Character Outpost

Alice stared in surprise at the paper ropes. Could it be... magic? Or merely a clever trick? Perhaps she'd merely done some intricate folding while Alice hadn't been paying attention. She couldn't be sure, but if this woman was a mage... it struck Alice as unlikely. She seemed too naive, too friendly. But it could be nothing but a foul deception. Why had the woman asked her about her life? And why had she, so foolishly, talked so much about it? But these were questions she'd find the answers to later: for now, the ropes seemed harmless enough. She tied one rope to the boar, and nodded at Yomiko. Icily, she said, "this will suffice."

edited 22nd Feb '11 4:38:40 PM by KillerClowns

Aleister spun the knob on the radio, scanning for news. He'd attached little strips of tape to the knob, each with a letter he'd come to associate with each squad. Squad A was chatting idlely. Squad B whispered amongst themselves while gunfire rang out. Squad C had gone silent. Taking out a map, he marked Squad C's last known location.

Five miles northeast.

He drew a fat red circle around it, and connected it to another circled location eight or so miles northwest of Squad C. Beyond that, another circle. And another. And another. All in all, they numbered eight. Eight encampments had been slaughtered, presumably in their sleep. And the next link on the chain?

Aleister got up to brew another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long night.

edited 22nd Feb '11 4:39:39 PM by KSPAM

I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial

Dragging the boar has proved an arduous exercise for sweating Yomiko out; her petite muscles are not meant for heavy-duty lifting! (They're for sitting at a nice cozy place, reading her heart out =3) She grunts and moans with each tug of the boar, alongside Alice's. The sun rays grow more yellow and yellow, as they strike through the jungle's branches more acutely. It is becoming late in the day.

Yomiko can see some of the hut through the thatches— but she's all tired out, at least for the moment.

"Phhehhh! Hehhh..! Whew.." she goes, letting go of her rope. "My lungs, they burn! I've got to have a breather, would you mind?"

She finds a nice tree stump to rest her derriere on, and then brings out her Jeremy Derringer novel for a quick read. Where was she? Jeremy's found the lost temple of the Ark! It's all booby-trapped though, he's got to watch out for any mis-steps or loose vines hanging off.

"Mmmhmmmmhmm."

As she reads, she lightly hums a tune for herself.

Once the snakemeat was browned and ready to eat, he removed them from the fire and served them up on a plate he borrowed from Aleister, right as he noticed the two girls return from their hunting expedition.

"Okay... I have, uh... some snake if anyone would like to try some. I removed the venom sacs, so you shouldn't die from this." There was no response immediately. "I'll just... leave it here." He set the plate next to where he prepared it, then headed out to go help them haul this boar back.

edited 22nd Feb '11 5:09:48 PM by CrystalGlacia

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."

Gant stepped forward to the boar and slung it into the air with almost contemptuous ease,catching it on its way down with a dull thud of meat. His hand had driven into the carcass like a blade, and the metal of the other flowed out into a heavy cleaver that sketched its way up the boar's gut, opening it in the thin line of a razor's cut. His swing had also sheared the bones of the creature cleanly, and he set the carcass on its back, spooling out the offal and tossing it carelessly aside. He owed the people something for their welcome, after all.

"I have experience in the art of cutting up meat," he says to the cook.

He had done that to people not too long ago, but there was no bad memory associated with butchery; this was merely meat, after all, nothing capable of thought. tearing out the last of the inedible meat, he paused flicking his ands clean of the blood. The cleaver had been replaced by a more accurate blade, and he began to pick out fragments of bone and the like.

edited 22nd Feb '11 5:22:15 PM by Morgulion

This is this.

"Oh, okay," he replied. "Thank you." He picked up his little set of chef's knives and, making sure to knock before entering, "Do you happen to know where I can get some clean water?"

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."

edited 22nd Feb '11 5:51:43 PM by CrystalGlacia

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."

Isaac watched the machine work. It was impressive; though it threw away pieces Alice would eagerly devour (when Alice killed, she wasted nothing), it was otherwise the model of efficiency. Seeing the meat itself made him feel a bit ill, but he was too awestruck to focus too long on that.

His phone rang, and he stepped out to answer it. "Hello?"

A cheerful, slightly inebriated voice came from the other side: "hey, Izzy! Saw the newest freakshow you and Alice managed to bump into! You two get to have all the fun, doncha?" In the background, Isaac could hear Turbo Lover playing, and the clink of glasses and bottles.

"Goddammit, Sigmund. Are you at the Rusty Anchor?"

"Yes."

"Are you drunk?"

"Well, maybe. I've had a bit of whiskey, some scotch, and a guy bought me a beer."

He was drunk. Again. Isaac said, "really, Sig?"

"Izzy, c'mon! It's two for one night!"

Two for one night? He was probably very drunk. Isaac sighed, and said, "before you decided to get wasted at the Rusty Anchor..."

"Yes, yes, Izzy. I told the boys at the lab we got some unidentified ju-ju, and they're gonna slip you a care package through the portal. An AK with ammo, some anti-magic bits, some gas grenades — mix of tear gas and some P-3  ^OOC

— couple wads of C4, and a Sigil of the Eyes and Teeth  ^OOC

^{a Brown Note, packed atop the rest of the case, folded up, as much as a trap to others who would steal the package as a tool for Isaac and Alice}

if you need to drive anyone to gibbering madness. Don't forget the 'no unwilling sentients' rule, though: if the machine's got a soul and doesn't wanna be studied, let the poor thing be. Or find out what ya need to bribe it. The bribing would be better, and I am Sigmund fucking Clark, so money... ain't no object. Speaking of money not being an object, there is a rather handsome gentleman here from Japan who I'm thinking could do with a sampling of American hospitality..."

Isaac sighed, put his palm to his forehead, and said, "have fun, Sig. Just don't tell me anything I don't want to know. See ya later, and have fun with your hangover." He then hung up and turned back to the machine, watching it work; he dared not interrupt it, lest he startle it and suffer the same fate as the fallen boar.

Alice, meanwhile, dropped the banana bunch at Isaac's feet, then turned her attention to the snake meet. She first hunted for the venom sacs, which she pocketed. Then she found and eagerly devoured the heart. It was juicy, and had that wonderful texture only heart meat does. That done, she started on the rest of the snake meat; the others' attention was turned to the boar, and she doubted they would miss her previous find. She paused, then, yelled at Gant, "my mechanical friend! Do me a favor: if nobody else claims it, save the heart! It's the best part!"

Isaac tapped Alice on the shoulder and said, "Sigmund slipped us a care package."

Alice sighed; she was enjoying her feast. "Alright," she said. "Besides, we gotta talk. See Glasses there? I think we've got a mage on our hands."

Isaac nodded solemnly, praying she was wrong.

edited 22nd Feb '11 8:01:55 PM by KillerClowns

The sliver of sky leaked through the treetops a sickly orange. Aleister sighed. Sundown was on its way. With a barely audible grunt, he lifted, the metal case out of the hut.

The group outside hadn't taken note of him yet. He could fix that. With an ear piercing shriek of a whistle, Aleister brought all eyes (and sensors or whatever) to him. That done, he unlocked the case and kicked it forward.

"Open it." His simple command carried weight, and the case was grudgingly opened. Stacked inside was one antimateriel rifle, several assualt rifles, a selection of handguns and revolvers and one six cylinder 40 mm grenade launcher.

"I'll put it bluntly. Your lives are in danger. For the past few weeks, entire squads of friendly troopers have come up missing, their camps abandoned with little signs of struggle. The only tangible evidence we ever find are bloodstains on the ground where they slept. We suspect a squad of guerrilla troopers allied with my country's enemies to be behind it, but in truth, we don't know. We're in the dark. And," he paused for a moment, "they appear to be headed this way."

He continued deadpan, seemingly unshaken by the news he was delivering. "They'll likely be here tonight, in a few days if we're lucky. I have radioed in a request for additional backup, but they won't arrive for at least forty-eight hours."

Aleister pointed to no one in particular when directing his next statement. "Those of you who are not familiar with combat or who do not possess any weaponry can take from this case whatever you please. Those here with combat experience will be responsible for teaching you. That is an order, one I suggest you follow if you want to make it through the night."

"Once that's done, we will establish a watch system. Three man groups will keep watch for three hours each, after which we rotate to the next group. That about covers the situation as it stands. You follow?"

edited 22nd Feb '11 8:23:29 PM by KSPAM

I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial

Yomiko gazes at the rifles within the suitcase armoury. There shouldn't be battles going on here — not in Central Mexico! She hasn't heard from news about any blasted battles going on nearby, nor from Intel. The man might be pulling legs here..

But.. it might be a covert war going on. Either way, Yomiko feels it better to be safer than sorry. Maybe she'd better ask about it?

"Excuse me," she says. "What sort of fighting is going on? I haven't heard anything about this..! I'm just a traveller— you're expecting us to fight someone, all of a sudden? At your whimsy?" (Bollocks.)

edited 22nd Feb '11 8:35:45 PM by QQQQQ

Gant sighed. It truly seemed that danger had magnetized itself to him, and he has accepted it, leaving only the calm bloodlust of eleven years ago inside his body. He cracked a smile, testing to see if his armor still worked, as would a man tensing a muscle he had not exercised for a while. The toughened gray armor shot up his arm, coating it like a second skin, and he withdrew it again.

So what if he had lost all that he strove for? He was GANT 01, the king. Time to fight new battles, and perhaps find new life where he had gone to die. To raise himself once more, and renew the circle of the old wars. There was a great deal of perfecting to await.

"I can teach rudimentary hand-to-hand combat, if anyone needs a refresher course. Or sword fighting, but I doubt that any of you are particularly skilled at it." He flicked his hand, letting the customary broadsword's handle drop into it, the blade congealing into a broad stretch of dark metal. 20 kilograms of death, designed to batter aside his foes with laughable ease. A new tool for a new time.

This is this.

(OOC: Night y'all) "Whimsy? You misunderstand me. If I could, I'd whisk you all away from here. You could go back to your happy lives and forget I exist. In a perfect world. This isn't a perfect world. Like it or not, this is your problem as much as it is mine."

He stops to consider his next words carefully. Hopefully the higher ups wouldn't chew him out for this. "We've been conducting covert operations in this country in an attempt to investigate and hopefully infiltrate a terrorist organization calling themselves "Pandora's Herald". They learned of our presence and responded with considerable hostility. Things spiraled out from there. But that isn't important right now. Now you prepare for the coming night. If you're caught unprepared, they won't hesitate to end you. Doesn't matter if you're civvie or not. If anyone needs me, I'll be rigging some rudimentary alarms around camp."

edited 22nd Feb '11 8:58:39 PM by KSPAM

I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial

Isaac and Alice heard the whistle just as they were returning. Alice, worn out from the boar, had let Isaac carry their supplies most of the way, but grabbed it and helped him haul it the rest of the way back when she heard the whistle. Seeing the case of firearms, Isaac said, "shit! You planning to start a war?!" He briefly considered leaving; the portal could allow him to slip back to America without trouble. But he'd said he'd get those samples... and he really wanted to see if he could talk the robot into letting Sigmund's labs check him out. He figured fleeing now would make both impossible. Besides, Alice would never forgive him for taking her away from such an opportunity for amusement.

His own case was, as Sigmund had promised, filled with gas grenades, an AK-47, several clips of ammo, C4, and pill bottles with with antidepressants, stimulants, tranquilizers, and magic suppressors labeled simply "M.S.". (He'd stuffed the paper the Sigil was inscribed on into his pocket without unfolding it.) "Well," Isaac said, "if we've got trouble incoming... share and share alike." With that, he placed his own case besides Aleister's. "I think our grenades will fit in that launcher, if you run out of explosives or wanna mix it up a little, but damned if I know how to work it." He slung the AK-47 across his back, patted his revolver, and said, "these will do for me."

Then, pointing at the gas grenades — mostly blue, with a few reds mixed in, he said, "they're gas grenades: blue's good old tear gas, red's a lethal compound called P-3. It has to be inhaled to do anything, but it works real fast once it's in your lungs. Me and Alice have a built up immunity to the stuff, but I doubt anyone else will have, unless they're inherently immune to poison. This is the first time P-3 has been outside of a Western Amalgamated laboratory."

With wicked joy in her eyes, Alice said, "so, let me get this straight? They strike silently, and annihilate their foes before they can react? I like them already." She paused, and then added, "but don't worry. I won't let that get in the way of destroying them. To the contrary: I look forward to matching wits with a worthy foe." From a distance, one would almost mistake the expression on her face for a smile. She then stood straight, shook off the terrifying grin, and, attempting hide her eagerness behind a façade of calm professionalism, said, "anyways. Machine: I'll help you with the hand-to-hand combat training. I doubt you've ever had to fight anyone much bigger than yourself, and most everyone I've gone into melee with has been quite a bit lager than me. Between us, we ought to be able to give these poor bastards a decent crash course. If anyone else has any neat tricks, best start talking now." She paused, considering how she'd react if one of these bastards turned out to be a mage. Finally, she decided she could tolerate one, for a few days at least.

Well it looked like they were going to be nice enough to share some fire power with those unfortunates who didn't get the note about the high chance of death. So, Adel walked over to the armoury suitcase and took out an assault rifle and some ammunition. His handgun just wasn't going to cut it.

Adel listened to the machine man and the warlady offer hand-to-hand classes, and nodded, "I'll run a basic firearms class then. Who needs a crash course?"

You must agree, my plan is sheer elegance in its simplicity! My Tumblr

To put it brief, Miss Readman has quite the adversity given her paper-bending powers. With a piece of paper, she is a warrior. With many sheets, she is Superman. Paper bends to her will — the only limit being her creative imagining and applying. The only thing is she has to touch the paper to apply her powers upon it. Otherwise, she is just as meek as the many bibliophiles of the world.

To put it brief, she says "Yes!" to all the combat training courses offered by the travellers. Starting with firearms handling. (They seem to be quite a fighting lot.)

Alice sensed, very briefly, an old, familiar sensation. Magic. The sort of magic she knew. An unholy, evil power. Its stench made her slightly dizzy. But it passed, and she supposed she'd only smelled some other, more mundane foul scent.

Without thinking, Isaac lifted the paper containing the dreadful sigil of the Eyes and Teeth from his pocket, and unconsciously let it drop. A gust of wind caught it, and carried it along. Against all odds, the paper was dropped right into Yomiko's pocket, the one containing her placards.

The sigil was written upon an ordinary piece of paper. But it still had power. And h̩̻̘̞̗̑̃ͅu̪̫̪̦̥ͣ͊̈̒ͭ͗͊ͦn͕̠̱̣͎͙͇̰̖̔ͧ̇g͈̟̬͇̠͈̻̟ͧ̉̅͋̂̊̑è̖͉̳̟͊̽̓̃̅̃̚ͅr̳̭ͣ͛̄͒͆ͫ. The sigil carried but a a fragment of the terrible evil that was the Eyes and Teeth, but even that fragment was infused with malevolent sentience. It carried the hatred and the h̯͍̯͗͗ͦ͂ű͓̗̹̖̠͈̙ͩn̦͇̻͓̮͙̙͈͓̋̌̅̄ͧ̓g͙͉̯̤̫͓̯ͧẻ̗̳̩ͯ͂̒̂r̯̠͇̩͉̫̥͙̈́ͬ̑ of its progenitor, and as it sat, nestled in among the blank papers in Yomiko's pocket, it felt an emotion akin to eagerness, waiting to be granted power. Waiting for a chance to strike, to feast, to destroy.

edited 22nd Feb '11 9:46:01 PM by KillerClowns

She wanted to know about oddness, he thought? Heh, he knew a whole lot about that. His homeland dealt with people with much stranger abilities than making paper ropes, and they even rejected him and his colleagues after they heard what happened that night, way back in 1979. Were they going to value him if he told the truth, or try to kill him? Not like they'd be able to do much to him, for the same reason why they might value him. Heh.

But then there's also the chance that he might get laughed out of the group if he told them the truth. I mean, seriously? Lab accidents? Alien viruses? Who would believe that, unless he got an opportunity to show them? So he'll just wait until trouble does come along, and save his energy for that. And pick up a revolver to quiet them.

edited 23rd Feb '11 6:18:54 AM by CrystalGlacia

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."

Alice continued to help Gant teach the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Isaac popped a Magic Suppressor, then said, "hey, Adel! Need a hand? I'm no marksman, but two heads are better than one!"

And the Sigil schemed. What would it do, if the mortal who carried it in its pocket granted it power?

It searched out, lightly touching every mind it could find. A gentle whisper, nothing more.

To Gant: W̙͙̳̖̹̥ͤͦ͋ͭͩ͛̈́a̺̪̤͕̪͙ͬ̑r.̤.͚̻͍̿̊̃.̰͒ ̯̒̅̾̆̐͂i̻͖̫͇̎̍́ṡ̯ͩ͋ͣͪͫ w̬̠̰̝͆̓ͣ͂ͩͫͅh͈̽ͯ̾ͩ̅ͤe̽̈̔ͨͪr̋ͧ͌̅̍̚e̘̤̘͉̼̣̎ͅ ̲̫̻̘͔̌̓͑͑ͣỷ̫͈ͥ̈ò̗̎͋̋u̖̰̹̯̝͉ͣ̔̆̄́ͥ̌ ̲̻̟̟̼ͥ̃̂ͪ̾b̹̮̳̗̖̅͐ͬͬe͖̤̩̮͈̘͗ͨ̏l̬̠͚̫͇ͮ̑ͦͩͅö͎̱̪͔̂ͤ̑̆nͨ̑̏͛̍̒g̪͔͉̳̜ͭ.̱͍̙̥͙̤̒̂̐͐̀̿̐ ̖̩̲̙̩ͣͅͅ ̂̾̊͆̔̾Em̳͖̮̊̈́̌͑̓ͧͣb̮̚r͎͇̟̦̺̣̝ͮ̏͑ͥạ͓̠̤͑ͪ̔͐ͯͥc̱̩̱̱͕̙ͅe̯̔̓ ̝͕̱͐̓i͔̜̥̝̹͇̒̉ͅt̟̮̖̭͌́.̯̩͍͍̮͔͋̒̚.͒.̬̬̞̿̿̋ͤ̉ͤ͂ War... is where you belong. Embrace it...

To Aleister: D̟̘̬͚̭̰̺̓̑o̹̖̠̦͉̲͛͂̐ͫ̃̂̾ ̝̭̲ͪͫ̂ͯͣ͊n̤̪̱̟̑ò͍̺̱̺͇́ͦͬ̇t̖̩̖̹͇̰ͧ̓̋ ṡ̈̏ȋ̅ͦ̇̿ͪm̪̩̮̝̱͂̃ͅply̋͒ͮͩͬ̍ ̬͓̥̗͓ͦ̋̓͊̏ͨk̥̟̜̩̣i̦̫̼̮̾̾ͣ̍ḷ̜̰̞ͪl̟̇̉ͦ̎̋͒ͨ ̝̟̟̜̿͆ț̟̞̃ͨ̄ͧh̜͖̪̒̈́̉ͫ͒é̖̰͖̤̂̈ͅm͍̯̹͉̔ͩͬ̀ͨ.̗̐ͮ͋̈́̌̇́.̰̫̭̮̭̭̬͒̉.̹̺͇̤̞̭̖ ͓̰̻ͧ̐̃̄͐̈̃m͍̫̄ͨ̀ͦa̲̙͍͇k̭ͬ̌̌ͪͭ͂e͇͎̼̲̾ͣ͌̈́̒ͅ ̱̖͚̰̻̲̓̏̆͆̒t͖̙̜̱̅ͫ̒ͪ͌h̤̠͉̻͇̲ͯe͎͇̩ͧ͛̐̀̋̚m̝͉ͩ s͆̇c̳r̟̱͙̗ͯe͎͙͖̒͐a̭͍̟͎̠̩͛̏̅ͧ̑ͯm͙ͥ́ͧ̃̋͂.̞̦̤̠̗͒̃̇͆ͅͅ ̣̬͈̮͑̂̂ͪ͋ͅ ͉͖̫͛ͅE͙̻̲̪ͥ̈́̈́́̅n̯̱͈͓͗̅ͫ̉̑j̹̜̖̩̘̋͑͆̔̃ȏ̝͕͎͙̃ͫ̀y̝̎̌ ̱͍͌̔ͯͥ̆y̟̋ͪ̌o̜ͪ̉̐̽̇̀͆ͅŭ̳̩̪ͬr̬̭̗̮͈̟̪̈͂ͨ͌ͦ͌̽ ̬̹̆́̌͌ͩv̹̳͖͇̈ͭͬ͑e̺ͥ͂͛ň̬͚̍ͫ̂͗g͓͉̼̑ḁ̘̭̥̗ͭn̗̤̱̯̲c̃̔̽e̬̬̝͇͔̻ͯ̓.͎̜͙̳̥̹ͫ̏͛͛͂ͨ̄.̙͙̾͑̉.̫̮̩͓̗̺̘ͨͣ̇̎̓͐ Do not simply kill them... make them scream. Enjoy your vengeance...

To Adel: Ẃ͉̺̻̫̹͙̳́̽h̞̖͐̌̚y͍̦̬̠͚̭̞͛.̞̯̭̮͍̊͌̈͐ͣ.̭͖͕͚͙̘̃.̦̘̩͉̯̭͂ͣ ͙̪̜̰͔̈́̌̏̓ͦd̲͑̂͛̈́̔ͤ̚ô̫͎̥̮̫̓̎ ̠̪̻̦̫̄̓͐͆ͭ͂̐y̙͗̀̎̎̊̋o̪̙ͭ̿̑̏̌̀̐ṳ̱̦̺͓̮ͪ͛ ̯̰̼͇̂̀̌̂ͅt̮̩r̳̘ǔ̱͉̱͍ͧ͋ͦͨͭs̾ͤ̐̔̎̔t ̟̺̫̦̌t̘̮̤̞̦̪͒̋͋̑͂͆̂h͈̦̠ͭ̓e̲͔̺̪͔̱͙ͥͭ̎̈́̾̎̚ș͒ͦ̎ë̟̩͎̲̰͔̭́̂ͯ͐̚̚ ̞̤̯͈̀̌ͥ͊ͮ͒̐s͕̰ͭͦͧt͇͚͓ͦ̃ͯ̇ͯr͖̗̻̟͕ǎ͚͚̯͍̬͚͎ͥ̒͛͂̒n͋ġ̄ͨͭe̘̼͊ͬ̊͗͗r͈̼̦͖̱̜͒ͭͩͬ̽̂ͅs̺̲͉͙̖̪͈ͨͭ̃͋̐̽?͈͍̱͎̗͚͕ͩ̋ Why... do you trust these strangers?

To the Sicilian: T͈̰̙͚̍̋̽h͈͔͖̪̗̙e̘̰̳̻͐͊͗ȳ̞ͫ̎,̪͉̲͗ͭ͑̓ ̟͔̖͚̻̃ͬ͐ͩ́ͭt̰͔̋̽̅oͮ͑̓̎o̦̘͚̖̓̌ͅ,̑̈́́̓͌́̒ ̝̞̖̹̽ͭͮ̐s͓̬ͯh̲̰̜̖̏͂̾ā̤̞͔͗̐ͨl̤͓̤̜̞ͪ͛̀͌̚l͚̦̯̮͎̀ͩ̐ͅ ̭̽̈͗̎́t̯̥̜̺̣u̟͍̗̪͑̓r̹̲͎̣̯̭̟̿ͥ̒̂̂ͪṋ̩̻̗͉ͫ̋ͤ͌̓ͤ ̺̘̣̾o̜̱̝̦̹̳ͭͯͮ̾͆͑͒n̙̯̟͔͔̓ͅ ̣͛̔̅ͫ̎ͣ͋y̲ͮ̊ͪ͋o͎̗̠͍͈̠̻ͤu̫̖̠̺͚.̙͔̩̯̮͎̀ͩ.̝͉͑.͖̰̒̿̓̓̽ͤ̚ They, too, shall turn on you...

To Yomiko: T͍̯̹̖͇ͩ͆h̻̳̜͇̬̭̅̂ͦ͗̀ͨ̇î̪̫̻͈͓̻ͩ̌ͅs̘̾̌ͣ ̤͛͒ỉ̅̄̅͋̚s̬͓͇̬̘̱͛ͩ̽͂̓ ͕̥̙̤͈͇y̎ȏ̪̙̪̽́ͨ̑͒̑u̼̗͕̖̱͇r̎̍͋ ͨ͋ͨ̂̈ͬtͫ́̿̔ͫͬ͊i̓̃̎̃ͤ̆̽m̭͈͉̔̔̈́̐ḛ͕ͤͩ̂ ͇̂ͬͨ̿ͩt͙̱̖̮̙͎ͦö͎̺̳̗̎́͊ ͈̩ͮb̹̰̝́ͬe̪͇̹͊͗̓̿̇͋̆ ͈̻̻͔̬a̖̣ͅ ̞͉h̬͖̠̤̩̾ͭ͗͗̓é͇̭̫̝͈͈̫ͥ̐̈̃ȓ͍̪̜̠̽͐ͮ́̆o̳̝̾.̟̘̫̣̱ͧ̿̋͒̑̆ͨͅͅ ̞̭̤͕̈́ ̜̼͙͎̠͎̓ͅṲ͉̹̋͒̐̓s̖͚̩̫̪̾̍̀̄̿ͪė̳̞̯̮̃ ̻͔͉͇̈́͋͒͛͆̂yo͖̟̜̼̘̍̏̄̚u̻̮̦̎r͔ ̰p̯̰͇̣̪̤͇ͮͯͨ͐̏͒͒o̖̓͌̓̏ẃ̫̱̘̥̦̆̓͌͋͂e̪͍͗r̈̐́̄̇sͥͬͫ͋̌ͭ.͕̻͛̋̆ This is your time to be a hero. Use your powers.

It tried to reach out to Isaac, but the Magic Suppressor had worked; it found nothing but a wall. It had no need to speak to Alice: though she hated it with every fiber of her being, she had nonetheless embraced the darkness it had sought to plant within her. So it waited, hoping other minds would catch its attention. Or, better still, that the odd being it sat with would let her power flow through it. It wouldn't do anything too obvious — its eons of existence had made it patient beyond imagining — no, it would merely obey whatever command it was given, and silently siphon off some extra power to continue its campaign of corruption. She would not regret calling upon it, it would make certain of that. No, it would give her a taste of true power... as it would do for any other mind that was interested.

(OOC: The spoilers are just restating the Sigil's words in a more readable, non-Zalgofied form.)

edited 23rd Feb '11 8:31:17 AM by KillerClowns

Gant stepped to the side. "Keep teaching them," he said to Alice. "I need to test something."

He was feeling the old bloodlust, indiscriminate, but he had long ago tempered it into a cold and fierce concentration, with only traces of joy. it felt wrong, somehow, and he shook his head. The momentary surge of feeling settled back into his gut, simmering and waiting for a new moment of weakness.

Ne needed to reaffirm his old self, find a referential point, and he swung his blade at the earth in front of him, leaving a two meter gouge, a momentary leap forward of the blade; the tree before him creaked and split apart, the razor's cut lying perfectly down its grain. He was still as dangerous as ever, and that knowledge gave him confidence, let him rejoin them with the perfect stability of one who has no need to affirm his power.

His era had been long. whatever the others said, it did not matter what they wanted. He would not capitulate to any force, and there was no force that would make him bow; truly, he was awake now, and it was time to pt his skills to full use. Good lesson," he said to Alice. "Let them demonstrate what they have learned."

edited 23rd Feb '11 9:38:27 AM by Morgulion

This is this.

Aleister could see his face again. His heart ached to embrace that man once more, to take him in his arms and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. And just when he was about to break, squeeze some more. Right before the light left his eyes, he'd squeeze just a little more until...

"Until there's nothing left." He looked at the wires in his fingers. He'd been doing all of this on autopilot for almost half an hour. He closed his eyes, tightly, until the lids shook and quivered. He took a long, slow breath and savored it.

But what good would it do? Would it make things right again? Would it fill the holes in him, bring a smile to his face, make him forget again?

"No." He almost grinned. He always got like this when she wasn't around nowadays. It was a pretty sad sight. But after, everything that had happened, he'd had plenty of reasons to die. But she was the only reason he had to keep on living. So he clung. Like a vase of fine china perched on the branch of brittle, dead tree.

He exhaled deeply, and continued his work.

I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial

He looked around himself for the pump from where that guy in the hut got the bucket of water to clean up. Now, he needed to clean up his knives after working with that snake. He turned the water on and cleaned off every trace of the snake until the metal gleamed, reflecting his reddish eyes back at him like how he always did.

He didn't even seem that worried that there could probably be enemies of some sort who would try to kill him and everyone here. The fact that he had just heard a voice in his head say that he was going to be betrayed didn't seem to faze him, either. It wasn't like they would be able to do much to him at all, but he shuddered at the thought of having to use his prized knives as weapons. This set was expensive, and for cooking, not killing things. Besides, he had other abilities that were more suited for killing things.

Lord, what time was it? Almost night? God, he didn't even feel tired, even though he's been up almost a full twenty four hours, something that he hoped he would never have to do again after he got his restaurant rolling. That meant that, if this was a normal day, he'd have to open up the restaurant again in three hours for another day of dealing with patrons and his kitchen staff swearing up a storm as usual. Ah, the life of a restauranteur.

edited 23rd Feb '11 12:56:10 PM by CrystalGlacia

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."

(OOC Note: I've wanted to give this character a mini-Hannibal Lecture for a while... And look, a demonic sigil. Fun.)

He stood for a while in thought, thumb and forefinger pressed to both sides of the bridge of his nose, head down. After a while, his deductions seemed to move away from his, eventually drifting past and vanishing entirely. He held no idea, let settle no emotion, embraced no perception.

Time stopped.

Were he conscious of it, this attained sensation of total immobility in the eye of a storm of the incredible would not have surprised. Strictly speaking, he had practiced some form of meditation since he was five. Initially a coping mechanism to deal with the death of his mother and the ensuing instabilities unleashed upon his family in that time, he had cultivated it over the years, honed it to the point that he could voluntarily exit reality as he saw fit for inordinate stretches of external time, knowing nothing of its passage. It was nigh-impossible to stir him in this state, and he had trained himself to only respond to certain cues, certain sensations...

A voice spoke to him through the dark. Its words clung to the edges of the void, tapping at the periphery of resonant spaces, like echoes or stray bats. In his corner of nothing, he heard them.

"As others would seek love, you seek pain. To inflict, to receive. And yet here you hide, alone, numb, afraid of your thoughts and afraid of what they make you. To 'die painfully'? Wishful thinking. Or to bring death to another, with your bare hands..."

Ianto broke from his trance with a shudder, looking wildly about in the twilight.

"Who said that?!" He sputtered in English. "Who... what...."

edited 23rd Feb '11 12:07:06 PM by JHM

I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.

(OOC: Sorry I missed ya, JHM. Still, nicely done capturing what the Sigil is up to. The bits in [brackets] are just translating the codewords Isaac is using.)

The machine had ignored its whisper. It had been worth a try, though. Still, those old feelings had been brought up to the surface... it would make things easier for later. The Sigil waited, curious to see if it would be able to resist in the heat of combat.

The Sicilian was powerful, the Sigil could feel it. Or perhaps arrogant. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. It wasn't worried either way: something as trivial as raw power was not an obstacle to a creature such as it. But the Sicilian, it suspected, truly desired nothing more than to be a simple chef. That would be a problem.

When the Sigil touched Ianto's mind, it found itself startled by how loudly it resonated. Ianto had sensed it. Recognized it — well, no, not truly recognized it. But he had seen it as foreign, known that its whispers did not come from his own mind. It would have to be more cautious, quieter, subtler. But there was darkness in that mind, great darkness. A few more whispers, a few subtle nudges... the Sigil's h͒u̥ͨ͗̑̄͐̚n̥̦̬͉͔̙͕g̭̏̃̇ͮë͚̟ͪr͖̦̔͆̇ͫ͂́͑ grew in anticipation.

Meanwhile, Alice instructed her students to practice on their own for a bit; hopefully Gant would be done soon enough with whatever odd whim he had. She checked the venom glands she'd been given. They seemed full, and she was confident they would be sufficient to give her spear that extra lethality if it was needed. Satisfied, she returned to her students.

Letting Adel take the lead, Isaac called Sigmund. Sigmund picked up promptly, and Isaac said, "hey, Sig! You still alive?"

Sigmund groaned, and said. "Well, I was shot down. But I ain't dead. What do ya need?"

"What info do you have on an organization called Pandora's Herald?"

"Hold on a sec." Sigmund pulled up his records and scanned them. "Well. They're A, Q, and Y, but despite that, they've kept their secrets pretty well. I have to give them credit for that."

"A" mean that they were extremely well-funded. "Q" meant that they were very technologically advanced, but their exact capacities were unknown. Bio-engineered plagues, chemical weapons, hackers that had broken "secure" systems, and dirty bombs, were all real possibilities. And "Y" meant that some time during his time as CEO of Western Amalgamated, Sigmund's father had funded them. Sins of the father. Isaac sighed, and said, "what got them their Y classification?"

"They took out quite a number of goats [Marxists]. But I can't say whether that was for ideology or just because Farmer Brown [Sigmund's father] fed them lettuce [paid them to act as mercenaries]. There's no evidence they're affiliated with his usual buddies, the sheep [nationalists] and such. So they might be sheep. They might be donkeys [cartels]. The name makes me suspect they're chickens [religious cultists], though I could be wrong. Why do you ask?"

"Well, they're gonna try to kill us soon."

"Son of a... for fuck's sake, you and Alice stay alive. If you get yourselves killed out there, I'll never forgive myself. Good luck."

edited 23rd Feb '11 1:12:09 PM by KillerClowns

He shivered slightly. Though his vision was further dulled by the evening, it was clear enough that not one of the party was close enough to have whispered in his ear. To wit, he did not recognise the voice as one of theirs; it spoke without inflection, and seemingly without language, for he could not tell whether it was English or Welsh that he had heard. He knew from the prior incident that none of the group spoke the latter, yet it seemed so clearly personal, as if his parents or brother would have spoken to him. But so alien, too, so unforgiving in tone. And the words...

He shook his head furiously, then straightened himself and marched toward the nearest figure, which upon approach was revealed to be the hawkish man, who judging by the arc of his arm movements had just finished a phone conversation. After a brief moment of hesitation, Ianto spoke.

"Excuse me, sir? Would you happen to know where we are, exactly?"

I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.

(OOC: Want help with the Heralds? I've got a few ideas I was throwing around, but if you want, you can take them wherever you please. This story was never really fully formed :P)

I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial