. But what good would that do?

Thinking against it, the man snapped the binoculars up again until the shadows of the ground swept and moved, joined by a third which sprinted with unchecked resolve toward the others; the fight breaking out convinced Song enough was enough. Setting the binoculars down upon the window's ledge again, he in one swift motion unlatched the pane at the bottom, and with a forward roll as the window flew up and open, leapt out and allowed the momentum to carry him to his feet. A series of flashes and loud echoes from the struggle ahead came through the night as a burst of gunfire tore into the air.

Sprinting as he was, Song's breathing barely rose no matter how much speed his feet carried in building momentum, and his stability waned none as he reached down and snatched a small stone, no larger than a fist, from the grass. The blades waving as his hands brushed their stalks, there was a slight moment of delay - a serenity and calm - that fell over the white jacketed interloper; gathering himself in one breath, he exhaled the next and imparted himself upon the stone just as it left his finger tips and skirted across the ground at furious speed. It bounced, skipped once, and evened out, not at all breaking its surreal pace. A missile of qi infused stone, surely over one-hundred miles per hour, shot right for the ankles of the all too familiar masked man.

Song didn't know who the gunman was, but he probably wasn't any worse than the two he knew for certain now to be the "bad men", and if all went well, the attacker would either vanish out of harm's way - the Golden Tiger unsure if it was a reactive thing the stranger did - or suddenly have a very painful, crippling blow distract him and slow him down; maybe even trip him. That should afford Song to pick up speed and enter the brawl himself, especially as he continued to close the gap.

@Metronome

Post a random fact about yourself.

Itdoes not matter what you do or say, someone will hate you for it. Other's may be totally enthralled by the words dripping from your lips, but some will hate you, because haters can't help but hate.

I love cats, btw!

@Gunther

That was always my experience instructing; some are there because they are obligated to, some hate everything you have to say because they see you as the one retaining them, and then others - perhaps a two, maybe three - out of a class are active engaged in learning everything. Surprisingly enough, my plethora of information tended to be a source of amusement. Each day came with a cat fact and a few minutes dedicated to just discussing that. That seemed to be all of the trainees' favorite part.

Post a random fact about yourself.

There are times I consider returning to the educational system to try to rectify things I saw wrong in it and hopefully impart some sort of actual wisdom, discipline, or knowledge in students and with expertise as an instructor. I then remind myself I sacrificed years of my life to everyone else to pursue the one thing I love and have only just now been afforded the opportunity to go down that road untraveled. After all, who wouldn't want to work with felines rather than people? At least you know why they are ornery.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

Since I have Brannor awaiting who ever will come to meet him and Torus for their escape, or just the druid leading on, there is still little more I can do. At this point since we have hit nightfall, now is the time to put whatever plan there is into action and finally, at last, see ourselves out of this camp. Hopefully, and I do say that with purpose, with the monk we were looking for in tow. I would rather not go on another rescue mission.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

Just before the onset of darkness, the old magician played his hand by appearing once more in the shape of a cat, whose hoarse cries and subtle meows eventually coaxed the ferine one to pay heed to the bird above once more; it confirmed what was suspect in the man's mind, that no animal here would dare to or about him without some sort of purpose. The entire camp was functional, utterly indifferent to any elements of the world outside or within it. So much so that they seemed to be, like the captives themselves, tools to an end. No greater purpose, no larger thought attributed. This dragon's cult was not only pathetic, it was petty.

Brannor, left largely to himself owing to his reputation or the wariness of the captors themselves, put himself on the fringes of the tent. One knee drawn in to rest an arm, the other outstretched, he awaited the time to strike. He counted only their torches and lanterns for his amusement rather than any practical ends, watching the fire they so chose to shield themselves with; a false ward if anything as they had let the danger stalk directly into their camp and take up roost in it. All that remained was the escape now, whenever that was to come, but the hunter knew to wait, to afford the others their needed time.

All that concerned him now was the time it would take, for each passing minute once they were to begin would make the likelihood of success all the more weak and this "Leosin" was somewhere other than here among the slave camp. Whenever and whatever they chose to do, it would need be decisive and soon.

Post a random fact about yourself.

Until the past few years, I did exclusive science fiction roleplaying, but I abandoned the genre when it became increasingly obsessive over being science fiction. It became ever more a chore to explain details of characters, stories, locations, abilities, among others, to the point the community I was aware of was moving steadily and deeply into the "Basically science and fact, just not there yet." genre of science fiction. I had eschewed and scorned fantasy because, contrarily, nothing meant anything to the majority of players in that other side of the community and none had ever established any consistency to how or why things did, as well as typically having less quality players, more often because they were young or worse were powergaming.

No less, that transition period came just as supernatural and fantasy media again became massively mainstream and popular among the younger teenage demographic and while that particular event left me embittered for a while, it never quite killed me interest in writing and formulating things I considered "better". Ultimately all it did was force myself to create works that skirted what I saw as flaws or failures and inspire me to improve. Sadly, most my former compatriots chose to fold or tuck themselves into their niches.

Your previous life.

You were a majestic sabertooth tiger, the last of your kind. Nobody expected it when a skinny naked neanderthal somehow managed to throw a rock at your head that struck you just the wrong way, resulting in thirty years of mental deficiency. You fell in glorious combat with a horny deer.

I can say now with some certainty that @ArenaSnow possesses some level of fortune telling aptitude.

Revenge of the Dragon

The fact these ones were so eager to disband spoke volumes to the old nobleman that they might be a tad... green. Green was a good word for it, as dealing in the politics they were content to see themselves headlong into were not friendly, in the sense that it was quite easy to raise not only suspicion, but adversaries down the line. Outsiders poking and prodding outside of their station no less, it could only leave the knight to sigh. Before he could protest, they seemingly marched off, leaving him to a shake of his head.

"They will learn one day. Political battles are not like the ones that can be fought with a sword." He remarked, adjusting his girdle and relinquishing the rest he had upon the hilt of his sword, "It tends to be of best interest to be formal and proper." Lord Beaduric added after, looking over then to Durwith.

"Let us see to meeting with the guard, sooner than later; I haven't high hopes about them not becoming immediately wary of our doings by this now."

@rush99999

Post a random fact about yourself.

My written roleplay experience on instant messengers and forums extends back to the earliest creative works I had actually had. It has consistently been one of my few lifelong hobbies and is one of the few, rare elements that has remained with me, even where memory has in part failed. It is pretty novel to have been able to see all of the evolution in the genre as I know it with times and even reflect on some of the now famous nostalgia such as early messenger systems or even using emails to draft and send posts, replies, or plot.

Post a random fact about yourself.

People attempt to characterize me as a cynic and misanthrope, as though those are bad qualities to acquire and retain. Everyone has their mechanisms for dealing with the incompetence of people, after all. I cannot say mine have ever disappointed me in the slightest, however. To date, I cannot note any time or period where being wary or distrustful of people has done more harm than good. After all, one is more likely to be pleasantly surprised when interaction or consequence goes well for once.