thewizardguy

The Blood Compact

You know, I'm waiting for Mathew to be accepted....

The Metahuman Revolution

I'm going to make another post, see if I can get this to work. Can't guarantee I'll get it done today, I've got some stuff going on IRL, but I'll get it up ASAP. Potentially, this could go on a bit longer.

The Blood Compact

It shines through. I always imagine her sitting in a dark room, in black and white, staring at an innocent wall. Oh well, just means your character made an impression (=

The Metahuman Revolution

It seems everyone just got up and left.

The Blood Compact

I would agree that there's stuff left to do, but I would also state that each representative of their characters would determine what occurred with that faction. Shikaru would decide what happened to SOLDIER, I would decide what happened to the Purge, and the many Oldblood players would determine what happened to their vampires. Personally, I think the Purge 'won', although it would be a pyrrhic victory at best. Nearly all of them are dead, the Oldbloods are still standing (even if they're held back for the moment) and the city itself is in ruins. It's lost all strategic value, it's citizens are dead, and it's garrison is ripped to pieces. So in a way, the vampires 'win'. We can solidly establish, however, that whoever 'won', it wasn't SOLDIER, which spent most of the time dying excessively. I would play a small group of Purge attempting to get to Bedhivere in Brittania, most likely to stumble upon the many vampiric agents that ran the country, run by Dust. Lady Mo could gather her own vampires, or perhaps gain the aid of an ancient native American tribe, or perhaps she could do something else, using her power to influence the weather on a larger scale. Rebecca would have to spend the time being the lead of a Film Noir, quite probably with a wall covered in pictures of vampires she intends to track down. Mithias would be all emo, I don't know what he would do. He could go over and join SOLDIER, go freelance, or whatever. Everyone can do something, it would simply serve as a segway into the next section of the roleplay, and prevent it from stalling in that inbetween moment when there's relatively little to do.

The Blood Compact

With every droning step, a new corpse was crushed, painting the plate mail boots black with the blood of the fallen. Skulls and chests were burst beneath their march, as they stepped through the corpses that now piled the streets. Vampire abominations, SOLDIER scum, and more than once their own comrades. It did not matter. Those that had fallen would be rewarded in the afterlife, those that were yet to fall would give their lives gladly, for the cause of purity. A Platoon marched through the streets, the houses echoing with the sound of their ringing steps. As one, they hymmed, a deep tune that carried through the air like a foreboding wind. Lines of warriors, standing side by side, blade by blade. Each had one another's back, each was prepared to die. Nearly 50 men marched througb tight passageways, blades extended, ultraviolet visors active, finding their way by the slight radioation still given off by the corpses of the fallen. Over a trail of blood they walked. On their way, their were several who would attempt to break their lines, lone vampires and SOLDIER vigilantes, only to meet a wall of blades and death. This city would be purged of all evil, even if it were unwilling. The place where moments before the vampires had gathered was empty, as the Platoon of Crusaders marched into the square. Still this place reeked of abominations, but there was nothing to fight, none were left to kill. They were the last of the Purge Crusaders in the city, those that still lived after all the violence. And yet, as they marched down the next street, they were no more dangerous for it. It seemed there was but one vampire left of import in the city. Radio broadcasts would place him somewhere ten minutes ahead of the platoon. As one, they marched, blades raised, Baptizers loaded and ready. Stake guns were discarded in favour of alternate weaponry, plucked from the bodies that so littered the floor. As a wall of steel, adorned with thorns of silver, the Crusaders marched, their battle hymns preceding them. This night, they would kill Magnus, leader of the vampire armies.

The Blood Compact

Seeing as how most are starting to leave the battlefield, I would propose that we attempt some form of timeskip. That people make a post on what they do after the Batte of Kilo Point, and how they prepare for the inevitable next battle. Or perhaps don´t fight at all. Either way, it´d be interesting.

The Blood Compact

Name: Mathew Stone Age: 42 Appearance: Weapons: Physical weaponry is a tool for those of lesser intelligence or ambition. Mathew carries nothing but a small pistol in his boot (for emergency purposes.) His only real weapon is his mind, and his mouth. Capabilities: Mathew is both a psychologist and a tactician. He's an expert at manipulating those he speaks to, an excellent battlefield commander and an incredibly dangerous person. He wields the media in one hand, and your own mind in the other. Whilst he has no supernatural capabilities, as far as is known, he can start a revolution in a week, and place himself on the throne next month. Personality: Not all men are created equally. Anyone with a brain can see that this is the case. Some are born weak, others are born strong. Some are born smart, others are born stupid. What all men are handed equally, however, is a chance. Just a glimmer. A goal they can reach for, strive their entire lives to achieve. Not the guarantee of success, but at least a chance. Mathew's goals are unknown - the plans he speaks of are always finely accustomed to whomever happens to be listening. It is known, however, that he will go to any lengths to attain these goals. From politics, to warfare, to Wholesale genocide. It doesn't matter who he has to shove aside and who he has to kill. He'll walk there on a bridge formed from the corpses of his enemies.

HCL 2: Twisted tinkers' triumph

Damn. In any case, post have been made. Hope I didn't miss anyone.

HCL 2: Twisted tinkers' triumph

Far below the surface, was a series of winding passageways. Long and deep, covered in the corpses and restless souls of the fallen. A city, no, more than a city. A subterranean civilisation. And yet, everything was reinforced. Everything was stocked with weapons, some so far from known weaponry it was unrecognizable, besides it's purpose. A military base, spanning the entire inside of the planet. It was almost as if a space station of unimaginable size had simply stopped moving, and frosted over, it's resident struck by some unimaginable catacylsm. Was it one of their many weapons that had killed them? Was it the robotic servants, still partially operational, their ripped apart bodies now strewn in the wake of the Mad God? Was it perhaps the dark aura of magic that had been responisble for their destruction? Whatever had been the cause, Asura could feel little sympathy as he raced after his prey. From the moment he had entered he had felt something was.... off. Something wrong, something that did not belong. It was beyond evil, beyond morality in any form. It was unnatural in the purest sense, something that should not exist. It was disturbing, to say the least. Any civilisation responsible for the creation or study of such a..... wrongness.... would clearly meet disaster sooner or later. As Asura reached a lower floor, he could sense that he had nearly reached the planet's core. After nearly half an hour of flying down at his maximum speed, slaughtering the weakened robotic servants on the way, he was approaching whatever had cast such a terrible aura. The blast doors became rapidly heavier, and he could sense the remains of powerful warding spells. And yet Genocide seemed to pass through them with ease, dismantling them as they came along. Perhaps this was his capability, the reason he had been sent down here? The ability to destroy any ward? Eventually, Asura stood before the final barrier. A great blast door, forged from unknown materials, enchanted heavily. Whilst the arcane enchantments had already been removed, the door itself had been shut behind Genocide. Somehow, his opponent had already managed to pass through them, because he could feel Genocide's presence ahead. Furthermore, he could sense an increase in the wrongness, a power radiating from it. Whatever was in that room, Genocide was doing something to it. And it wouldn't end well.