Cataclysm

[Karl]

Failing a "action-reaction" type RP, I decided to turn my old idea into a novel RP.

As I mentioned before, nuclear war has threatened human existence as we know it. There are no more nations or borders or laws. Everyone fends for themselves or as part of a small tribe. However, some have embraced the mutations that resulted from the nuclear fallout. Those with mutations that aided them in combat have survived and continue to fight for their existence.

My character is Hathaway, the son of a former American GI. He travels alone, for the most part, prefering to keep to himself. When he needs to, he will scavenge or kill for what he needs and then move on. He also salvages machines, and has managed to constuct his own firearms, albiet unreliable ones. He's handy with tools and metals of all kinds, and can still think rationally, so he tends to plan before he goes into combat.

He's about 6 feet tall, light skin, and broad shouldered. He has a single undamaged semi-automatic handgun, but only one clip full. He also has several handmade pipebombs that he carries, for destruction on the go.

-------

Hathaway quickly scanned the building nearby, from the cover of a knoll. A few sentries were on duty, and from what he could tell, they were the berserker type. The kind that turned you to ground meat if you got too close. Just made them all the more fun to kill. He retrieved a pipebomb from his pack and armed it. After a quick lob, the bomb reached the center of the group of sentries, who preceeded to grunt and point at it. One explosion later, and they were all but burn marks on the ground. Hathaway drew the combat knife he found in the last building he infiltrated, and proceeded cautiously to the building entrance.

Small bits of mortar were crumbling where the bomb had affected the building. Hathaway leaned just over the side of the entrance to get a better view. No one was in sight. He crouched and walked inside slowly, still scanning the darkness that was, he believed, the remnants of a factory. Finding his way through a corridor, Hathaway quickly and quietly dispatched a trio of Berserkers with swift slashes across their trachea. He left the last of the three gurgling for air and entered a dimly lit control room. The machinery was mostly smashed, probably because Berserkers hate unnatural noise and light. One unit was still humming in the corner, and Hathaway made his way over to it. Removing the side panel, he inspected the CPU's components that were most valuable to him. It was just then when he heard a slight chuckle and everything went blurry and then dark.

[Vagrant]

My character is Wrath. He woke up after the blasts, not remembering anything. When he woke up, he was under a desk in the middle of nowhere. He has wandered since. Due to the extreme radiation he has received, the first weapon he picked up, which happened to be a sword, welded to his right arm, and is now an extension of his arm. Luckily for him, he's ambidextrous. He's strong and fast, but not the stealthiest or most charismatic. His hair has all fallen off, and now, a miniature tree grows in its stead. The tree creates a symbiotic relationship, providing food to Wrath as he provides basic nutrients such as water and solutes.

Wrath is short, standing at 5'2. His skin is horribly burnt, and one can see where his clothing meshed with his skin. The least protected areas were burnt the most, and the more protected areas were relatively unharmed. He wields the sword that welded to his body, and anything else he can pick up and use with his left hand (He can't use 2-handed weapons due to the sword's obstruction).

------------------------------------------------

Wrath wandered through the wastelands. He needed water. At what some to be a conveniently placed well at a conveniently placed time with a coveniently undamaged bucket, he conveniently took some water from the well. Or not so conveniently. With the bucket and water, up came an unusually large leech, mutated from the radiation. The leech jumped at Wrath and tried to latch onto his arm, but instead landed on the blade, slicing itself into two parts. Wrath took the bucket, stored some of the water, and drank the rest.

He continued walking.

[Karl]

Sweet, a response this time.

A little more info on my character.

Hathaway was protected from the major blasts of radiation by a government bombshelter that his father owned. He still suffered from fallout, however, and had some unique abilities. Hathaway could withstand large wounds, and even heal himself quicker than usual. It was no means of escaping death, but if he could escape danger for long enough, he would recover from normally mortal wounds. However, because his body was doing overtime to make sure he was in shape, he required more sustinance to have energy. This was unfortunate, because food was not readily available in the new world.

-------------

Hathaway awoke, groggy and confused. His eyes snapped open as he remembered what had happened. The light hurt his eyes, and pain flared on a spot on the back of his head. He slowly looked around. A Berserker stood nearby, it's back to the only door out of the room. In it's hands was a large piece of wood, most likely what was used on Hathaway's head. Hathaway tried moving, and found out he was tied to a steel pole coming out of the floor. He looked back at the guard. It grunted.

Just then, the door opened an in walked a seemingly normal male. He was smaller than the Berserkers, and walked with grace, unlike his larger friends. He walked up to Hathaway, and stared into his eyes for minutes. Hathaway couldn't take it anymore.

"What the Hell do you want with me?"
"Hell?" The small man laughed. "You know nothing of Hell my friend. Never come back to this place, or I just might have to show you."

With that, Hathaway was siezed by the Berserker guard and thrown out the third story window, still tied up. He struggled against his bonds, and managed to get a little gap. After a few minutes of pulling on the ropes, he untied himself. A quick pat down assured him that he had his belongings and nothing was harmed, but he was still freaked by the encounter. To his knowledge, no one had ever been able to communicate or control Berserkers besides other Berserkers. And the smaller man was no behemoth like the rest. He decided thinking about it right in front of the factory wasn't the best idea, and ran off to his arbitrary East. No one was quite sure which way was which anymore. The clouds always obscured the Sun.

[Aaedien]

I still wanna play... :<

~-----~

My character, Bob Greohne, is both cursed and blessed.

Mainly cursed. But meh.

~-----~

He survived the blasts. The millions of ringing cacophanies of blasts. The explosions which blasted the world. He survived them. Yes he did.

And he hates it.

He hates the cancerous cells on his body. He hates the fallen patches of skin. He hates being shunned by every single human being that exists, simply because he survived.

He hates the flesh exposed to the open air. He hates the missing nerves, not allowing him to feel. He hates the mind that he was given. He hates that he talks to the dead.

And he hates them all.

He hates them all.

Hates them.

He sends his only friends to punish them, for his being outcast; shunned; murdering his social life. He had a girlfriend. He remembers her hair's sweet smell. He remembers her soft skin. He remembers her soothing sounds. He remembers her.

And he remembers how she died.

The man had come into his very home, just before the explosion... he had taken out the r-Dart gun... he had shot her.

And he fell. He fell well.

He was asleep as the explosions went off, decimating both of those standing near him -- the corpse and the killer.

~-----~

Okay, so, that's not how I'm supposed to sign my character up. Sue me. ._.

He's... short. He used to be tall. Then he got short, 'cause of the radiation. And stuff. Anyways, he's only about 4'7''. And he's real gaunt. o.o

Oh, and he looks like a zombie. And he hates everyone.

._.

Anyways. Power(s). He's like a necromancer. Even the insane bit. And the 'kill them all' bit. And he hates being ugly. ._.

Anyways. To be more specific, he can talk to the dead, call up phantasmal spirits, do some minor mend-the-body things, and. Uh. Hm... there was something else.

Well, another power he has is he can't feel anything... and cancer doesn't effect him... and similar things don't...

But he's REALLY ugly. >_>

Oh. And he's, like, insane, or something. <_<

Not unintelligent. Just... devoid of most rational thought.

~-----~

Hm... I'm not sure if I want to just use this char or not... can I make another char? xD

~-----~

Bob decided he was hungry.

Again.

He continued along the trail. He hummed that odd santa claus song. The one where he was a government agent sent to kill us all with robotic green army men and magic candy canes. Of doom. Yep.

You better watch out...

He turned his head to the side to watch two rocks. Doing nothing. At all. Nope. However. He thought they were most interesting. He stopped walking. He went over to the rocks. He looked at the rocks. Real close.

You better not cry...

He started to remember a few things. Of most importance was his stomach. And his current need to fill it. He decided to continue on. He was hungry.

You better not pout... I'm telling you why...

Bob Greohne was going to town. He was going to get some food. He didn't care about what other people would think. He just wished that the clear ones would be quiet.

Santa Claus is coming... and he's got guns.

~-----~

Rhymes? Rhyming's not important when guns are involved. Neither's rhythm. <_<

>_>

<_<

Yes. I suck. ._.

[Karl]

Lawl. You don't suck, I actually enjoyed that style of writing. It fits with your character's manic personality. Sorry I had to move it, but not as many people seemed interested in it's other form. Anyway, glad to have you, Aaedien.

[Aaedien]

Lawl. You don't suck, I actually enjoyed that style of writing. It fits with your character's manic personality. Sorry I had to move it, but not as many people seemed interested in it's other form. Anyway, glad to have you, Aaedien.

^_^

Oh...

Question...

Maximum character count? >_>

[Vagrant]

Wrath walked around the massive craters in the ground. Here was the remnants of a city. A few concrete buildings stood. Some burnt trees were visible. Shadows of people and and animals littered the ground. The clock tower, which was constructed of concrete stood, and its clock, with its glass shattered, stood, frozen in the time at the moment the bombs had detonated. It read 1:35.

Poking through the rubble, Wrath came upon some stored water, and, mixing some dirt into it, drank it. That tree on his head really was quite a useful resource. Digging through the rubble some more, Wrath came up with some slightly singed rope, and a couple of pistol clips and shotgun shells, but no gun. However, there was a sizeable hunk of metal with some handle large enough he could fit his hand through. (To get an idea what it looks like, it's essentially a large trashcan top) It made a good shield.

As he peered through the rubble, two burnt ones slowly crept up on Wrath. Burnt ones were horribly injured from the bombs, lacking skin, burnt in several places, and even organs and bones sticking out in various places.

The two burnt ones snuck up on Wrath and tried to tackle him. Incidentally, both missed, as Wrath moved suddenly at that moment. Wrath withdrew suddenly, holding his armblade to the ground, ready to throw his shoulder into battle. "What do you want?" he yelled angrily at the burnt ones.

"Give us everything you have," they snarled.

"You'll have to say that to my arm. He wasn't listening." Wrath said threateningly.

The burnt ones charged at Wrath, hoping to catch him off guard. They didn't. One was smashed in the face by Wrath's new shield, the other got Wrath's armblade through his once human heart. The burnt one that had been smashed in the face quickly got up and scampered off. On the dead burnt one, Wrath found an old wallet and a couple of flares. Wrath tossed the useless wallet, and kept the flares.

[Karl]

So we have Berserkers and Burnt Ones. Your turn to come up with some weird mutated sub-species, Aaedien.

------------------

Hathaway just kept running. He was really confused about what had happened back at the factory. Unfortunatly, in his haste he stumbled on a small camp of mutants. These mutants weren't really special, they were just ugly. They started to advance on him, seeing his currently only slightly torn clothes. Hathaway pulled his sidearm.

"No body move, or the ugly one gets it." He smiled. A joke. They didn't get it. One leaped at him, and he was dead before he hit the ground; a bullet had leaped from Hathaway's pistol into his forehead. The rest were startled by the loud bang and ran off, leaving their possessions. Hathaway rumaged through a few bags, finding mostly crappy rags for clothing and moldy bread. He walked into a dwelling that was larger than the rest and stumbled over something. Looking down, he found a bat. A Baseball bat.

"Sweet merciful Moses...A good ol' Louisville Slugger." He grabbed the wooden bat/club and furnished a harness out of the rags he ofund earlier. Now strapped to his back, the bat made a nice addition to his growing arsenal. He grabbed some of the greenish bread and ate it. Bread, even moldy, was about the best quality of food you could find these days. It tasted of dirt.

[Aaedien]

Sweetness. I get to make a sub-species. Of humans. Woot. xD

Oh. The character count question, dangit! ;)


Also... uh... from now on, Italics are thoughts. <_<

~-----~

Bob says hi.

He says hi... to another rock.

Yet more rocks. Why am I stepping on rocks? Rocks hurt. My feet hurt. They got hurt by the rocks. I want shoes. Shoes feel nice. The rocks hurt my feet if I don't have shoes. Because shoes are good.

Thinking to himself, and attempting to convince himself to try to find a way to get some shoes, Bob stumbles upon -- but I should clarify. He more walks up to and looks at then trips over -- a group of some strange people.

People. I hate people. They should-

Raising his arm to the side of his head, Bob makes some odd gestures. He finishes with 'the finger,' aiming to the group he encountered. A small wispy thing comes out of the ground soon after. Soon acting in this as about 1.36424364361 seconds. Approximately. Yep.

Qwoenis!

The small thing currently floating in the air... turns... to Bob.

Let's have a little... fun.

The pulsating sky-colored speck giving off a healthy aura flashes to a sickly green color, multiplying its size a thousand-fold within the time period of about two seconds, a face forming, which begins its term as such grinning devilishly.

It continues to grow, a torso, legs, and such forming. It seems to be a young man of about 21 now, save for its being that odd green color that seems to desperately wish you to be sick, and its glow around it, somewhat resembling a grotesque, extremely ugly version of a halo around its head now.

It now runs off to the ones Bob has dubbed Kornons; the Body-Workers; the group now asleep a small way away. He hates them. Mainly for the fact that they won’t make him not-ugly. And they’re people.

The thing running off prepares one of the sparklies to annoy them; the ones that burst into flame and turn you all clearish. And are annoying.

Hate…

He begins to prepare a Transformation; to solidify the green glow that’s attacking his foes, and to allow him, therefore, to cause more mayhem upon them.

[Karl]

I don't mind multiple characters, but try not to be helping your own characters out too much.

-----------------

Hathaway stepped out into what was once a large open field, full of grass and surrounded by trees. He remembered, because this field was nearby his home, long ago. Before he was taken to some government bombshelter, away from his family. Why did they take him? Why damn him to this hell they called Earth? Why spare him his life, but not those who could actually help in a post-apocalyptic world? He had done nothing to help the world around him. He only looked out for himself. But that was everyone else's first priority, why should he be any different? Maybe because he could still form mostly rational thoughts. Maybe because he was still mostly human.

Hathaway shook his head. Thinking about this #### was stupid. He needed to survive, and standing exposed in this field wasn't helping his situation. He retreated into the shadows of the corpses of trees. They beared no leaves, but their hollowed out trunks still stood, and could provide easy cover if he needed it. Slowly, he advanced towards what had been his hometown.

Weaving in and out of cover wasn't easy, but he managed, and it was worth it. About 20 feet from a road leading North into the city, was a camp of Burnt Ones. He made his away around, not wanting to attract their attention. He finally passed through the city gates undetected. Crumbled, half-standing buildings lined a deserted street. Deserted save for one being. Hathaway quickly doged behind a building and poked his head out to observe this person.

He seemed human enough, besides the tree on his head. Hathaway shook his head. Weird. The man also held a sword in his right hand. Or so it seemed. As the man turned, Hathaway saw that it was not held, but attached to the man.

Hathaway moved farther into the alley and then through more buildings to find his former house. No need to bother that guy now.

[Vagrant]

Wrath searched through the rubble some more. He found a few water bottles, and stored them in his pack. He could mix dirt into them any time he needed to, so it would be best that the water remain uncontaminated for now.

Night had slowly fallen as Wrath was searching. While the tree drained energy at night, it also provided a protein which allowed Wrath to have better night-vision than most humans would. Wrath spotted a small campfire a quarter mile away. It was near a building that was, for the most part, still standing, if not scorched. There by the campfire sat what looked to be a normal human soldier. Wrath had not seen soldiers in ages, and they never looked kindly upon the sword-armed, tree-headed child. Wrath hovered in the dark near the campfire, watching the soldier, waiting for a moment to sneak some weapon or water away.

[Karl]

Hathaway had searched his old home. Not much was left. He did find a few undamaged things in his basement, although not much. He brought back a leather pack, a canteen, a kitchen knife, and some personal papers. He found out that his name had formerly been John. John Hathaway. Most of his memories were taken from him in the explosions. He had only remembered his last name from seeing it written on his boots. He had built a small fire outside, mostly to ward off the cold, but also to keep away animals.

He was about to drift asleep, when something glinted far off in the shadows. His head snapped up and he brought up his side arm. Careless. Of course you check the perimeter first, Hathaway....er, John. Stupid. He saw nothing more. He wasn't taking any more chances, though. He scanned the immediate area, and then slowly advanced on the shadows.

[Vagrant]

Wrath saw his chance. The shiny rock Wrath had thrown had drawn the soldier's attention. Wrath slowly crept forward, sword arm at the ready. Wrath snuck up to pack lying on the ground, and dug around in it. There were a few canteens of water, and even a couple of weapons. Wrath picked out a handgun due to the incapacitation his sword provided him. Wrath continued searching in the pack for more ammo.

[Karl]

John advanced on the shadows, but found nothing. He kicked a nearby rock in frustration. Turning around to get back to his fire, he stopped mid-step. That Tree-headed bastard was taking his things!

"Hai!" He yelled, as he fired off three rounds from his handgun. He took no notice of if his shots were accurate, he just drew his newly found Slugger and ran after the theif.

[Vagrant]

Wrath saw the soldier running at him, firing blindly. One bullet ricocheted straight off of Wrath's armblade. One flew overhead, and the other landed in the dirt, knocking up a bit of dust. Wrath took the water and the handgun he had found, and quickly found cover behind some nearby rubble.

Turning around and looking, Wrath noticed the soldier was going to use his bat. Wrath laughed inwardly, and put his armblade so the blade was to the ground, at his side, ready to strike.

[Karl]

John saw the theif ready himself for an attack and stopped. Still clutching the Slugger protectively, John spat out:

"Think you're real clever, neh? Look, I don't want to have to hurt you, so give me my things, and you can leave."

[Vagrant]

"You left them unguarded, they're my things now."

[Karl]

John started to get angry. This...thing was toying with him. He sized up the sword on the guy's arm and decided close-range combat would be suicide. He drew his pistol.

"Look, buddy, either put my stuff down right now, or I put a bullet through you, and maybe that bush of yours. If you want, I'll even play nice and let you keep a canteen of water. A prize for catching me off guard."

[Vagrant]

Wrath laughed audibly. In his other hand already was a handgun, pointed at the soldier.

"Shoot me, and we both die. Wouldn't want that, now would you? Nice handgun, I might add. Thanks."

[Karl]

Damn, I had a good reply going, and the server shut down when I hit reply. Oh, and I won't question it, but I technically never said there was another handgun in my pack. The only one I've mentioned is the one that's strapped to my hip.

"You know what? Fine, keep the damn gun. And the water. I can get more, if I need to. But know this. If you walk away with my stuff, I won't forget it. The first chance I get, I'll kill you. And it won't be fair. I'll ####ing shoot you from a hundred yards away when your back is turned. So if you're so intent on taking what is rightfully mine, then please, by all means, walk away so that I can kill you later."

[Vagrant]

Wrath laughs, and steps backwards, slipping into the shadows. Once in the shadows, he finds a nice little shelter where he can monitor Hathaway until sunrise. Figuring that it would be best to keep your enemies close, Wrath decides to trail Hathaway.

[Karl]

John was mad. That freak had been able to sneak up on him. No more. He was gonna pay.

John didn't sleep the rest of the night. He kept seeing little disturbances in the shadows on the edge of his vision. He figured that the freak would either get out of town, or follow him. So, to be on the safe side, John decided to be evasive. The rooftops it was.

John was fairly agile. He traveled around town by leaping from rooftop to rooftop, or at least what was left of the rooftops these days. He never stayed on one for very long, but long enough to spin around and check on who was on the streets nearby, and possibly other rooftops. He leaped to another building, and fell through.

"Ow."

He laid there until the dust cleared and grinned. He had fallen into a Outdoor store. Perfect. Amazingly, only have the store seemed to be destroyed. The other half was suprisingly undamaged. John found new boots, a couple empty canteens, sets of unused and undamaged clothing, and best of all, ammunition for his handgun and a hunting rifle. He gathered it all together and turned to leave. Problem.

Now he understood why no one had already claimed this stuff. the building had been torn in half by a blast of radiation, and that radiation had infused itself into the ground in a several mile long strip or harmful soil. One step could kill you, or alter you beyond recognition. He looked back around the store for another way out. He eventually made do by stacking furniture to the hole he made in the ceiling. He quickly made his way back onto the roof, just as his makeshift ladder collapsed under his weight.

John continued now on the streets, but he kept to routes that turned frequently. He found the city limits and plunged straight into the forest of burnt-out trees.

[Vagrant]

Wrath monitored the soldier's progress. He hid and watched from corners of buildings. At some point in the day, he heard a loud "SMASH." It was at that moment, Wrath noticed the strip of land that had given him the sword arm. This time, Wrath was ready to cross it. Dropping his shield onto the land, he used his swordarm as a proverbial oar to propel himself across the radiated land.

After he got across, Wrath picked up the shield -- now it had tar attached to it -- additional defense.

The soldier apparently had the idea in his head that Wrath might be trailing him. He was right. He followed the soldier into the forest, which would make perfect cover for Wrath.

[Karl]

He's strong and fast, but not the stealthiest or most charismatic.Alright. I'll give you not very charismatic, but if he's not very stealthy, and my character is a trained soldier, then how come you can trail me so well without me knowing? Lay off some, I never really meant to become enemies.

John made his way through the trees until he saw a cliff face. He decided the caves might be a good camp. Only one way in, and one way out. He deftly scaled the moutain, sometimes only finding a hold for one hand and hanging off the edge. He finally made it to the cave mouth, some 50 feet off the ground. Just to ensure his security, however, he placed a pipebomb at the mouth of the cave, and rigged a proximity trigger he had been experimenting with recently onto the tip. He retreated to the far end of the cave, quite safe from the blast radius, and used his pack as a pillow. The sun finally dipped below the horizon, and he was put into darkness.

"Let's see the freak get past that."

[Vagrant]

Alright. I'll give you not very charismatic, but if he's not very stealthy, and my character is a trained soldier, then how come you can trail me so well without me knowing? Lay off some, I never really meant to become enemies.

Alright, I'll change it.

*tosses rocks at the cave*

Just kidding.
_______________________________________

Wrath notices that that the soldier had gone into a cave overhead. Figuring it wold be an easy trap, Wrath spends the night outside, exposed to the elements, quietly mixing some dirt into his water and waiting.

There's some rustling in the night. Wrath wakes up to find three Berserkers not 20 feet from him. They're slouching along, apparently scavenging for things on the outskirts of the city. Wrath does his best to get up quietly, but the tree on his head makes a ton of noise, and the Berserkers spot him. Within such close range, using the handgun was impractical and dangerous. Instead, Wrath takes out his tar shield and readies his swordarm. As one berserker swings, Wrath deflects it with his shield, and does a direct stab to the berserker's heart, ending its existence instantly.

The other two, a little more wary, work together. Both seperate and attack from Wrath's sides. Wrath leaps forward in the nick of time, avoiding being smashed from both sides. The berserkers take a second to recover from their charge, and try it again. All Wrath can do is dodge their attacks.

[Karl]

John awoke to grunts and sounds of a struggle. Berserkers. No doubt they were in a tussle over some sort of food. Berserkers did not play nice when they had a chance to eat. John retrieved his hunting rifle from his pack and carefully disarmed the proximity trigger on the pipebomb.

Laying himself prone, John aimed down to the base of the mountian and peered through the sight. He grinned. Seems the freak found himself some trouble. He carefully tracked the freak's head just below the bush on his head. When he had come to a brief stop, John started to squeeze. But he hesistated. As much as he despised this guy, he hated Berserkers more. He quickly changed targets to the slower of the Berserkers, and put a round clean through it's eye. The Berserker clutched it's head and staggered, but finally collapsed to it's knees and died.

"Let it chew on that a bit."

[Aaedien]

Because I'm not too fond of fighting with NPCs, I'll just skip ahead to the day after the battle, or that night, or whatever time you guys are in now, and have him remember stuff about the fight. xD

~-----~

Bob, waking up after about 3 hours of sleep, in what he judges to be the middle of the night, with many night animals making noises, and his skull beginning to become pained from that club thing graciously provided force by those Body-Workers to the left side of his temple, which apparently caused him to fall unconscious, thinks to himself. Stupid body.

Falling asleep in a battle is no fun at all. I hate it. I need to get some more of those working nanite thingies to make me look more normal-like.

Deciding to continue on as he was, Bob reflects on the battle; the leader one seemed to like tears and scars even more then the others did. Not that that's very much, as 'the others' despised having anything look anything other then perfect under their possesion. But oddly... the leader seemed to enjoy the harm his body came to.

Not that it mattered much. They were all dead when he woke up.

To have a bit more fun, and to rub it in, Bob called up their spirits, planning to taunt them and their ability to heal themselves, and the fact that, even though they were 'the best' at healing, they, most... unfortunately is a good word, died.

~-----~

I'm thinking I'm gonna get another character soon. I can't RP insanity well. xD

~-Edit for Spelling. (graiciously - graciously)

[Vagrant]

Wrath knew he was in serious trouble. He saw the gunshot wound to the one berserker's eye. He knew the soldier had heard the battle. The other berserker looked confused as hell. The weirdo in front of him couldn't have caused his buddy's death, or could he? The berserker didn't ponder long, and instead resorted to charging at Wrath. Wrath parried and riposted the attack with his sword, hitting the berserker's jugulars. Wrath quickly found cover behind a burned tree, and put his shield behind his head, because Wrath's best bet was that the soldier was still in the cave.

[Karl]

John knew a tactical advantage when he saw one. He had the high ground, he knew where his enemy was, and he had superior weapons, at least for the moment. He decided that waiting the night out here was the best idea.

John reset the proximity trigger and went back to trying to sleep. Freak-man wouldn't bother him tonight.

At least he hoped so.

[Vagrant]

Wrath didn't know how long the soldier planned on staying there with his rifle, so he was forced to stay awake for most of the night, nodding off every now and then.


Don't have much else to say. >_>

[Karl]

Dawn broke, and John's eyes snapped open. He wasn't tiny bits. That was good.

He, once again, carefully disarmed the pipebomb and stuffed it back into his sack. Peering down the mountainside, he noticed that there were three Berserker bodies lying on the ground. From such a height, he couldn't really make out any details, but he assumed that freak-boy had survived, since a tree-head was not among the dead. John brought his rifle up and looked down the scope to figure out what the situation was below. No sign of the tree-man, but he didn't want to take any chances. John slung his pack over his shoulder and started moving around the mountain, towards the opposite side. Hopefully, bush-head hadn't noticed him and still thought he was camping at the cave.

It took several hours, but John made it to what he assumed was the other side of the mountain. He half-climbed, half-slid down the mountainside, and hit the ground near a lake. It looked diseased. He kicked at the surface of the lake, and it barely moved.

"Sludge." He looked at his boot and thought better. "No, tar." The liquid had dried and was now hard on the tip of his boot. Which meant that there had to be a heat source somewhere below the lake, keeping it warm enough to stay a liquid. He filed this information away. It could come in handy in building something. Or getting rid of enemies.

John carefully wiped his boots clean to reduce tracks he made, and head off away from the sun. Easier to see with the sun at your back.

[Vagrant]

((I'm waiting for Aaedien, because two players RP'ing gets kinda redundant after a while))

[Karl]

True. Any ideas on recruiting more RPers? Or do not a lot of people here like the Novel type?

[Vagrant]

I think the problem is that we lack a bunch of people with the maturity, typing ability, and willingness to RP for novel RP's. Novel RP's are my favorite kind, but the kind of people capable of playing them well are few and far between.

[Karl]

Yeah. Can you think of anyone that might be interested? Maybe I should PM Aaedien again...

[Aaedien]

Bob, after a most refreshing talk with his new... allies, encounters a large strip of land, which, upon further inspection, not only looked odd, but was connected to a building, which, upon further inspection, proved to be only half of a building, which, upon further inspection, appeared to be a store of some type, which, upon further inspection --

Bob got bored of this.

He summons up his new pets, and orders them to carry him across. Ignoring their claims of incapability, Bob repeatedly gives commands. Carry me.

Now.

He, as well, calls his origional three, which are comprised of Queronis, Velkroth, and Daev; Queronis specialising in passifying the enemies, whittling them down, and somesuch; Velkroth aiming more towards a hostile approach of hurling balls of death energy and flame at his foes, usually; and Daev... well, Daev is odd.

Queronis! Make me a bridge!

Velkroth! I sense some bodies up ahead. See what they are!

Daev! Train these misfits into a true force of fighters.

Noting down that he actually did sense something dead up ahead this time, Bob prepares to cross the stretch of radiation-eminating tar, across his bridge that his ally is making.

I'm bored...

~-----~

Trying to catch up to you's. xD

Also... you might think he's pretty powerful, because his one ghost could take out 3 npcs, or whatever... but not really. It's like a one time thing for those to do that...

Well, for the 'original three', it's once per three days or so they can pull something like that off... their power recharges quite fast, comparatively.

And he can destroy spirits. So long as they're dead already, he can dissipate them. And his ghosts can... 'suck' the remaining ethereal(sp? <_<) energy into themselves to give them power.

And I'm explaining a lot in OOC. Badly. ._.

(note that I did all this abput half an hour after I'm supposed to go to sleep. o.o)

[Vagrant]

Wrath woke up with one nasty ache in his neck. Using his shield as a pillow was a bad idea. But he needed it in case of being shot at. Wrath cautiously peered at the cave and noticed that the soldier was rock climbing. Why, Wrath had no idea. Wrath noted he was going around the mountain.

Walking among the burnt out trees, Wrath followed the soldier's actions until he reached a lake of black goo. "What the heck is this junk?" Wrath reached down and brought some up with his fingers. It stuck. Deciding not to eat it, he instead put it to one of the roots of his little tree. The tree absorbed it quickly, and a minute later, started spewing out a poison cloud. Everything near Wrath died, but Wrath was immune to the poison. Wrath decided to save some of it for later.

"Now where the hell has that soldier gotten to?"

[Karl]

Uh-oh. Poison gas = not good for me.

I'll update tomorrow, I'm too tired right now.

[Karl]

John continued his path West. He soon realised that all evidence of a mountain and anything else discernable had left his vision. He was entering a plain. The high grass around him was blood red, hence the name he gave for it, Blood Grass. He continued walking into the plain, wary of the fact that there would be no real cover to use for miles, depending on how large the plain was.

He stopped and scanned the horizon around him, and because the land was so flat, the horizon was a long way away. He made note of the mountains he had come from to the East, and then nothing but plains to every other direction. The sun dropped, and John knew it would be dark soon. He flattened grass in a patch of land that was lower than the surrounding area, to reduce the chance of him being spotted from far away. He set up a meager camp, but did not light a fire. He wasn't going to give anyone any way to spot him if he was being tracked.

[Vagrant]

Wrath didn't know which way to go. Deciding randomly, he spun on his heel with his bladearm fully extended. Whichever way the blade ended up pointing, he decided he would go. First try, it pointed straight to the lake. "Ok, I'm not going that way." Trying again, his blade ended up pointing south around the lake. So he walked around the side of the lake, and soon came up on an endless grassland. Drinking some water, he walked on.

Sometime in the night, Wrath just sort of fell down in a random place to sleep. He didn't care.

[Aaedien]

This would've been a lot more fun with more people. 3 isn't all that great for something like this. <_<

And I tried writing something decent down recently (5 minutes ago), and couldn't... I'll wait (took me 5 tries to spell that) for a few hours, and try again... and if I fail again, I might skip the RP for today. ._.

[Karl]

Yeah, I just have no idea who else would want to play. Like Vag said, most people don't have the patience to actually type out a response to a Novel RP.

[Vagrant]

No kidding, this would be a lot more fun with more people.

[h00pla]

I'll probably join later, after I've read everything, but I had to ask this

My character is Wrath. He woke up after the blasts, not remembering anything. When he woke up, he was under a desk in the middle of nowhere. He has wandered since. Due to the extreme radiation he has received, the first weapon he picked up, which happened to be a sword, welded to his right arm, and is now an extension of his arm. Luckily for him, he's ambidextrous. He's strong and fast, but not the stealthiest or most charismatic. His hair has all fallen off, and now, a miniature tree grows in its stead. The tree creates a symbiotic relationship, providing food to Wrath as he provides basic nutrients such as water and solutes.

Shouldn't his name be Harold and the tree's name Bob?[/fallout2reference]

[Vagrant]

XD. Glad you got the reference. Bonzai!

[Karl]

OMG liek Skye iz gonna play wit us? omg sweet.

[Karl]

Duuble Post, I know. Shaddup.

John awoke, and couldn't quite remember where he was. It seemed so peaceful, just laying there and staring at the sky. But then it all rushed back to him, and he had to get moving. Never stay in one place long. He started to make his way further West, farther into this blood red plain. There was nothing for miles and miles. He thought about turning back until he heard it. Very faint, but at the same time very prominant in this void. It sounded like flutes, not really making a discernable melody, but a jumble of notes played all at once. A breeze blew in his face and the notes swelled. He decided right there that he needed to know what was making the noise. He set off in that direction.