The man extends both of his arms to his sides, as a wave of power floods through the world. Every rune, every circle of power, every powerful symbol activates itself, the combined life force of all these creatures seeming to transform into a massive magical amplifier. While none of the creatures possessed magic of their own, they offered their combined soular force, and the sudden magical pressure was immense. Even a weak mage would be a frightful force granted such an environment, but this man was by no means weak, his aura shining with the power of death, and strangely, syncing with that of life. The shades of the world seem to fade, their souls shaken. "The process of death and reincarnation is an endless cycle, life and death in eternal broken balance. And yet here, trapped souls remain, retaining their form. However, is it not infinitely beautiful, the reforming and channeling of life into death, and death into life? The forming of our very existence from the body and mind of the eternal creator. Is it not the purest of desires to break this cycle, and to create a world of pure life and death?"
A wave of power shakes the world, as a staff manifests in the man's hand, tipped with a skull with rubies for eyes, both of which seem to glow profusely. Large black swan wings seem to extend from his back, black as the darkest night, and in them the two see both the beginning and the end of their existence. Soular power echoes around him, as he utters a word that cannot be spoken. A word of power in a language no mortal tongue could utter, the language in which the barest truths of the multiverse are described, which holds the power to shape reality itself. The Primal Tongue. And as his voice echoes, screams echo with it, as thousands of lost souls are torn to pieces, their souls ripped apart, made one with the soular stream of energy, seemingly returned to their base elements. Leeroy and Honey (yeah, I know who they are) are forced to the ground, as their very own souls are tattered and torn, life energy drawn from them in this massive destructive ritual.
At the end of it all, as vision returns to both of the combatants, the world is empty. They float in a void, with no meaning or place. The Realm of the Fallen has been completely disconnected from the stream of life, and not even the Stream of Souls, from which all life originated, flowed through this location. No new souls could be formed here, and no soular energy would move through here. It was as if the very stream of life, which is supposed to be all-permeating, has been diverted to ignore this location, to some unspeakable and mysterious end. The air feels dead, no, not dead. Empty. Like the void. And both Honey and Leeroy can sense that this dimension, which was formed from the energy of the Soular Stream, was slowly collapsing into the Void, and that it would be a bad idea to stay here when it did.
Information from thousands of worlds filtered through her mind, processed by a biological computer created for exactly such a task. Speaking was inefficient, and her judgement was directed straight through her mind. It was tiring, going through all this worthless garbage, all those lower lifeforms that thought they were something special, just because they'd evolved from a self-replicating protein. The sheer quantity of beings in this multiverse was staggering, and any lesser mind might have given up any attempts to process all those thoughts at the same point. However, even the power of this specialised thought engine was buckling at the task, esspecially when it was introduced to species with great individual mutation factors, causing many beings toi become unique in and of themself, requiring individual analysis. It was a massive pain, and thus, the girl thought, she could hardly be blamed for missing the actual interesting tidbits every now and then.
Moments after it had been destroyed, a report about a lifeform with mysterious and ever-changing biological functions were brought to her attention. The one interesting creature in ages, and she'd let the Cleaners loose on it. Luckily, this mysterious lifeform had regenerated the damage dealt to it. Not only that, but it was moving rapidly towards a portal, as if it WANTED to be captured. It was quite an impressive display of stupidity, but one must always take into account that even with such unique genetics it did not indicate an advanced thought process, and preparations were soon made. The entirety of the Genesis Devourer was built to host the captured beings, and at the girl's whims, the portal shifted location, as well as the entirety of the creature reforming itself to suit her needs. Now she would finally be able to do something INTERESTING! It was about time, after all.
At the other side of the portal, Mithias finds himself in a massive room, the walls composed of a black metal-like material. The same material as the pod which he still held, the large leaf-like walls flopping to the ground even as the claw-like appendages reached for a ground they were no longer attached to. However, Mithias' unique genetics immediately detected that this area was completely and utterly stuffed with a variety of microorganisms, although, unlike the ones before, they weren't damaging you. However, there was still the issue that Mithias was in a room with no visible door, and that these microorganisms might have a variety of purposes he was unaware of. While no damage was being dealt, each breath was a fresh invasion, and the knowledge that the very air could turn lethal gave a distinct feeling of vulnerability. It was an attack that was nearly impossible to defend against, especially with limited knowledge on the workings of these microorganisms.
thewizardguy
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Dumbgeon Master
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- thewizardguy 12 yrs ago
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Bio
Just a random guy, doing random things.
Main RP: Hell's Coffee Lounge
Current RPs change often enough that it's too much effort keeping a list of them updated.
Most Recent Posts
BingTheWing said
Sequels to Creation: Play God everywhere.Maybe.
I honestly don't know what Creation: Play God is, but hey, whatevs.
ChibiYuki said
I'll be interested to join, this seems interesting.
Glad to hear it. Based on the fact that at least some people are interested, I'll set up the OOC.
Von said
I'm interested. These incomprehensible entities that you describe remind me a lot of the forces of Chaos from the Warhammer 40k universe.
The Chaos Gods in the Warhammer universe are, according to the lore, formed from the thoughts and nightmares of all sentient beings, brought into the warp and formed into reality by the advent of psykers. I think a more accurate comparison would be the Ctan Gods, who came into existence during the Big Bang, and thus existed LONG before the Chaos Gods did.
Gabriel Evings said
as a huge dark souls/monster hunter/ rougelike fan I accept your challenge
Oooh, Dark Souls? A bit of a masochist then, are you?
Wraithblade6 said
I'll play, but if I die, I want to re-roll a new toon.
Toon? I assume you mean a character. However, if I let you infinitely re-roll characters, then the party can never be wiped out. I might let you make a new character, depending on the point the story is in, but it's not a guarantee.
Since before man ever walked on this Earth, there have been other beings. Creatures that were not natural, not in the sense applied to creatures of this Earth. Creatures born from the energy of pure creation, who travelled throughout all of creation. They cross the barriers between dimensions with ease, creating and destroying according to infathomable minds, Gods capable of acts beyond mortal comprehension, unquestioned lords of all creation. And then there are lessser beings, those that were formed from the energy of destruction, those that were formed from background energy. Demons and monsters, some of them quite literally born from the nightmares of mankind, untold races from untold worlds and dimensions, creatures both greater and lesser than man in many aspects. These creatures, spirits, demons, monsters, Gods, angels, they have been given many names throughout human history. However, there have always been those who fight them.
Many beings prey upon mankind, devouring flesh, mind or soul. They see us as nothing but prey, or perhaps as toys. Some draw a twisted pleasure just from causing fear, pain, or even death. Those plagues of creatures that can only be described as evil. From the Chinese Samurai, to the European Saints, to the ancient Shamans. Always heroes and wizards have stood between man and the inhuman, in every time and place, using whatever means were available. Even up into the modern age, where man has grown ignorant of the demonic presence around them, groups have formed in every country, of every religion and race. Those who have both the motive and the means to do what nobody else can do, and to fight for humanity's place on the top of the food chain.
And yet, creatures of immense power even now walk the interdimensional roads, looking for worlds to devour. Creatures capable of wiping entire cities from the map, ripping open the very fabric of reality. Predators from both within and without rend our lives naught. Presences that exist only in the corner of your eyes, living nightmares that steal your will to live, and watch as you kill yourself. Beings beyond all human comprehension seek our utter annihilation, and we are all that stands in between them and us. Heroes among humanity, those who put their lives and their souls on the line. Many are called to battle, many fight, and few survive. There are those who fall to the darkness, who fall into temptation and become nothing better than the very things they hunt. And there are those who lose their bodies, ripped apart under the hordes of brutal beast with nothing better to do than to turn your insides into your outsides. Many lose their minds, turned into gibbering wrecks, unable to tell the difference between reality and nightmare, drawing those very same nightmares into our realms of reality. And then there are those chosen few who live, who do whatever it takes. Who make pacts with demons, throw away body, mind and soul, to fight this impending threat. Those few, are the true heroes.
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This is more about the style than the setting. The setting is a rather typical supernatural urban fantasy world, where the characters are encouraged to use a variety of weapons and magics to turn their character into a monster hunting machine. Fairly typical, but it's in a specific style of GMing and storytelling that I'm hoping this roleplay can stand out from the crowd.
This roleplay will be done in a brutal fashion. The BG in the title means Brutal Games, which is a series of roleplays I used to do. The theme was that any character could die or be maimed. I will set a variety of challenges and objectives with specific solutions, and often multiple ways of solving them. However, none of these objectives will change in difficulty or description during an encounter from their original creation in my mind, meaning that if your character is in trouble, I will not save you from it by giving you a bone. Furthermore, I will not hesitate to kill off or maim any of tour characters if they make any sort of mistake, and injuries inflicted may have permanent effects. Don't be surprised if your character loses an eye, or an arm, or his/her mind. As such, it's entirely possible for everyone to be slaughtered, and thus it's possible for this story to have a bad end, where the heroes lose.
Another quirk of this particular style of GMing is that this story, unlike many of the others in roleplays nowadays, has a specific end. There are many ways to get to it, and many different ways it can end, but it has a definite ending to it. Once that is reached, the story is complete. Hopefully, we'll be able to reach that point.
Any player whom's character dies will be allowed to play an NPC, or become co-GM, so they still have a part in the game.
Anyone interested?
Many beings prey upon mankind, devouring flesh, mind or soul. They see us as nothing but prey, or perhaps as toys. Some draw a twisted pleasure just from causing fear, pain, or even death. Those plagues of creatures that can only be described as evil. From the Chinese Samurai, to the European Saints, to the ancient Shamans. Always heroes and wizards have stood between man and the inhuman, in every time and place, using whatever means were available. Even up into the modern age, where man has grown ignorant of the demonic presence around them, groups have formed in every country, of every religion and race. Those who have both the motive and the means to do what nobody else can do, and to fight for humanity's place on the top of the food chain.
And yet, creatures of immense power even now walk the interdimensional roads, looking for worlds to devour. Creatures capable of wiping entire cities from the map, ripping open the very fabric of reality. Predators from both within and without rend our lives naught. Presences that exist only in the corner of your eyes, living nightmares that steal your will to live, and watch as you kill yourself. Beings beyond all human comprehension seek our utter annihilation, and we are all that stands in between them and us. Heroes among humanity, those who put their lives and their souls on the line. Many are called to battle, many fight, and few survive. There are those who fall to the darkness, who fall into temptation and become nothing better than the very things they hunt. And there are those who lose their bodies, ripped apart under the hordes of brutal beast with nothing better to do than to turn your insides into your outsides. Many lose their minds, turned into gibbering wrecks, unable to tell the difference between reality and nightmare, drawing those very same nightmares into our realms of reality. And then there are those chosen few who live, who do whatever it takes. Who make pacts with demons, throw away body, mind and soul, to fight this impending threat. Those few, are the true heroes.
---------------------------------------
This is more about the style than the setting. The setting is a rather typical supernatural urban fantasy world, where the characters are encouraged to use a variety of weapons and magics to turn their character into a monster hunting machine. Fairly typical, but it's in a specific style of GMing and storytelling that I'm hoping this roleplay can stand out from the crowd.
This roleplay will be done in a brutal fashion. The BG in the title means Brutal Games, which is a series of roleplays I used to do. The theme was that any character could die or be maimed. I will set a variety of challenges and objectives with specific solutions, and often multiple ways of solving them. However, none of these objectives will change in difficulty or description during an encounter from their original creation in my mind, meaning that if your character is in trouble, I will not save you from it by giving you a bone. Furthermore, I will not hesitate to kill off or maim any of tour characters if they make any sort of mistake, and injuries inflicted may have permanent effects. Don't be surprised if your character loses an eye, or an arm, or his/her mind. As such, it's entirely possible for everyone to be slaughtered, and thus it's possible for this story to have a bad end, where the heroes lose.
Another quirk of this particular style of GMing is that this story, unlike many of the others in roleplays nowadays, has a specific end. There are many ways to get to it, and many different ways it can end, but it has a definite ending to it. Once that is reached, the story is complete. Hopefully, we'll be able to reach that point.
Any player whom's character dies will be allowed to play an NPC, or become co-GM, so they still have a part in the game.
Anyone interested?
Teoinsanity said
So am I accepted?
Yep! Don't worry about it. Feel free to post into any of the stories going on at this point. Right now, I'm setting up a Multiversal Threat, so that should be easy to jump into.
Glad to hear it.
A massive tentacle-like appendage extends into the realm. It's skin is black and hard, and yet seems oddly flexible. A single plate which molds and changes it's shape, massive pores opening in it seeming at random to reveal a large structure within it. From these pores drop the strange pods, but these are different. They look like seeds, a complete black shell, with a group of clawed limbs at the top, the long, spiked fingers grabbing the bottom edge of the pod. As they land, the seed seems to attach itself to the ground, the spiked limbs latching onto the ground. The seed opens up sideways, like a flower, long leaf-like shapes turning into a flower on the floor, even as large clouds of micro-organisms are released. Even in this environment, with no air to speak of, they seem to move around, and the life force shared among them instantly disturbs the balance in this world that was meant for the dead.
These microorganisms are burned and torn apart, and yet the energy seems to hardly bother them. Immense pressure and heat seem to merely bother them, nearly indestructible as they float among the colliding energies. The tentacle itself, high above, is far outside the sphere's influence, more pods being spread around the realm, it's inhabitants, all of whom have already died, completely unaffected by these creatures. It seems, for the moment, at least, as if this creature has no way of harming the souls of the fallen, meant only to destroy the living. However, even as life spreads through it, the organisms begin to organize strangely. Even visible to the human eye, some begin reflecting light, as patterns seemed to form in the sky. Manifesting, and channeled through the cooperation of these massive floods of beings, individually far too small to be seen by the human eye. Massive symbols of power, as magic circles of untold size appear on the ground and the sky. Symbols and runes, both known and unknown, from styles of magic all around the multiverse, as the entirety of the realm of the dead becomes one massive spell channeling device. Even the weakest of mages, handed such great equipment, could perform great feats.
However, the one thing that was missing was the spark of magic to activate the symbols. Threatening as the symbols are, they do nothing unless a magically skilled individual were to use them. And then, a man walks in through a portal, cloaked in magical power. He wears a pare of pointed black shades over a pale face. He seemed to drink in the aura of death. Each hand was pale and white, tipped with delicate claws, wrapped in bandages covered in runes. His lips were black, and he wore a medallion bearing the semblance of a pair of wings on a skull, a ruby in the skull's mouth. His trench coat reaches the ground, and seems almost to sink into it, strangely moving as if it had a life of it's own. The man smiles, revealing pointed teeth, and as he speaks two voices can be heard, strangely overlapping. "This world is a part of the division between life and death, a curse upon the name of the eternal creator and preserver of a broken balance. Those who dwell within it are torn into the chains of death, not granted eternal life, within which is encompassed an infinite existence. What foolishness."
These microorganisms are burned and torn apart, and yet the energy seems to hardly bother them. Immense pressure and heat seem to merely bother them, nearly indestructible as they float among the colliding energies. The tentacle itself, high above, is far outside the sphere's influence, more pods being spread around the realm, it's inhabitants, all of whom have already died, completely unaffected by these creatures. It seems, for the moment, at least, as if this creature has no way of harming the souls of the fallen, meant only to destroy the living. However, even as life spreads through it, the organisms begin to organize strangely. Even visible to the human eye, some begin reflecting light, as patterns seemed to form in the sky. Manifesting, and channeled through the cooperation of these massive floods of beings, individually far too small to be seen by the human eye. Massive symbols of power, as magic circles of untold size appear on the ground and the sky. Symbols and runes, both known and unknown, from styles of magic all around the multiverse, as the entirety of the realm of the dead becomes one massive spell channeling device. Even the weakest of mages, handed such great equipment, could perform great feats.
However, the one thing that was missing was the spark of magic to activate the symbols. Threatening as the symbols are, they do nothing unless a magically skilled individual were to use them. And then, a man walks in through a portal, cloaked in magical power. He wears a pare of pointed black shades over a pale face. He seemed to drink in the aura of death. Each hand was pale and white, tipped with delicate claws, wrapped in bandages covered in runes. His lips were black, and he wore a medallion bearing the semblance of a pair of wings on a skull, a ruby in the skull's mouth. His trench coat reaches the ground, and seems almost to sink into it, strangely moving as if it had a life of it's own. The man smiles, revealing pointed teeth, and as he speaks two voices can be heard, strangely overlapping. "This world is a part of the division between life and death, a curse upon the name of the eternal creator and preserver of a broken balance. Those who dwell within it are torn into the chains of death, not granted eternal life, within which is encompassed an infinite existence. What foolishness."
The lines of soldiers fell, one by one. The giant Broding walked through their lines, as the only two opponents who could match him were engaged in a duel of their own. The white claws of Dragonclaw ripped through steel like it was mere crude wood, and no line of defense held him. And through the hole he tore came a constant stream of attackers, as the small group of soldiers was ripped apart from the inside. They had been able to resist for as long as they had only because of their excellent training, but with their leader exhausted and their troops outnumbered, it had only been a matter of time. Broding had only sped up the process of defeat by marching in himself, but he wished for this to end as soon as possible.
Lord Polvark himself was surrounded by a group of his elite guard, highly trained men who would protect him from any threat. As the first charged forward, Dragonclaw came from below. He blocked, moving the bone blade to the side, and yet the other end of the double-bladed staff had already come around from the side, it's force only increased. It hit his shield and knocked him sideways, disrupting the charge, even as the second man came in. A spear plunged forward, but Broding simply caught it in his hand, pulling the man forward. It was only a sword swipe from the side, launched by the first of the elite guards, that saved the spearman's life.
Forced to abort his attack on the spear wielder, Broding noticed a third man running for his back, as he tried to surround him. If he did, even Broding didn't know if he could survive the encounter, so instead he turned around the spear wielder, and let Dragonclaw sing. The spear was severed, and soon after so was the man's life. However, he was now flanked by a swordsman on one side, and an axewielder on the other. Instead of protecting Lord Polvark, they had honed in on Broding in order to finish him off, and while another might have used this chance to finish off the royal, Broding knew that doing so would invite a coordinated strike from both warriors, which would be very likely to end his own life. Instead, he rushed to swordsman, who only barely deflected Dragonclaw. However, that had not been the true attack.
Grabbing the poor man's shield even while parrying sword blows with Dragonclaw, Broding twisted around. He used the swordsman's form as a shield, preventing the axeman's next strike, and the force of the turn had undoubtedly broken the shield arm. Then, dropping Dragonclaw, Broding took a hold of the sword. Blood seeped onto the ground, but it had not been in mid strike, and the blade held insufficient momentum to deal any real damage. Sliding his hand along the blade, Broding held the swordsman's wrist on both arms, preventing any kind of strike, even while maneauvering himself to make the axeman's strikes impossible. For just a moment, Guntra looked into his opponent's eyes, and instead of fear, he saw resolve to fight till the bitter end. Great, inhuman muscles coiled, and with a single powerful pull, both of the man's armored arms were ripped from his body. Like a fish on land, the torso fell down in a pool of his own blood, twitching and screaming.
This left Broding with a gash in his side, facing the axe wielder bare handed. This was a dangerous position, as his opponent was quite skilled, but Guntra held the knowledge and skill of every warrior whom's heart he had devoured. Taking a step forward, he invited attack, feinting with his left hand. His oppoent didn't take the bait however, but instead struck low, trying to take down Broding's legs. A quick step back dodged the strike, but the axe wielder was back in form before Broding could launch an attack of his own. Smiling, Broding realized he was facing the most skilled of the three men.
Charging forward, the ebony giant dropped all forms of defense. Realizing this opportunity, as well as the danger rushing towards him, the axe user dropped his shield, realizing what good it had done his friend, and grabbed the axe with two hands. Pain bit deeply as Broding's fist found the man's chest, but even as this happened, the man got as close as he would ever get. Putting all his strength behind it, he struck for Broding's head, the axe striking the giant's skull just before the wielder was launched across the room with a defining crack.
In the corner, the man with the axe chuckled, as blood dripped down from Broding's face. it wasn't a fatal wound, but it had been a good hit. Broding smiled, as he felt the damage to his skull. Walking towards the man, he uttered the same phrase that he had uttered before, given to a defeated, yet worthy, opponent. "Gul Amun". With that, he reached down, and took the man's armor. Flexing his hand backwards, his fingers forming a strange vise, an almost mystical energy could be felt as a small prayer was offered to the many Gods of the Gung. Broding's large, muscled arm shot forwards in a move similar to the striking of a snake, and the fingers dug deep into the man's skin, bone and flesh being pushed aside. Grabbing onto the heart, Broding ripped it from his opponent, and devoured it in a single bite. He could feel it sliding down his throat, the opponent's soul trapped within it. He could see the memories of this fallen opponent, his motives for fighting. The flames of courage that had burned in his heart became one with the flames of Amun, and Broding's own flames.
Broding looked up from his bloody feast. Next up, he would kill Lord Polvark himself. This would end the battle for the keep, and the small group of barbarians that had entered it before the gates had closed, 500 at most, would have taken the keep. The castle would be completely theirs, and despite the forces that Broding knew had amassed outside of it's walls, they would hold it. He himself had seen the hell caused by these walls to his people, he would love to see them used against his opponents.
Lord Polvark himself was surrounded by a group of his elite guard, highly trained men who would protect him from any threat. As the first charged forward, Dragonclaw came from below. He blocked, moving the bone blade to the side, and yet the other end of the double-bladed staff had already come around from the side, it's force only increased. It hit his shield and knocked him sideways, disrupting the charge, even as the second man came in. A spear plunged forward, but Broding simply caught it in his hand, pulling the man forward. It was only a sword swipe from the side, launched by the first of the elite guards, that saved the spearman's life.
Forced to abort his attack on the spear wielder, Broding noticed a third man running for his back, as he tried to surround him. If he did, even Broding didn't know if he could survive the encounter, so instead he turned around the spear wielder, and let Dragonclaw sing. The spear was severed, and soon after so was the man's life. However, he was now flanked by a swordsman on one side, and an axewielder on the other. Instead of protecting Lord Polvark, they had honed in on Broding in order to finish him off, and while another might have used this chance to finish off the royal, Broding knew that doing so would invite a coordinated strike from both warriors, which would be very likely to end his own life. Instead, he rushed to swordsman, who only barely deflected Dragonclaw. However, that had not been the true attack.
Grabbing the poor man's shield even while parrying sword blows with Dragonclaw, Broding twisted around. He used the swordsman's form as a shield, preventing the axeman's next strike, and the force of the turn had undoubtedly broken the shield arm. Then, dropping Dragonclaw, Broding took a hold of the sword. Blood seeped onto the ground, but it had not been in mid strike, and the blade held insufficient momentum to deal any real damage. Sliding his hand along the blade, Broding held the swordsman's wrist on both arms, preventing any kind of strike, even while maneauvering himself to make the axeman's strikes impossible. For just a moment, Guntra looked into his opponent's eyes, and instead of fear, he saw resolve to fight till the bitter end. Great, inhuman muscles coiled, and with a single powerful pull, both of the man's armored arms were ripped from his body. Like a fish on land, the torso fell down in a pool of his own blood, twitching and screaming.
This left Broding with a gash in his side, facing the axe wielder bare handed. This was a dangerous position, as his opponent was quite skilled, but Guntra held the knowledge and skill of every warrior whom's heart he had devoured. Taking a step forward, he invited attack, feinting with his left hand. His oppoent didn't take the bait however, but instead struck low, trying to take down Broding's legs. A quick step back dodged the strike, but the axe wielder was back in form before Broding could launch an attack of his own. Smiling, Broding realized he was facing the most skilled of the three men.
Charging forward, the ebony giant dropped all forms of defense. Realizing this opportunity, as well as the danger rushing towards him, the axe user dropped his shield, realizing what good it had done his friend, and grabbed the axe with two hands. Pain bit deeply as Broding's fist found the man's chest, but even as this happened, the man got as close as he would ever get. Putting all his strength behind it, he struck for Broding's head, the axe striking the giant's skull just before the wielder was launched across the room with a defining crack.
In the corner, the man with the axe chuckled, as blood dripped down from Broding's face. it wasn't a fatal wound, but it had been a good hit. Broding smiled, as he felt the damage to his skull. Walking towards the man, he uttered the same phrase that he had uttered before, given to a defeated, yet worthy, opponent. "Gul Amun". With that, he reached down, and took the man's armor. Flexing his hand backwards, his fingers forming a strange vise, an almost mystical energy could be felt as a small prayer was offered to the many Gods of the Gung. Broding's large, muscled arm shot forwards in a move similar to the striking of a snake, and the fingers dug deep into the man's skin, bone and flesh being pushed aside. Grabbing onto the heart, Broding ripped it from his opponent, and devoured it in a single bite. He could feel it sliding down his throat, the opponent's soul trapped within it. He could see the memories of this fallen opponent, his motives for fighting. The flames of courage that had burned in his heart became one with the flames of Amun, and Broding's own flames.
Broding looked up from his bloody feast. Next up, he would kill Lord Polvark himself. This would end the battle for the keep, and the small group of barbarians that had entered it before the gates had closed, 500 at most, would have taken the keep. The castle would be completely theirs, and despite the forces that Broding knew had amassed outside of it's walls, they would hold it. He himself had seen the hell caused by these walls to his people, he would love to see them used against his opponents.
Oh no, this died! I shall have to work on reviving it
Teoinsanity said
Yeah,and would you really want to read the mind of an insane guy
Depends on who it is.
Stein would LOVE fighting you (=
Matt would be a nice pairing as well, science vs science. Although the cartoon physics and mad hatter qualities might make him a target for Bob.
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