You are James Underwood the Younger, and you are about to kill a man. You've never done that before. Not that it would be difficult, said man is pinned to the ground and already dying. Courtesy of James Underwood the Elder, your father. A ninety-four year old man, who calmly had you drive him into Mendig's northern projects to linger in a dark alleyway and wait behind a rancid garbage bin for this man to draw near. At which point he simply got up, strode out into the open, and drove a knife into the man. Once, in the back, then once again into his front after he fell. Puncturing the lungs to prevent him screaming, you figure.
Your father...Dad, was always an imposing figure in your life. A former soldier who never raised his voice and never needed to to get either his son or an entire room of suits to listen. You never got a full picture of what he did for Jefferson, even after the latter's fall, but there was a reason he did not oppose your wish to climb the company's ladder without his influence. Even then, he was trying to shield you. You were in your early twenties, but still a little boy to him. That hasn't changed, especially after Mom died. You sometimes compare yourself to those of his generation, who lived and fought in the war, knew the Rebuilding and golden years that followed. A tougher breed than yours, for sure. Dad never cared. You think he was just happy his only child would not know what he did. And now you are about to step into a war, a deadly game, though hopefully as a player and not an ignorant, unwitting pawn.
Dad is scared. The idea fills you with unease. This man fears not pain nor death, and yet he is afraid now. Scared of what is to come, scared that he is not strong enough to protect you. Of course, how could he, he's a dying old man, the thought still echoes in your head. Well, truly that is where your troubles begin.
A few months ago, Dad discovered something. He didn't tell you how, but he apparently found strange floating stones that no one else could see. They gave him power, unnatural abilities, a small part of his youth back, and the ability to get more. From what he knows, these stones are only found dormant in certain people who have taken another's life. Even fewer still may gain these stones, alongside the ability to use them, when killing the killer. You get the feeling Dad isn't telling you everything. But since he calls them blood stones, he figures that those of his blood may also be like him, able to use them.
You are Ben Parker, super-powered criminal and thief extraordinaire. After being bitten by a radioactive spider, you underwent a miraculous change, and adopted the identity of "The Huntsman"! But it's not all bad! Your clone brother, Abel Parker, works to protect the city, and potentially help clean up some of your messes. <span class="mu-i">He</span> goes by the name of "Spider-Man"! And co-parented by them both is Cindy Moon--half-fox demon, part-time prophetic monster slayer and a local vigilante endorsed by the moon god Khonshu!
Last time: After retaking the city, Cindy and company marched an army of monsters to Varnae's doorstep and challenged him to single combat! Despite the legends surrounding him, he got thoroughly trounced! In his desperation, Varnae cast away his pride, as well as his immortal soul! As it turned out, he had been secretly planning to possess the TRUE ruler of Limbo this entire time. Except, it wasn't Belasco, but a blonde kid with a giant sword!
Using every trick and resource at her disposal, Cindy avoided seriously injuring the girl, and fought her way to Varnae's castle. There, she and the Blood Witch lured him into a devil's trap, where Shaggy used his powerful magic charms to eject Varnae's soul from the host, and placed it in a home-crafted artifact used to entrap spirits.
They weren't able to rest for long, though, because Ben and Belasco’s fight made its way down to Cindy's level! Together, the two of them briefly fought the demon, but his defenses were too strong for them to even wound him! Thankfully, Khonshu informed you that he had called for backup. And that backup came in the form of Ammit, the devourer of souls! But that wasn't even the craziest part! Because she brought Cindy’s previously deceased friend, B Negative, along for the ride!
After Ammit swallowed Belasco whole, Cindy ran over to embrace her dear friend. But the revelations didn't end there!
Harpy and James came out to meet the group, dragging Dr. Hank McCoy (A.K.A. Beast from the X-Men) along with them! He not only surrendered and admitted to his complicity in this event, but he also offered them what might be the cure for mutants!?
No one really knew what to make of that, but Cindy at least managed to prevent Mina from killing him outright, forestalling Ammit's judgement in favor of allowing the Kaiju King to make the decision. Only, when they got back, the Kaiju King was on the brink of death from overstraining himself during the zombie invasion!
Thinking fast, Cindy picked out a small team to dive back into the battlefield and find Louise. It should have been an impossible task, but, for some reason, Cindy received help from a pair of spirit messengers that belonged to a mysterious Kumiho.
A world where might makes right. A world of Jade and Gold, of Phoenix and Dragons, of Pills and Talismans, of Martial and Spiritual arts. A world where diligent training yield strength, meaning freedom. A world where loneliness means death, meaning social chains. A world still unfair, as the ones reaching the heavens are most likely born rich - be it political riches of the aristocrats, power of secret knowledges and hidden realms of clans, or lucky enough to be born one-in-a-thousand genius.
This was not the case of Quiet Word - that is, (You). Your current skill level is on par with other genius of your age. But where they were graced with secret techniques and special care, you just had lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.
You own a trove of techniques and treasures for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit. Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a townwide cultivator tournament. Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own, and freely shared with your sect-siblings (but not your masters). Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that "figuring it out by yourself" point.
Recently, you chased some precious treasures in the <span class="mu-s">Stormwood</span> rare event, and delayed a breakthrough for helping your little sect-siblings. Right now, You are in a succesfull seclusion.
<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">"It was a simple game, downloaded by children with unrestricted internet access in an era long passed. Trends came and went, websites lived and died, and eventually Tricky Treats Online faded from the eyes of the next generation. The children who roamed the instanced streets of Tricky Treats were now adults, and this game -- frozen in time -- were the remnants of their childhood."</span></span></span> <span class="mu-i">-From the analysis video "The Real Game that Really Killed"</span>
You are Margot Merriweather, a woman of order who - despite being a child at the time - opted to play as a "Grown Up Ghoul" embracing the decoration and design of the in-game "Haunted Houses". After a decade of being away from the game, you decided to make a new character, just to peak in and relive those years for a few moments.
Nostalgia was the only thing that seemed to pause your now busy life, so occasionally after getting suitably tipsy you dip into the past. Perhaps in reliving, you gain a further appreciation for the present moment, thus making the seconds more palpable; Or maybe it's pure delusion, and the reality is you're spending your weekend alone again, desperately trying to be a kid. As judgemental as you might feel towards your own desires, you allow yourself to be under this spell, log in to your old account, and add a new profile.
<span class="mu-b">Halloween is that one time of year where all the children conquer any social misgivings for the sake of mountains of sweets. This year - however - is different, because among the candy being given, there are sure to be some <span class="mu-s">Tricky Treats!</span>
Tricky Inc. threw its hat into the candy business, and their product - Tricky Treats - exploded in popularity. Kids can't get enough, Adults can't get enough, and even the monster under your bed wants that Tricky taste!
So what are you waiting for, get out there and do what it takes to snag a bag full!</span>
Choose your Class! :
>Sugar Gobbler (Ring the doorbell, get the candy, ring the doorbell, get the candy... Wanna trade?)
>Trickster (Cough up the candy, or some toilet paper might go flying..!)
>Grown Up Ghoul (I HATE these Tricky Treaters!!!)
>Rent-a-Cop (Protect and Serve! ... After eating some confiscated confectioneries!)
>Minimum Wager (Working on Halloween? This sucks dude!)
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
Once per thread, if three or more people invoke it, a single roll may be re-rolled.
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last thread, an inopportune Nat 1 prompted you to return to your hometown in order to find Latias after some rich bastard tried to steal her, wrecked your house and injured Kay O-o in the process. After punching him into next week, you spent the night with Jacky's family and secured a seventh 'Companion' slot on your team so you could keep Latias with you at all times. You also agreed to do some survey work for Professor Conifer and were just discussing your reward...
"Magnus" Lieren's voice rung out through the tower, melodic yet sorrowful. Magnus could feel and see the great turmoil and distress within their brother's psionic signal and immediately ceased the lesson he was giving to the young acolytes to speak privately with his fellow primarch, within the heavily warded and protected sanctuary of his private study.
Sitting beside preserved specimens of the organs and body parts of spirits and true daemons, the red king of Prospero projected his mind and great power into the vast seas of the warp, and soon found the astral avatar of his brother, sat with crossed legs as was the habit of Long Jianese men, with a pained and regretful expression, worry weighing down on his brow more than the cursed brand it bore.
"Brother" Magnus said gently, worringly, as he reached out to his brother "What is it that ails you so terribly?"
Lieren, weeping tears of boiling gold and frozen silver, bowed his head shamefully, regretfully, unable to look his brother and peer in the eye.
"A great weight, that I am unable to bear" he answered, as was his habit, vaguely and buried beneath poeticism
"What" Magnus hastened, speaking perhaps more sternly than he intend, as his great red hand wrapped around the silk covered shoulder of his brother, shaking him without meaning to as he remained limp and most concernly of all, defeated.
"A brother, whose name I do not know. He suffers, abused by the man who should've been a father and guardian to him, used as a figurehead and tool" Lieren hissed, with the same measure of venom and vitriol of which he spoke the dangerous denizens of the great sea, the entities he dubbed variably as evil spirits or daemons. Magnus' eyes widened and he felt his muscles tense as his blood ran cold.
"Like you had known Angron suffered under the yoke of the high riders" Magnus whispered as Lieren shook his head, nearly pitifully
"Oh wise Magnus, forgive me for keeping this tragedy from you. But I had believed i could intervene and protect this brother, as I had Angron, assist him in freeing himself from his abuse, aid him as a brother should, show him what family was meant to be and mean" his brother wailed and cried, tears now streaming from his face, catching in his scars and rising as snow white mist as he admitted ot what he imagined as a great crime "But, this damned brand upon my head, prevents me from doing so. So once again, I must dishonorably break my word, and shamefully ask you to face the danger I had intended to meet in my place" Cont
It has been seven months since you, the Courier, shrugged off the yoke of outside oppression and declared the Mojave a free state. Putting yourself at odds with the Bear, Bull and other minor powers seeking the riches of the region, you are instead transforming it into a power to be reckoned with.
From negotiating a ceasefire and eventual treaty by walking all over the NCR Diplomatic Corp, to landing a million-cap joint investment to rapidly expand the industry of the Mojave, you have played it fast and loose with the mighty Republic. Time will tell if this influence will spell the end of the independence of the Mojave.
Flirting with the NCR doesn’t match the situation you find yourself in with the mighty Caesar and his Legion. After agreeing to operate on his tumor, you not only planted a seed of paranoia but assumed the place of Augustus to his Julius, opening a potential path to inheriting the mighty Legion.
While playing these two great powers off of each other, you also have a frosty relationship with the Brotherhood of Steel, who surely have their own machinations with the dusty safe haven from the NCR.
But you’re not just a robotic warlord with a state, as you've declared the New Vegas Directorate to be the government of the Mojave, with the Courier Council as the legislative body, you as the executive and an independent judiciary to reflect many of the same tenants of the old world. You’ve created a military, a series of funded governmental departments and have begun the delicate dance of private-government ownership of the economy.
But will you be able to stop factionalism from infecting the infant nation? There are former Enclave soldiers, ardent Republicans, self-interested Wastelanders and other unknowns all nipping at the heels of power and a populace as equally diverse.
The domestic threats pale in comparison to the dreaded Boomer Blight which has the potential to wipe out all life in the former United States and beyond, snuffing out the dream of a strong and independent Mojave.
With the brain of Mr. House still in a coma, the NCR too focused on the Legion and Caesar himself lost in delusions, will you be able to harness advanced technology to secure not only an independent Mojave but one which can rise above what has always plagued man?
You are Charlotte Fawkins, Herald and heroine. With the power of your positive spirit, you have overcome deceit, defeat, and divine possession, and now you are going to save the world. First, though, you need to defeat your nemesis Jean Ramsey in single combat.
Your fall through Ramsey's cloak is short, and your landing is soft (though you're displeased to discover the tail interferes with any cool forward roll). You are in blackness. You're not certain what you anticipated.
When you stand, you spy the Crown first, then the mask, then the snake, then, and only then, do you make out the rest of Ramsey: she's 20 feet away, her cloak camouflaging her near-perfectly. You suppose this is her head, or pocket dimension, or... wherever. Ramsey's axe, taller than her body, glossy black, is camouflaged too, only visible by its glint: the Crown is shedding faint white light.
You draw The Sword— its flames do nothing to illuminate the space, but it seems like the appropriate thing to do. Ramsey cocks her head. "Boy, you sure are a pain in the ass, aren't you?"
The snake, glossy beige, loops down around her shoulders. =Like father, like daughter. Isn't that right, Wingnut.=
God-damnit! How much have you been spied on? You clench The Sword, refusing to rise to the bait, but it wasn't set out for you— Richard shimmers into existence by your side. His hand is on your shoulder. "She is my <span class="mu-i">client.</span> Do not drag her—"
"Hey, who the fuck is that?" Ramsey says.
=Wow. What the hell is that. I'd be laughing if I wasn't in-chassis, so use your imagination. Or don't. Here: ha ha ha ha ha.= =This is what you have been reduced to. Human. And an inferior physical specimen at that. I don't know what I expected. Ha ha ha ha.= =This is how your -daughter- thinks of you. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.=
"I dunno, Snickers. They don't really look anything alike?" You get the impression that Ramsey is squinting. "Is that actually your <span class="mu-i">snake?</span> Shit! I didn't know they turned into people!"
=The competent ones don't. Isn't that right, Wingnut.=
"I am perfectly satisfied with my current state of affairs, <span class="mu-i">Snickers.</span> It has posed no obstacle to my success with my client."
=You mean it's posed no obstacle to -my- success with -my- client. Thanks for the Crown, by the way. Couldn't have ushered in the Dawn without—=
"Oh, yeah! The Crown! Wow! Talk on your own time, Snickers, thanks bunches." Ramsey pushes the snout of her snake upwards. "Charlotte Fawkins."
You've been trying to think of cool things to say. "Yes, evildoer?"
"Ohoho! Evildoer! Nice one. You stole Wayne's crystal, didn't you?"
You did, and thank God for it. It's under the armor, against your chest, hidden by your Magyckal Aura. "No."
Since the arrival of the Eilistraeans, the entire Tenpenny estate has been refurbished, many of its rooms converted to dormitories and facilities all funded by Emitia. The girl spared no expense in providing for your people, ensuring that the building is staffed and adequately supplied, insisting that Sune will provide for them until the children are grown enough to provide for themselves. While you've not acquired the artisanal techniques of your people, there are many skills that you can impart besides fighting - the survival techniques from your ranger training and affinity for dance chief among them.
But you've a more immediate concern that demands your attention - impressing upon these children the culture of the Ilythiiri that was lost with their elders. They speak the local surfacer language, are ignorant to their illustrious history, and have no understanding of who they truly are, something that you have been working diligently to remedy as of late.
The old gallery, once filled with Tenpenny's vulgar paintings, has been completely redone into a library filled with fiction and realmslore. Rows upon rows of dark wood shelves sitting on white tile, surrounding a common area, the chairs arranged in a semicircle around yourself. In attendance are the children, who sit in anticipation of your lecture, their benefactor Emitia Rouzet, High Sorcerer Lael Lathalas, and his apprentices.
What, you wonder, will be the topic of today's lesson? >Today I will tell them the storied history of Menzoberra the Kinless, one of Lolth's most powerful priestesses and the founder of the city Menzoberranzan itself. >It is time for a lesson on Ilythiirra. They are learning the basics of our language well enough, but it is important to review regularly.. >I will tell them more of our homeland, the Underdark, Of its many cities and peoples that inhabit it. >[Write-in.]
A hundred years ago, during a GREAT WAR, Maou, THE MONSTER KING, has been defeated and sealed away by human HEROES. For a hundred years, he was biding his time, and recovering his strengh.
During that time, MONSTERS didn't dissapear from the world, but with MONSTER KING sealed, a person would need to be exceptionaly evil to transform. Places with evil aura can also spawn monsters on it's own! But not often. And with monster population low, the HEROES could always beat them back.
But now THE MONSTER KING stirs in his prison. He releases his power into the world in a terryfying roar! Humans who's heart is black on the inside, the ones harboring EVIL within them, cannot withstand the call of their inner monster, and by the power of MONSTER KING'S ROAR they transform!
