Paradise Lost

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Warmaster Death, Jan 30, 2010.

  1. if you do try to even it out over the other 3 clans
  2. Reave held a dirk in one hand, the other gripped the end of the rope tightly. Looking up with hazel eyes, she could see Mars clearly in the dark. The perks of being a warrior-mage. Carefully she was lowered in to the hole until the bottom of her feet touched the caverns floor. Tugging on the thick rope, she let Mars know she made it.
    It was damp inside, a ghastly smell over powered her sense of smell. Gagging Reave tried not to heave. Ripping a small part of her blouse she wetted it with some water, then used it to block out the smell. Come out, come out, where every you are deamon.
  3. Evanum looked back into the eyes of the necromancer. Whenever things had gotten out of hand he had always moved on. A tavern keeper's daughter and her angry father, impending bandit raids. Pompous princes and arrogant heroes. These were all reasons to move on the the next town. This was not his town. This was not his problem. Herded into the square with the rest of the townspeople there was one way out.

    "WHat kind of power are we talking about here?" he knew there would be a catch, there always was and he was only being offered this because we would be more useful alive than of a walking heap of bones.

    He pushed his way out of the crowd and walked a few steps towards the wizard. He could feel the eyes on his back, whispers of traitor.... they were just jealous because he would live. He shut out the whispers and the cries of the women. "I think I'll accept your offer, I'd just like to know the details."
  4. Prince Gawain Golgotha stalked through the woods, creeping on hands and knees beneath the thorn bushes. His sword was strapped across the back of his golden armour, and his hand was on the hilt, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

    He sniffed the air, then felt the ground where his prey had left tracks. He was close. With his ears finely attuned he listened to the sounds of his target. It was passing on the road up ahead, blissfully unaware of the hunter.

    Gawain got to the edge of the undergrowth, sighting his prey coming down the road. He curled up his legs, ready to pounce, and gripped his sword.

    "You're mine now...."

    Drawing his sword, he leapt from the trees and seized the beast around the neck, hanging on for dear life. "AH HAH!!!"

    The creature squealed and reared up, trying to throw the prince aside. But Gawain held on tightly, even as it... "Woah! NO!!!" ...even as the creature charged down the road and came to a sudden halt...

    "Waaaaaah!!!" The prince was flung into another tree, slamming face-first into the trunk. "Uuugh!" He slid down and landed in a heap on the floor.

    Getting up, the prince turned and pointed his sword as his foe. "Todger!"

    The horse turned, spreading its legs and sinking into a karate pose. There was a gleam in its eye and it snorted, dragging its hoof like a bull.


    The horse charged forward, head-first towards the prince, snorting excitedly.

    "Aaaaagh!" Gawain turned and clambered up the tree, lifting his legs as the horse charged. With a echoing thud the horse ran straight into the tree, dazing itself then reeling backwards.

    "Ah hah!" declared the prince again. He dropped to the ground and stood in a victory pose as Todger staggered about.

    Then the tree feel down.

    "AAAAAAAGHHH!!!" screamed Gawain as he leapt out of the way. The trunk crashed down and Todger vaulted over it, kicking him in the face. Gawain stumbled, bringing up his fists and jabbing at the horse, which continued kicking him.

    "Take this! And this! And WOOOAHHH!!"

    Todger headbutted Gawain between the legs and picked him up on his back, charging back down the road.

    "Oh no ya don't!" Gawain got his legs around Todger's neck then used his arms to grab the next branch. The horse's eyes bulged as it was suddenly yanked backwards and horse and prince collided with each other and rolled down a slope.

    "Ooph! Aaagh! Uuugh! Gaagh!!"

    The two of them ended up on the verge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. On the beach below the sodden remains of a shipwreck could be seen.

    Gawain now had the horse in a headlock. "Tried to get away from me, huh? You think cos I lost my ship you're no longer my horsie? Huh? HUH?"

    Todger snorted and scowled, trying to bite the prince's hair.

    Suddenly they both stopped and looked down at the beach below. Some figures were wading out of the sea and towards land. Perhaps a dozen of them, staggering a little, but all moving with purpose.

    "Hey!" smiled Gawain, "Some of my crew survived!"

    The men clambered onto the beach, picking seaweed from their skinless bones and spitting fish from their chattering skulls and drawing rusty swords in their skeletal hands.

    Gawain and Todger gulped.

    "Er... I think we should me moving along."

    Todger nodded and finally let the prince get back in the saddle.

  5. "W-What!?" Kang yelled, rising to a standing position from the chair on his floating platform, biting his lower lip at the news that the young minion gave. Turning to another, gesturing with his hand, "Take him to the medicine room!" At his prompting, two other minions came forward, grasping the bloodied minion and carrying him off.

    Sweeping around to face a black wall, he calls forth, "Main screen, turn on!"

    After a moment of fuzzy sizzling noises, an image showed in black-and-white of the front gates - of the legion that now rode against him. "That's..." He squinted, directing his platform forward with a joystick located on the arm of his chair. "That's not any of the other 'Villains'... what are those..." After a few moments of squinting pathetically at it, he sighs, shaking his head.

    ...Until the rider in front caught his eye. Brushing the black hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, he glances at the front rider for a moment. His gasp quivering with fear, a chill running down his spine.

    He whips around, kneeling to grab the speaker for the system he had up, "Gentlemen, Escape Route A-2. This is not a drill." He flicked a switch, and the flashing lights of the silent alarm washed through the base.

    Turning to face his captured prize, he shook his head. "We're leaving. Come on."
  6. Rosabel was standing with arms crossed and a delicate little nose turned up in the air. Dressed in lace, silk and other finery, she was a picture of beauty. A little fairy princess, sweet as sugar and delicate as a flower. Only... Rosabel wasn't feeling so sweet today. Or delicate. In fact, Rosabel was very annoyed and this was the final straw!

    "No! I'm tired of all this nonsense! It was funny at first, because I know my prince is coming to get me, but now it's just too much. How is he supposed to find me if we're running away to goodness knows where!" Honestly, the fiend was no match for her handsome prince. So Rosabel wasn't the least bit worried about that. But it had been almost three weeks without even a single word from her future husband. That was just not the way rescues were done.

    "I'm not moving an inch. Not even a smidgen!"

    “Please, good sirs, surely we can work something out?”

    His arms raised in the universal gesture of 'Hey look, I'm not armed with any large objects of hurting', Prince Nimoy Knabolde backed slowly away from the five Satyrs that had just levelled their crossbows at him. The leader of the group, a tall, goatee'd creature with his hair styled into a mohawk, looked at the Prince carefully again.
    “I give you 'dat much, mate. You don' look or act like any zombie ah've seen, and your no exactly trying to eat us and what, but still, I don' think we should be takin' any chances now, should we lads?”

    There was a chorus to the affirmative from the others, and if Nimoy's now undead body could have broken into a sweat, this would have been the point when he would have done so.
    “I speak the truth, my friends. I was a Knight of the Realm, leading a small force to ambush the undead. Only we fell into a trap and were wiped out. Now I find myself in this... predicament. I mean no harm to you or your people, I just wish to pass through.”
    “Like 'ah said, mate, you seem pretty convincin', like, but you could be a spy fur all I know. I don' think we should make exceptions, ya know? Gotta send a strong message.”
    “Just let me pass. You can follow me to the edge of the forest, even, if you don't trust me. I simply--”

    A horn sounded through the forest, leading Nimoy and the Satyrs to immediately begin to scan around the undergrowth for signs of it's source. Distantly, Nimoy thought he could hear marching, the rhythmic pounding of thousands of feet upon the ground. He glanced over at the leader of the Satyrs, who motioned for him to follow. Together, the group crept through the forest, reaching an edge were the trees gave way to a steep slope leading down into the valley below.

    Through the valley marched the ranks of the undead, at their centre a tall man with skin as white as snow and teeth that looked like they had been filed to razor sharp points. The six crouched at the edge of the slope, watching their progress.
    “Mates of yours?” the lead Satyr asked.
    “Certainly not,” Nimoy whispered back, his eyes never leaving the pale man, “That's the army that slaughtered my own.”

    Show Spoiler
    Prince Nimoy is introduced as he is being confronted by a group of Satyrs over his rather undead nature. He insists that he's not a threat, though the creatures don't seem terribly convinced. However, they are interrupted by the undead army marching through the valley next to the forest they are in, the army Nimoy recognises as the one that defeated his own.
  8. Name: Samantha Pendleton


    Age: 26

    Ethnicity: British

    Location: Toronto, Canada


    Aerokinesis: Samantha can manipulate the movement of gaseous molecules so that they travel against the diffusion gradient. This allows her to create concentrated areas of pressure of up to about six atmospheres around her body. She can enlarge this pressure pocket away from her and with concentration direct it. However, the greater the volume or further away from her body the pocket it gets the harder it becomes to maintain.

    - Narced: Anyone who stays in a pressure pocket of air that Samantha has created will start to become "drunk" on nitrogen after a couple of minutes. At full strength, anyone unprotected from the high pressure will suffer significant physical and mental impairment within minuets. Once returned to normal conditions however victims will make a full and equally rapid recovery.

    - Breathing Easy: With concentration Samantha can separate gases out from each other. Mostly she uses this to create a small bubbles of oxygen enriched air to breathe allowing her to go longer and harder in a fight

    - Hardly Breathing: With sufficient focus, Samantha can using a carefully shaped pressure pocket, create an area of very low pressure. Anyone caught in this low pressure pocket will begin to suffocated though they will need to be prevented from moving outside the affected area as Samantha is effectively incapacitated while maintaining a vacuum. Mostly she uses this ability to put out people’s cigarettes.

    Talented Pugilist: While she's no Black Canary (Earth 0) Samantha can throw knuckles better than most.

    - It takes a minuet or two for Samantha's power to reach full effect on a target, until then she's effectively a regular person that's quite good at punching people. Anyone with some kind of hermetically sealed environmental protection will be completely unaffected.

    - Samantha's powers are non discriminatory. While she tries to keep her pressure bubbles focused in front of her, in a fight they may well spread as her concentration falters meaning that any nearby allies could be affected.

    Partying - Duh.
    Ice Hockey - Its one big punch up on ice.
    Seals - They're just cute.
    Donner Kebabs - There is nothing better than mystery meat after a night of drinking or crime fighting.
    Winning a fight - Winning is where it's at. People who just like fighting are a few cards short of a deck.
    The Rain - Feels like home.

    The Press - What a bunch of bastards!
    Psychologists - Lying twats.
    The Immigration Department - Paper work, god damned paper work .
    Work - Anyone who says they don't hate their job is lying.
    Tea - Black coffee please.
    The French - Just a basic patriotic duty.

    - A short double barrelled shotgun that Samantha uses with bean bag rounds
    - Knuckled dusters


    - Daily:
    Samantha's go to outfit consist of severely distressed (yet surprisingly expensive) dark jeans, a T-shirt (usually for a festival or sports team that you've never heard off), a military style sleeveless hoodie, a pair of brown cowboy boots and a dog tag necklace. Ear phones can often be seen poking out of at least one of her ears

    - Costume: On top Samantha wears a slightly tattered burgundy hooded leather jacket over a light weight stab vest and non-descript dark long sleeved shirt. On her lower half she wears a pair of snug fitting combat trousers, military surplus boots, a brown leather ammo belt filled with bean bag rounds and in a leather holster a very short sawn-off double barrelled shotgun. Also an ear phone cable can be seen poking out from her hood, she's probably using it for comms and not music, probably. Something like this

    A hedonist through and through Samantha is always looking for the next thrill with minimal work. In her civilian life this translate to excessive partying and a checkered work history. In her vigilante career she tends to eschew long winded complicated investigations for a wing it and see what happen style of crime fighting

    Secret Origin:
    Born the only child of well to do parents in the home counties of England, Samantha had a charmed childhood. The manifestation of her power was welcomed by her parents who were fiercely proud of their daughter and made sure to include as much positive imagery of powered people in in the young Samantha’s life as they could. If pressed on the issue this early part of her life was when she decided she wanted to be a superhero, but then again what seven-year-old doesn’t.

    Unfortunately constantly being told she was special rather went to Samantha’s head and by the age of eleven the wheels fell off her perfect middle class existence when she failed the entrance exam for the local public school. A hastily arranged psychologist concluded that while Samantha was intelligent, she was also lazy and recommended military school as a way to straighten her out.

    The change of regime was initially tough for Samantha with many of her new peers being bigger, stronger and in some cases older than her. Her saving grace was that her powers did help to level the playing field in the more physical aspect of her education. At first she was careful in using her powers but their intangibility and her growing confidence meant that she used them more and more. Samantha's apparent natural martial prowess meant that she got moved into more advanced classes then might other wise of been open to her.

    Aged eighteen she left the school with good grades (as well as developed fighting skill) and took an offer from a London university. While she had no real interest in further education, the lifestyle of a student appealed to her as she thought it provided the perfect cover to try her luck as a vigilante. Also the parties.

    For two and a half years Samantha years fought minor crime under the moniker of Rapture by night and nursed her bruises through university by day. Dealing mostly with small crimes meant that she didn’t garner much attention, save for some small online communities. In the February of her final year she intervened in a pub fight that had spilled out onto the street. While she was dealing with one of the bigger combatants she was knocked into an elderly lady who was in turn knocked into the path of a car. While it was only a minor accident the newspapers demonized Rapture for the accident and made it impossible for her to continue her vigilante activities

    Unwilling to give up her dream of being a hero, upon graduating (by the skin of her teeth) Samantha moved across the Atlantic to start again as a vigilante, taking on a new alternate identity to escape the past. She has moved cities multiple times since she left the UK because being a vigilante as well as her inclination to avoid boring things has made it hard to hold down the that which she needs for her visas. She moved to Toronto after cashing in on her accent and scoring a gig as a part time receptionist.
  9. Evanum watched the slaughter, he tried to look away but from the moment he had turned to look, right up until the old man had spoken his eyes were locked on the twisted display. He shivered as they rose, their faces once filled with fear now dull and empty only now glimpsing the price of saving his own skin. He swallowed with the realization that there was no going back, that the ones he would now serve wielded the power they had just promised him, and greater.

    These chilling thoughts in his mind as followed the old man's direction away from the scene the undead creatures left to follow on their own accord. It was time to meet the one who now controlled his fate.

    Stepping thought the door it felt like he was leaving something behind, but something else too roused itself within him.
  10. I could use the deadline extension as well. I've already started writing, so maybe I'll get something up before then.