TGWR
AEGIS Base
“I have two demands. One, you let me and everyone else get our things back. Two, you can take me hostage, but let everyone else go. They’re not from here, unlike me, and they just want to go home.”
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by Skylus » Thu Nov 14, 2019 4:50 pm
by Rostavykhan » Thu Nov 14, 2019 6:39 pm
by Menschenfleisch » Thu Nov 14, 2019 6:51 pm
by The Japanese Americans » Thu Nov 14, 2019 7:43 pm
by Rostavykhan » Mon Nov 18, 2019 7:49 pm
by Naval Monte » Wed Nov 20, 2019 8:02 pm
by The Japanese Americans » Fri Nov 22, 2019 11:21 pm
Naval Monte wrote:The Great Wizarding Rebellion
"Don't be too sure on that pal. After what that bloody ghoul tried to do I think our former site director would be out for blood. But right now he is too busy being a doll for some corpse eating control freak." Jin told the man.
-snip-
by Rostavykhan » Sat Nov 23, 2019 8:43 pm
by Demincia » Sun Nov 24, 2019 12:44 am
by Menschenfleisch » Sun Nov 24, 2019 7:51 am
Jacquelyn Vanth was born on the 19th of May, 2008, seven years before the arrival of the Elders and their invasion of Earth. Her mother and father were pastoralists and thus they were not affected by the crisis for a very long time. Even during nights where the skies were filled with orange aurorae, drifting and fading like dragon’s breath, and during days when the sun would be blotted out of the silhouette of hulking war machines passing overhead, life went on as usual for her. One day, however, her parents came into her room in the middle of the night and told her that they would be going far, far away. She wasn’t old enough then to understand why. She was old enough on the 3rd of April, 2016, when their car, which they had been using to travel between abandoned ranches and friendly communities for some time, was broken into by a chryssalid. They didn’t know then that chryssalids lived in the sea, and so they hadn’t known to avoid parking by the shore overnight. Her mother died, filled with eggs, and her corpse began to bloat, eventually growing into a sac so large that it entirely took up the car. Her father held her hand as they ran, eventually leading her to a resistance camp in the Alaskan tundra. His purpose fulfilled, he passed away the night after he got her to safety.
On the second of February 2035, New Hopetown, a settlement with a modest population numbering no more than 150, was visited by a representative dressed in kevlar. He had a large rifle on his back and bore the scars of many conflicts, some of which he hadn’t come out on top of. His name, profession and history were unimportant: Jacquelyn hardly even remembered his face and his voice. However, what she remembered were his words. He had been a recruitment officer, and she had signed up without hesitation. For nineteen years, she had hid in a cottage, handing out boxes of melons and scavenging for scraps in woods, hating her parents all the while for not simply acquiescing to the alien’s demons and moving into one of their cities. If they had done so, they wouldn’t have died. She wondered, though, why they didn’t go. Did they resist the aliens’ regime out of pure spite - defiance for defiance’s sake - or had they believed the cities to be a vice or a trap, as the man in her father’s radio had said every night? Or maybe, as she came to believe in the end, they’d been among the idiots who’d stayed out of the aliens’ clutches because their pristine citadels - shining peaks of porcelain and glass - had no creature comforts like alcohol, pornography, drugs and pets.
As it turned out, Jacquelyn was among the first to join X-Com. She was right on time, too, for she arrived on the Avenger - X-Com’s mobile headquarters - no more than a day after they managed to retrieve their precious Commander from the clutches of the aliens. She was deployed on many missions alongside a group of wacky yet endearing companions. There was Ava Famei, who always had a smile on her face even in the direst of situations and who slung both grenades and bullets at the enemy, breaking their cover and flushing them out into the open to enable her allies to take them down. There was Valerian Devana, a cold and devastating man who maintained a cold ferocity during combat, systematically pinning down and annihilating his enemies with his chaingun. There was Polly K. Delilah, too, who was a genius in every regard; an unparalleled hacker and an incredible marksman to boot, any operation with her on the team seemed to end well regardless of the odds stacked against them. Among her teammates however, two bastions stood out. There was Mnemosyne, whose real name was lost even to herself. She was a sniper, with eyes sharp enough to cut steel. She was calculating and exact, never indulging in either cruelty or mercy. She racked up almost a dozen kills for every mission that the team went on, taking down five or more aliens in the time that it took Jack to hit just one. She would’ve been more lethal than the rest of the squad combined if not for her rival, one Kyle Hearse: a shinobi who specialized in wielding the blade, an archaic weapon but an effective one nonetheless. He was like a dancer or a ballerina, effortlessly gliding through the enemy. He would wipe out entire fireteams all on his own, and hardly ever seemed to take a hit.
Jackie had been no slouch either, though. She’d been the most maneuverable member of the team, and time and time again she found herself entrenched deep in enemy lines, surrounded by inhuman cadavers. Together, Jack and her team had slowly but surely advanced their cause, winning battle after battle. However, as time went on, X-Com’s notoriety grew. Thus, so did the aliens’ efforts to stamp them out. It was late september when Jacquelyn saw her first sectopod, a towering hulk of metal and hellfire. Though they’d made it through, they did so with no shortage of scars to pay for it. From there, the opposition that they faced on every mission seemed only to mount. Eventually, during a routine operation - one where they had been tasked with recovering a piece of alien hardware - her team was cornered, surrounded on all sides by vipers and ADVENT soldiers. They fought like hell, unwilling to give up the objective and eventually, they found themselves victorious, standing atop a mound of corpses. However, in one last hateful act, a sectoid that she’d thought dead appeared from behind a tree and shot her, already burdened by countless injuries, in the head. Jacquelyn Vanth passed away during Operation Burning Sea, leaving behind no progeny and, at least in her mind, nobody to mourn her.
Jacquelyn Vanth died on the 26th of November, 2035.
Jacquelyn Vanth was born on the 20th of October, 1898, in the city of London. Thirty years prior to her birth London had fallen into the underground realm known as the Neath, a place of utter darkness with no laws, no light and no death. The details of its fall were not privy to the public, although it was a common rumour on the streets that the city had been stolen by bats, and that Queen Victoria - then the monarch of the empire upon which the sun never set (and soon would never shine to begin with) - had made a deal with some unknown entity: in exchange for the life of her consort, the city would be dragged into the underground. However, Jackie never learned any of that: she had been too busy roaming the streets with a gang of urchins. Armed with jackknives and scavenged scraps of metal, they clobbered their way to the top of the hierarchy, beating all the rival gangs into submission. For a time, she had been on top of the world, collecting jade, amber and honey from her lackeys who ran The Flit, a densely packed and almost abandoned quarter of London where children ran wild and the decrepit hid from the ghosts that would hound them. Inevitably, however, she had been usurped. One night she’d awoken in the Thames with a half-dozen daggers stuck in her chest and a chain tied around her neck, with the other end connected to a rock sitting at the bottom of the river. The message was clear: her regime was out. Ah well. Out with the old and in with the new: that’d been what her pa had always told her.
She’d spent her youth after that working at Iron and Misery assembly yards, doing her best to earn a living for her family. She had polished scraps of iron on the pier and watched every day as leviathans formed of gray steel rolled into the harbour, carrying an endless supply of goods, zeesick zailors and the occasional payload of manic cannibals. She had been especially enraptured by the guns that the yard purveyed: hulking masses of crudely yet carefully fashioned brass, inscribed with demonic script and loaded with the finest armaments that Her Majesty’s engineers could put to paper. She’d dreamt of laying her hands on one of them, and even daring to fire them. Not a year after her sixteenth birthday, such an opportunity arose. A captain, one Jared L. Darling, approached her one soggy morning on the pier and had sat down next to her with a plate of fungal crackers and rubbery lumps - moist, coagulated masses of zee-monster blubber (nobody knew what they were really made of, but that seemed to be the prevailing theory at the time) - and had asked her if she had ever wondered what wondrous bounties the zee - that dark and endless place whose only purpose seemed to be to swallow up dreams and bodies - had to offer. She had said no, of course, for everyone knew that to sail was to invite the leering gazes of the zee monsters and jillyfleurs, to provoke the unmerciful and pernicious gods of the zee and to bring upon oneself untold forms of madness - whether subtle or overt. Captain Darling had laughed at that, and told her that she’d been the only one on that pier to have given him an honest and correct answer. He’d invited her onto the crew of his ship, and she had accepted at once. Her father surely wouldn’t miss her, and she’d long yearned to see shores beyond those of London harbour.
From Codex to Whither they’d travelled, carrying with them a contingent of rifles and cannon to chase off greedy crabs and lifebergs with fusilades of shrapnel. Captain Darling had kept a small crew on hand at all times, preferring to have more intimate relations with his crew that most others. Thankfully, he had not been subject to strange desires and hungers: the stories of crimson feasts occurring at sea were too numerous and too varied to be mere inventions of honey addled or simply dishonest men. They’d spent all their time in the harsh north, going from Mount Palmerston - the last hideout of some of the royalty of Hell, as well as a rather welcoming number of devilish hosts - to Venderbight, ferrying coffee and wine from the place of volcanic bounty whose harvests were informed by nutrient-rich ash to that place of dusty robes, bandages and bored men and women waiting to die. They avoided the more eldritch places in the Zee, of course. However, that did not stop them from passing by every once in a while, whether just to see what sights there were to espy or simply through coincidence. Jacquelyn made out the towering, jagged edges of the Avid Horizon through the snow at least two dozen times: its icy spires stung just to look at - and she had spotted Kingeater Castle in the distance five times in total, its high and crusted walls looking a thousand years more decrepit and aged each time she saw it again.
On the 16th of August, 1904, Captain Darling fell ill with a strange blight that ate up his arm, covering it in strange crystalline formations. Glass, the physician had stated, shaking his head with polite, practised pity. The captain was being eaten up by glass, he said, and there was nothing to do for it. Captain Darling had decided to retire, wanting to spend what time he had left spending his fortune enjoying himself. To turn to glass was a particularly cruel death: it left one with no twilight years, depriving them of the quiet yet peaceful decline into obscurity that becoming a tomb colonist promised. Jacquelyn, to the crew’s surprise - and especially to her - had received the rights to the ship. And from there, a new chapter began for her.
Captain Vanth drew charts of the whole Unterzee, probing its depths and scouring its landmasses for all the secrets she could find. She studied the Correspondence - the language of the stars, written upon the stones upon which London rested - at the university and acquired countless artifacts for its professors, handing in sharks’ fins and all sorts of other anatomical treasures she managed to salvage from monsters at zee, most of which she could not name, and a number of which had no names to begin with. She explored Venderbight, promising the dying keeper of the city to find him the seven colours of the Neath: the colours of forgetfulness, fright, rage, hunger, apathy, melancholy and joy. She played crystal chess in a bay of pirates with a rubbery man whose face was but a mass of squidy tentacles, betting her very life on the outcome of the games. She recruited a cat of a moody disposition, a blemmigan of a rather disagreeable temper, a cook with no untainted past, a gunner whose passion lay in enabling - but not creating - destruction, a magician whose magnum opus was an engine of very much scientific manufacture, and a whole cast of other strange, eccentric and typically beleaguered officers. She shelled pirates off the shores of the Iron Republic, that place where no laws - not physical, moral or even logical ones - existed and where Pandaemonium didn’t reign, for nobody reigned over that place of illogic and madness; she broke bread with a quiet deviless at Mount Palmerston, promising to return her to the rose-infested plains of her youth; she travelled to the surface, captured sunlight in a box and sold it to men looking to burn their faces off; she slaughtered enslaved sharks and sold their bones to collectors; she petitioned for an audience with the Tigers and the Wolves at Khan’s Heart and whittled away weeks of her life chatting with retired captains at the flotilla known as Khan’s Shadow; she earned the trust of Mongolian informants at Port Carnelian by sharing noxious goat’s milk with them and chatted with tigers; she wandered the dreamy fields of Parabola where mountains hung upside down and where water could be spun into silk; she roamed Adam’s Wake, where the light informed the bounds of the city and whose citizens refused to touch the dark for fear of their own shadows tainting them, and where her dreams would be taken up by nightmares of fiends, the mother of mountains and a wind that burnt her to the bone; she bantered with pirates and smugglers at Gaider’s Mourn; she listened to the services at the Chapel of Lights, spoken with a thrum and a rhythm beyond description, and partook in their suspiciously red banquets; she fought her own clothes that came to life when she sailed into Polytheme and watched clay men being forged by a mind desperate to feel alive once more; she descended into Fathomking’s Hold and held an audience with the Finger King himself, who gifted her with scintillack in exchange for stories of her exploits; she sailed to the North past Avid Horizon, earning a weeping scar, she sailed down past Grand Geode - that hideaway filled with London’s best admirals and soldiers - into the Dawn Machine’s domain and was burnt for her troubles, she sailed south into the Presbyterate where the waters ate her hull and the soil burnt her mouth and stunk of candle wax, and finally she sailed East into the caverns that hosted a blazing, brilliant golden light: that of the future. And there, having gone through so much: having earned the gods’ ire and respect a dozen times over each, having read every book there was to read and having told every story that ever had been told - she sailed past the veil of light and had ended up in the Uttemost East amongst a field of flowers and unwound time, seeing herself wandering the Neath forever, and realising at last that she was Salt, that most callous yet kind god of the Zee, who was but a captain. A timeless captain, an unbound captain, a captain with an eternity to explore each moment that existed, would exist and ever had existed. That event erased her existence from history. From that day on, something else inhabited her body: something that called itself by that name but which was truly only limited by the burden of having a name to begin with. And thus, her history and legacy were gobbled up by that Sunless Sea that she’d dared to travel, and that she had at last utterly conquered.
Jacquelyn Vanth died on the 8th of December, 1906.
Jacquelyn Vanth was born on the 23rd of March, 1869. Her mother, a member of the clergy, was forced to abandon her just two months after her birth, having to travel to Mutton Island just off the coast of Fallen London in order to train as a nun in order to kill that mythical beast known as The Vake. Her father, a poet from the Shuttered Palace, raised her alone. She learned all the things that a woman of her upbringing should do: she learned to curtsy, to dress well, to defer to her superiors and to destroy those she felt envious of with gossip and shame. Scandal became her sword and charisma became her shield in that deadly game of politics that was everyday life in the palace. She grew up intending to follow in her father’s footsteps, learning all the ways of prose and pentameter. She was tutored on how to treat the teacup as an extension of her own body, and how to control the ebb and flow of a conversation as easily as Poseidon would be able to control the tide. During the day she wrote Greek epics, telling the stories of well meaning yet ultimately doomed heroes whose flaws spelled their downfall and whose efforts amounted to nothing in the end. Yet, during the night, she wandered the streets of the city, clinging to the gaslit avenues and frequenting the brawlers’ stadiums where fighters competed for purses of rostygold, slicing off their opponents’ appendages in the arena and helping to sew them back on outside. There was an unspoken code of honour amongst ring fighters; it was inspirational, and her writing began to reflect the plight of the commonfolk more and more. This was scandalous. Writing about the peasants in a place like the palace? Preposterous! Her name was whispered around round, scone-covered tables, and her plays were boycotted by certain conscientious individuals. The interest of the daring members of the court couldn’t save her: eventually, she was banished from the court for her writings. Perhaps it was a minor infraction that she committed, perhaps banishment seemed like too harsh a punishment: yet it was by no means a permanent arrangement. Most playwrights were banished at one point or another: the ones who were never kicked out were seen as boring and too willing to cater to the sensibilities of the ‘upper class snobs’, or rather whoever seemed to be richer and more socially successful than whoever was using that term. She, however, had no interest in returning to the palace. By then, she was twenty two: and what better age was there than that to start exploring the world that lay beyond the plaster walls and floral wallpaper of Her Majesty’s abode?
Jacquelyn sparred with ring fighters at Watchmaker’s Hill, she had drinks with zailors, she went on expeditions into the Forgotten Quarter where relics from centuries past were buried, she befriended devils and attended their lectures on the nature of souls and the benefits of soullessness, she worked with the constables to investigate the crimes of Jack the Ripper whose blades she saw flash in the night once or twice, she descended into the clay quarters to discover the reason behind the disappearance of a well-off countess, she sampled the tea of the Murgatroyds, she cased and stole from the Brass Embassy - that bastion of glass and brick that the devils operated from - and did so, so many other things. And eventually, when the news reached her that the Avid Horizon - a gate that lay fathoms North of London - had been opened, she was one of the first to cross through, signing on with the crew of a private vessel owned by one Captain Whitlock. Whitlock died not a month later, having travelled into the Blue Kingdom - a realm where the dead went to be processed - and having broken one of the laws of death by extracting a spirit from where it should have been. The details of why were unimportant: now, Jacquelyn had her own ship.
Captain Vanth pursued a career with just two tenets: profits first, and down with London. She hated the establishment, and that hatred fermented over time into a dislike of all laws. She wiped out the Stovepipes, London’s proxies in The Reach - the brave new frontier of the British Kingdom - and pushed them all the way to Port Prosper, having killed scores of their kind. She explored Old Tom’s Well, unravelled the secret of one Amiable Vagabond, explored the history of the Ratty Brigade, forged a camaraderie with the Incautious Driver, helped the Fortunate Navigator bury their friend in the snow, sang choir songs with the Clay Conductor, made a companion at the Forge of Souls, spoke with the daughter of the sun, became Yoked at the behest of the Senior Scrivener, hunted Cantankeri in the Belt of Midnight, handed in strategic information to the office of the Foreign Emissary, dimmed the Dawn Machine and did so, so much more. She spoke with devils, listened to their hymns and learned of all the ways that stars were fed. She learned the secrets of the Sunless Sky, accruing a trove of stories that she could tell ‘til the end of time, never running out of fresh material. Sometimes she was plagued by nightmares and at other times by wounds and panic. Yet, she always managed to come out on top. She drove herself mad, even, just so she could manufacture a weapon of unparalleled destructive power. She hunted no fewer than 700 of London’s dreadnoughts down and destroyed them, scattering thousands of corpses into the cold sky where the Clockwork Sun’s harsh light would no doubt turn them to glass. She destroyed the sun itself, eliminating its proxies and stamping out all its efforts to survive like a gardener stamping upon the stems of weeds. She fired upon the Blue Kingdom’s heavenly architecture and lived to tell the tale, plundered souls from troves guarded by Logoi - words spoken by the Blue Kingdom’s king which acted on its behalf and with its authority -, saved not one but two souls from death, constructed a relay from Albion to Eleutheria - something that not even London itself could do - and so, so much more. By the time she drank from the Martyr King’s Cup, the goblet that would grant her life everlasting - an immortality superior to the one that Queen Victoria herself possessed, for her life was only extended and not rendered eternal - she had become the greatest monster in the sky. Not the Clockwork Sun, not the Blue King, not the Pansekritis, not the British Empire, not the Parted, not anything or anyone could compare to her; she outshone them all. And with immortality granted to her, she became unbeholden to the laws of the stars as well. She became something greater than them: she became a moment, an undying event.
Jacquelyn Vanth died on the 5th of April, 1915.
by The Palmetto » Sun Nov 24, 2019 9:49 am
"That rifle on the wall of the labourer's cottage or working class flat is the symbol of democracy. It is our job to see that it stays there."
by Demincia » Mon Nov 25, 2019 2:18 am
by Menschenfleisch » Mon Nov 25, 2019 8:39 am
by Menschenfleisch » Tue Nov 26, 2019 10:38 am
by Kaziimar » Tue Nov 26, 2019 4:10 pm
Naval Monte wrote:Secrets of the Raven
Elizabeth felt her cheeks as her body began to reform back to its regular texture, shape, and consistency, frowning as she felt her cheeks and felt them being a bit more saggy than before, cursing in her mind at the potion that caused it. The witch looked up at Jackie. "Not very pleasant is a underestimate, try fucking traumatizing. I was afraid of me and Terry were going to be stuck as the bloody blob for the rest of our lives." She turns to look at Terry as he held on to his sides.
"That didn't heal you huh?" The mage shook his head. "Nah, but I'm just glad my ribs are where they should be even if their broken. But you know I always thought what would it be like if we were together, but not like that." He joked before he groan from the sharp pang of pain that shoot throughout his body. Elizabeth crawled next to Terry as she gently lifted up his shirt, revealing the ugly bruise the punch made. She saw the skin was a reddish purple blotch with grayish outlines. She noticed the skin in a few parts had small bumps and she became concerned when she saw those.
"Damn it, that golem did a number on you." She pulled out a vial and open it. "Was saving this for me but you need it more." She would slide her hand under his head to lift it up. She would have him drink the vial and once it was empty she would gently place his head back down. "You're out of this fight mate. I don't need you dying from internal bleeding. Just save your energy on healing and let me and the others deal with the freaks and wizards." She told him in a soothing manner, to which he agreed.
Elizabeth would get up and dust herself. "So you want me to do stuff for you like making your wishes come true like a genie since we are now at three? Hopefully in our life debt game I can finally get some points down this hellhole." The two would hear a loud crash as Theodore's golem deliver a spiked fist on to the other golem's head, punching it off its shoulders. Rolo would unleash a bolt of lightning that would arc to the closest homunculi, electucating and killing a large swath of survivors. Mai incinerated the remaining humanoids with spontaneous combustion.
The dying screams of the homunculus fill the air as well as the roar of the raging inferno consuming them from the inside out, the crumbling body of the golem as each piece fell to the earth joined them. When the last piece of the golem flaked off the burnt bodies of the homunculus joined it. With the body seemingly over no one in the team celebrated this victory.
Three team members were done which it alone would ruin the festive mood, but the fact that Alex was still trap suggest that the mages were still present. "Keep your eyes and ears sharp everyone. The Crimsonites have geomancers so they can attack us from anywhere." Rolo warned as he flipped his hammer in the air and caught it.
Mai lift her arms up and conjured several floating fireballs to illuminate the tunnel to and remove any shadows the earth movers could use to hide their arrival. The ordered his Golem to reduce itself into an amorphous blob of clay as it spread out on the floor and touch the walls to reach the ceiling in order to sense for any mages moving the rock. During this brief pause Wei would try to summon more demonic familiars to assist with the search and exterminate of any approaching mage while Richard tried to convince the worms to help join the search.
Elizabeth walked up to her mother and after a few incantations and tracing a few symbols with her right pointer finger she would take out her curse knife with her left hand and slash at the air, almost dangerously close to her mom. Alex gave her daughter a look of fear after the slash but soon felt the spell she was on break. As she lifted her hands to look at them she began to close and open her fingers, lifting one leg and bringing it down before lifting the other and bringing it down. She looked back at Elizabeth. "You could have warned me that you were going to do that!" She glared at her
Elizabeth shrugged. "It worked right? I mean I could have actually slash or stab you and hope the curse went after the spell and not you. But I think neither of us want to test that." Alex still gave her a pout on the scare she received.
The argument would be short lived as the group sense something approaching them. As the group turn to face the tunnel, preparing spells against whatever was coming towards them, a blast of wind would hit them followed by a fine powder of pulverized rock and dust. The group was forced to cover their eyes, nose, and mouth to the best of their abilities as the silicon storm blew through the passage. Alex began to chant in Sumerian as she took out a brown pentacle and point it forward towards the dust storm.
As she began to channel the Terronous and Aeronous aether around her in town and now in the air she began to guide the storm to part from the group. As path before them began to clear up Alex was the first to see daggers flying towards the group. It was with a quick incantation and a flick of the wrist to active one of her amulets to provide extra power that the daggers sent on her way were diverted to hit the floor or fly around her.
Wei and Richard were protected by the demonic hands as the blades hit the boney hands and bounced off. The two only heard the knives by the time they could see their demonic protectors appearing before them. Theodore had his golem make a wall to protect him from the blades while Metis body was strong enough to make the blades shatter or bounce once they hit her body.
Elizabeth put down her arms and open her eyes to see knives flying towards her. She couldn't move as she the weapons caught her by surprise and because she knew she didn't have enough time to dodge them. Just as as the blades was close to stabbing her dark tendirls came up and absorb the knives. The occultist looked at the tenebraes and thought they were hers but soon realize that hers were still in her shadow, she looked over to Terry and saw that he also protected Jackie with his own familiar. The mage was spared from the knives due to most missing him.
"Looks like you owe me twice now Liz." He said to her as look up. He tried to laugh but he only groan as the attempt made him feel a sharp shock of pain erupt from his chest. "Don't laugh now you idiot. Besides I saved your life twice too with my potion being thrice now, so don't think you don't owe me anything." She fired back.
Mai let out screams of pain as the knives got her by her by both her forearms, thighs, and her waist. Rolo recive the same injuries but he merely grunted. The runecaster began to remove the knives out of himself almost as though he felt no pain in doing so. "Bastards." He growled as he hurled bolts of lightning at the shrinking cloud in an attempt to get the ones who threw the blades. Alex would join in as she channel her powers to send the strong gust and dust back at the caster that first produced it. Metis summon her gatling gun and began to open fire at the tunnel again until she ran out of ammo.
With the tunnel now cleared the group felt nothing else coming after them. Alex would look to Jackie. "You got anything that can heal?" She asked. Rolo took out a stone with a rune etched too it and applied it to the stab wound on his right thigh. He made an Icelandic incarnation and the power of the rune began to pour from the stone to his would, slowly healing him. Mai was the one who needed the heal. While she can cauterize the wound she feared it was too deep for the method to work effectively, plus she would rather avoid doing that if possible. Likely Wei went her to be healed by his blood magic.
Elizabeth still had her revolver out as she suspect the mages will attack again. Elizabeth looked around as she tried to use her sixth sense and the tenebraes to warn her of danger as she took a few steps forward into the tunnel. Theo did the same with his golem and Richard with the worms.
The Great Wizarding Rebellion
Johann saw Polly throw Kiara against the wall while a bundle of hair acting like tentacles came forward to wrap themselves around Polly. The tengu and Inugami were preparing to join the fight when Madi told the director to surrender.
"You're wasting your time getting that man to surrender." The tengu said as he gets to crack his knuckles. "This gijan would rather die than betray his international fascist conspiracy. I say we either torture valuable information or just kill him on the spot." The Inugami was silent on the matter as he prepared several more cards for his magic.
The pterodactyl looked at the group and it seem to understand that it should either work with them and get food later or try to eat now and die. The creature seem to step down as it stop roaring and stand down.
Johann saw the group convincing one anomaly to join them. "So that is your plan Madison? You're trying to get as many anomalies to join your group to get back at the people who were wronged by your government. Your alliance won't last once you leave this facility. All of them have their own goals. All you are doing is throwing more hazards to your world Goodwill. Can you live with yourself for every death they will cause?" The director told her.
In the hallway the mermaid and tiefling would encounter soldiers wearing black tactical hear and gas masks with red glowing visors gunning down zombies. When the unded were terminated the group saw the two mythical women. "That's the demon that released the mermaid! Get them!" The soldiers took out stun guns to paralyze the two.
With Kayta the robbed figures did not say a thing to her as they began to move towards her car, the vehicles engine being on not deterring them.
by Rostavykhan » Tue Nov 26, 2019 9:37 pm
by Skylus » Wed Nov 27, 2019 3:28 pm
by Naval Monte » Fri Nov 29, 2019 2:34 am
by Demincia » Fri Nov 29, 2019 3:17 pm
by Naval Monte » Fri Nov 29, 2019 8:42 pm
Demincia wrote:---
by Demincia » Fri Nov 29, 2019 10:31 pm
by Menschenfleisch » Sat Nov 30, 2019 10:04 am
by Skylus » Sat Nov 30, 2019 11:59 am
by Rostavykhan » Sun Dec 01, 2019 1:19 pm
by Nagakawa » Sun Dec 01, 2019 11:07 pm
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