Topic: The Age Of Fire: Game Thread (Read 26033 times)

Fniff · « **on:** February 21, 2013, 01:12:09 pm »

The Age of Fire Game Thread
OOC Thread, Discuss and Apply Here

Introduction: The Arrival of Gods, Old and New
Jules was a tall, pale man. Pale as snow, as pale as his shock-white hair. Jules was not an old man, not in the slightest, but his hair didn't look like a fashion statement, it just was. He was as thin as a starved corpse but moved like a cat. He wore a white trenchcoat with white trousers, looking like a southern gentleman or some grim reaper in a far off land. The only color for him was his piercing green eyes that almost glowed in the darkness of the park.

He walked down the path, enclosed by trees. The moon was out, but it couldn't make the darkness any less impenetrable; it was that sort of night. Jules breathed in the cold night air, and breathed it out, no warmer then it entered. He walked over to a nearby bench and sat down, looking up at the sky. There were no stars out tonight. He shrugged and leaned back, and looked to his companion who wasn't there a second ago.

His companion was someone in a gasmask with a grin painted on, wearing a black hoodie and black trousers, with fingerless gloves. That's about all that could be determined as it was very covered up. No-one could imagine what it could be under that gasmask, behind those smoke-black gasmask lenses, and no-one had any clue who or what it was. It made sure of that. The hooded stranger looked at him with silent anticipation.

"It's been so long since I visited the twelve ports and wharfs!" Jules said in a conversational tone. "Last time ended in defeat in that stupid bloody city, but they all starved anyway, so who's laughing now?"

It was silent.

"So, you're the Stranger, correct? Very interesting. I believe you come from this very land, in a sort of roundabout way?"

Nothing responded except a few honking cars in the distance.

"You're very rude, you know that?" Jules sniffed, then looked straight ahead again. If his guest was going to be pulling a mood, so be it.

The Stranger shrugged. It took out a butterfly knife, flicked it open, then began to pick it's nails.

"Seven people on this very night will change the course of this world's destiny. Perhaps not today, but perhaps tomorrow. This world's become dreadfully boring since our mutual friend told his mutual friends to start wrecking the place. What are you doing here?"

The Stranger seemed to glance at Jules, as if to ask the same question.

"Hm? Me? Oh, the usual. Chaos, destruction, madness, murder. Business, you know. Of course I won't be doing anything right now. Patience is a virtue, as they say. Who's they? I definitely know it's not you, at least. You're mute. I don't like mutes. Where's your two friends? I heard you travel with a Sword and a Scarecrow?"

The Stranger tapped where it's nose might have been, instead tapping the filter.

"Does that mean I'm right on the nose or I should stop asking questions? I really don't like you, can you please just talk like a normal person?"

The Stranger returned it's gaze to the trees ahead. Jules followed.

"My point is, Stranger, is that this world is at a breaking point. If these seven people manage to pull off becoming full gods, we could have more people like you on the scene, and we can't have that. You're not going to pull your usual rubbish here, Strange-y. It's not an option."

It shook it's head.

"I think it would be for the best if we tried working together. Despair and chaos aren't really that far apart on the spectrum. We certainly don't like that piece of crap in the cloak, do we?"

It stared at him. Jules heaved a massive sigh and shook his head. "I can't talk to you, I can't tell if you're annoyed at me or not! Can't you just talk? Don't you have a pen or something?"

The Stranger shook it's head to both questions. Jules stood up and looked at the Stranger. "You can try your usual shit but it's not going to work! You do understand that, right? You're not going to spread misery and despair like a muckspreader with those seven around! We have to deal with them first. I learned that lesson the hard way, and if you just let us work together, this wouldn't be--"

It shook it's head then stood up. It began to walk away from Jules. He snarled and yelled at the rapidly leaving Stranger, "TOSSER!". The Stranger raised it's left hand above it's shoulder and gave Jules the finger without bothering to glance at him.

He shook his head rapidly and said to himself "You can't get anywhere with some people." Jules turned around and walked down the way he came, whistling to himself.

And with that, they walked away from the bench and soon out of sight, leaving only questions in their wake.

*

It was a cold night in the city. After the New Year everything in a a haze of hangover and disorientation. Christmas was over, and now the debts would start coming in. With these hard times, it'd be the death of a lot of people. The homeless curled up in their sleeping bags and cardboard boxes, the blue collar workers watched as their children played unhappily with subpar toys, the middle class wondered where their lives went, and the rich were as unconcerned as ever. So it went. Deeper still, things went as usual. The Russian Mafiya was making a killing in slavery and cocaine dealing, the mayor was still taking bribes and feeling smart he got Red out of the picture, the Cartel were dealing meth and getting richer and richer, and unexplained acts of violence among the homeless populace were growing in number.

Death was in the air too, but that was always there along with the smell of piss and split beer. People got shanked, axed, shot, strangled, butchered, and in some cases eaten. Only a few of their corpses would be found in the canals, basements, and dumpsters of the city. Serial killers were common enough, but it wasn't just them. Housewives, teens, office workers, CEOs... Everyone was ready to kill somebody. It was that kind of city. If it wasn't violence, it was the other deaths. Suicide, terminal illness, accidents, heart attacks... This was a city that was one step away from death at all times. Death hung over every soul, death stood over the alleyways and the tenements, death was around every corner and on the tip of everyone's tongue. This was death's city.

But that day was a different day. Things were beginning to change in the air. An electric feeling, the smell of ozone, lightening ready to strike. From the gutters all the way to the tops of the skyscrapers, the gears of the world were beginning to turn. For now it was going to be quiet, but that quiet never lasted long enough. Soon enough, the storm would strike, and you were either following it's eye, or ripped to shreds. Seven people walked through the streets with an energy within them unseen for a thousand years. They would not be considered Gods in those days, but nowadays they were the most magical creatures in the world. Perhaps they were the beginnings of a new era, perhaps they were flukes. Some of them wandered in a daze, others strode confidently, some skulked quietly. Each and every one shared a common theme, the same motif: that power, the fire within... the lightening.

Throughout the city, everyone felt the storm within their hearts, even if they closed their eyes and tried to walk in ignorance.

The storm would change the world. Perhaps for the worse, perhaps for the better, perhaps for the same. Death might hang over the others, but he did not hang over them. Perhaps he would come for them, but he would not walk behind them in anticipation. The others, the ones in gasmasks and with green eyes, they would observe but not act until they deem it needed. For now, they would walk their own way and make their own stories as they walked. They walked the path of the heroes and the gods, even if they came in a different form to them. Perhaps the seven would be joined by another, then yet another, then a flurry as the magic began to grow, but they were their own for now. They would always be the first no matter what.

Somewhere, in the industrial wastelands, the suffocating streets, and the darkest sewers... the legends began.

The Alchemist · « **Reply #1 on:** February 21, 2013, 05:47:39 pm »

It was the middle of the night rain pouring hard on roofs and puddles formed along the ground, a lone figure walked down the deserted streets of the industrial district that few cared to come to in the daylight and even fewer dared to visit during the night. However, this figure was no stranger to these parts and strode forward with determination and purpose. No one caught a glimpse of this mysterious figure, but he was clothed in a bright red and blue cloak, with many whirring gears and mechanical pieces clicking and banging together. Underneath the cloak he wore red pants with a blue shirt covered with a dark green scarf, on top of his head lay a black top hat that steamed randomly as he walked, and in his hand was a cane with a factory inside a snow globe as its head. This man was Lloyd Absolon and he was going to change the world.

Lloyd headed to the now abandoned factory that he used to own, it was in a particularly run down area of the industrial sector so he wasn't worried about anyone spotting him. He made his way inside with the familiar tinking of rain slamming against the metallic roof ringing throughout the building accompanied in a symphony by the machines whirring and clicking on his cloak. The factory held together fairly well for the amount of neglect that it suffered, a few beams were broken and there were small holes in the roof that let in multitudes of water as it rained, but the structure itself was sound and could probably be made into a working facility with some effort. The machines inside the factory were composed in rows and suffered the most from his absence with splotches reddish brown rust all over the parts that hadn't moved in months and some ripped apart or just plain gone from scavengers looting the factory.

He slowly walked among the rows of deserted machines that his workers toiled at tirelessly on his behalf reminiscing about the way things used to be and the success that he used to have. He spent a few hours wandering through the alien landscape that once was so familiar to him, it was strange that even at his lowest peak he now felt stronger than he ever did before and perhaps this was due to his new-found powers but it did not matter. Slowly he resigned that he would rise even higher than the height from which he had fallen and to accomplish the task he set about creating a new worker to serve him. He tore into the machines that remained regardless of condition with a renewed vigor and piled the parts into a neat pile until he deemed it satisfactory. Then he went to work forming this scrap into an image of his godly self.

Lloyd constructs the first of his new workers which he calls Aldrow. The basic design for his workers are mechanical versions of his godly appearance with their very bodies to act as the tools they'd need. They are of slightly less than human intelligence and lack initiative for the most of them, but make up for it with more strength and speed than your average human. He calls this new creation Ringers for the distinct whistling sound they make before setting about a large task such as an extended fight or a large scale production effort. Aldrow is a slight variation in the basic design as he has a more average human intelligence to act as an overseer for the Ringers. Aldrow and Lloyd make several basic Ringers to begin fixing up the factory.

IamanElfCollaborator · « **Reply #2 on:** February 21, 2013, 06:07:58 pm »

Meanwhile, on the same night, in a slightly LESS dead part of the city.....
Nate Richards sighed. The bloody Arcana Hanged Man had wiped him. AGAIN. He had spent the last hour level grinding the party to kill said Arcana Shadow, and he ends up dying.
"Damn it. Last time I'm trying that with Nandi. Bloody useless."
He made a mental note to fuse Nandi off when he had time, and sat on his bed, sighing. Now that Nate had ragequit from playing Persona, and all his coursework was done, he was bored. It was a passing feeling, and as soon as he could be bothered, he'd probably re-attempt the Hanged Man. For now, he was merely content to look through his contacts to talk to a friend of his.
"Alex, no. Archie, no. Dave, no.
Dammit. All of them are busy."
He laid back on his bed and sighed. His friends no longer had time to hang out with him; Alex was busy helping out with the funeral services, Archie was with his girlfriend (again), and Dave was an intern. Meanwhile, Nate was studying history, mythology, and literature in college.

This was getting on his nerves, this boredom.

So, Nate took his headphones out and attached them to his phone, turning on a metal band. DragonForce, the phone said the band of the song he was listening to was. Rather whimsically, he snapped his fingers.
CRACK
Nate was blinded by a flash and deafened by a crack. When he recovered...
"Ow! What the hell was-"
He looked down.
Some THING had appeared in his room, at the foot of his bed. It was orange, like a warm fire. The creature seemed to be reptilian, a lizard. It's eyes glowed yellow, and it breathed rings of smoke. Instinctively, Nate knew it was female. And the creature, for some reason, seemed to instinctively believe that Nate was it's master, because it crouched, seemingly awaiting orders.
"Wha-what's going on?!

Full (Accidental) Act: Nate, through an accidental triggering of his Animalism ability, summons a Salamander, a long-extinct creature that was hunted for alchemical ingreidients, like it's tail, heart and scales. The Salamander is bound to Nate, and it will always follow and respect Nate's orders.

Caesar · « **Reply #3 on:** February 22, 2013, 04:17:38 am »

Red pulled up his collar. It had been a lonely New Year's Eve for him, but he had enjoyed the holiday nonetheless. Even in this decrepit and hateful city people could find a date to spend time together, to love each other. He had spent some of his rather sparse money to buy some fireworks, and in a beautiful rain of red sparkles it had rained down on the rooftops. Now, however, with the fireworks gone and families together inside their homes, he felt the loneliness on his shoulders again. He had nobody- Not a person to love, not a child to take care of, not a parent to return home to.

His hands were in his pockets. His thick, dark red suit protected him from most of the cold. A dirty mist had gathered on the streets and it swallowed the hope of everybody who still found themselves unfortunate enough to be out alone. Everybody, except for him. Red felt strangely powerful tonight, and he felt like he should share that power. He felt like doing some small gesture to this dying city, like he had tried making a big gesture before. Because everything had to start somewhere, and sometimes people merely needed a little push to realize that the lives they lived could turn for the better if they would only put their heart to it.

For some reason he found himself in the district of the rich, looking through a window. A child was playing with some sort of game console, and her father leaned over her shoulder, looking at the screen, guiding his daughter. His daughter, however, was better at the game and made fun of her father. Even the rich and spoiled had some good in their hearts, some love to share. As if guided by his will, the father turned his eyes to him. When the man noticed Red he pressed a kiss on his daughter's forehead and walked to the window, opening it. "Why don't you come in with us for today?" Red considered these words, shrugged lightly, and then responded. "Your family is warm. Would you share this warmth with the less fortunate?" The man looked a bit taken aback, then nodded, determined as if guided by divine hands. "Of course I would. Today is a special day."

Red smiled at him, nodding. "Thank you. I will not be back. But others will." He paused for a moment. "What is your name?" "My name is Rodric Heathlinn. And yours?" Red shrugged off the question. "My name does not matter. Rodric, please help me by sharing the warmth of this day with others. You can't possibly want to live in your comfort when it does not extend to others. I will leave now, and perhaps we will speak again soon. If we do not, then you have disappointed me. Open your doors to the unfortunate, for this day." With that said, Red turned away, soon naught but a red figure in the mist, then nothing. The man closed his window, his daughter looking at him. Would he let in the less fortunate, as this strange man had said? He felt inclined to do so.

Half-act: Red attempts to inspire one of the rich, Rodric Heathlinn, to make a kind gesture by inviting the homeless and the lonely to celebrate New Year's Eve with him. Red himself, however, refuses to stay, watching instead.

Digital Hellhound · « **Reply #4 on:** February 22, 2013, 09:44:15 am »

The last person Magnus Rhodes expected to find behind his door was the girl.

Work had been scarce these past months. Christmas had used to be such a busy time, everybody wanting to get rid of loose ends before year's end. His old boss had always come around with a list of names on Christmas Eve, before returning to his family, all smiles and clean conscience, to play with their children in their luxurious homes as the men they wanted dead were gunned down in empty alleys somewhere in the depths of the city. Rhodes had taken the jobs and done them efficiently before returning to his run-down apartment to watch TV until the celebrations were over. He knew he'd probably been thought of a some variety of pathetic, but nobody cared for him as anything more as a hired gun anyway.

But that had been then. His boss was long dead and his leg was stubbornly refusing to heal, and nobody wanted to hire a cripple. Even as the crime rate of the city steadily increased, Rhodes was finding fewer and fewer willing employers. He'd even heard someone had spilled his name to the cops - some old job, but the last thing he wanted was their attention. His front of a totally legitimate private investigator - he'd chosen that in the hopes he could wear a fedora and a trenchcoat without looking ridiculous - was paperthin, though with the quality of the force these days, it would probably suffice. A kid with a laptop and half a brain could've cracked what his real line of work was. It attracted money from people who didn't have... the connections his usual clients had, and Magnus needed that.

His latest client had contacted him through the more usual channels, however. The messages had been brief and asking to meet him at his apartment. Normally Magnus would've picked a quiet spot somewhere in the city, but the client had insisted, and Magnus couldn't afford to turn down a job.

This all played through his mind as he stared at the girl on his doorstep. She met his gaze and smiled happily. Magnus recognized her, of course - he'd seen her plenty of times at Pace's casino, wasting money with such gleeful abandon she always attracted a posse of hanger-ons and frequently the happy owner as well. She had a bit of name in those circles, though apparently mostly because of her father. She was at some casino or gambling den practically every night, sometimes winning, but mostly steadily losing. Magnus had never played with her, sticking mostly to the machines. He had no skill at the tables.

Coupe, that was her name - Jacqueline Coupe. As far as he knew, she hadn't gotten caught up in the more unsavory side of the casinos, atleast very deeply - but now she was at his door. A faint hope arose that she was actually trying to hire him as a private investigator, but the message had been clear.

'No, no, no,' Magnus said to the girl before this could speak. 'Turn back now and never come to my door again. Don't get involved in this life, girl.'

The girl gave a quick smile, then feigned shock. She went as far as to gasp audibly. 'Mr. Rhodes! Do I hear you turning down perfectly good cash without even knowing what I'm here for? And giving advice to a vulnerable young woman like me? How noble of you.'

'Yeah,' the big man replied. 'Now get out.'

The girl's expression returned to her usual almost mocking smirk. 'Sweetheart, it's all too late for me now. I'm caught up in something infinitely bigger than your wonderful brain can even imagine, and there's no getting out for me,' she said. 'Really now, if you were a true gentleman you'd offer to help me just because of that. A... bodyguard's exactly what I'm looking for, actually.'

'Then I suggest you go to the cops,' he said. Despite himself, he couldn't help adding; 'And, uhh... what sort of trouble? Drugs? Debt?'

The latter seemed likely. The girl was many things, but careful with money wasn't one of them.

'No, no... well, yes, in a way. But that's not what I'm talking about. I want to hire you, indefinitely, as my bodyguard-slash-violent thug, or, if you like, 'enforcer'. If you're lucky, you won't have to do much, and you can continue your old job - though I'd love a cut of the profits - when I don't need you. We'll need to-'

Magnus cut her off, suddenly aware she had stepped inside his apartment while talking. 'What? I said no.'

'Magnus, come on now. I don't think a man in your position can readily turn down an offer like mine. I know you need the work...'

And how does she know that? Magnus thought. He replied quickly; 'Yeah, we can't all be rich like you, girl. The answer's still no. Do I have to carry you out?'

Coupe chuckled. 'Actually, I'm practically broke. Which brings me to another point - I can't pay you in cash, sorry. We'll have to... work something else out.'

She spoke softly, smiling. Ah. She hadn't done her background check very well if she expected Magnus to settle for that sort of payment. Even if he'd swung that way - which was something he really didn't want his circles to know - he was a professional. Only actual money interested him as payment.

As if reading his thoughts, the girl laughed. 'Oh, no, no, no, that's not what I meant at all. Well, mostly not. You do have your charms, you know,' she said. The girl sighed. 'But I have a much better way to compensate you, much, much nicer than just a bit of cash.'

'Look, I'm just gonna repeat it one last time; I'm not... hey, where do you think you're going?'

The girl had turned her back at him and waltzed right into his living room - well, he liked to think of it as a living room rather than the room he'd stuck everything except the bed in. She'd taken her hat and striking red-black coat off - Magnus had to admit she radiated a certain sense of style - and set them down on a chair like she owned the place. She studied the old magazines, cigarettes and empty bottles on the floor with distaste before sweeping into the corner to rummage through his fridge. Magnus followed, feeling slightly embarrassed that the girl had to see all this. He had some 'medicine' in the bathroom he certainly didn't want her to see.

'Okay, what the fuck do you think you're doing?' he finally asked, exasperated and confused in equal amounts. The girl met her with a sigh. Her expression hardened ever-so-slightly.

'Sorry about that, force of habit. Alright... do we have a deal? Really, I can pay you in cash later as well if you insist.'

Magnus ran his hand along his face, letting out a deep breath. He was practically being offered free money here. If the girl was out of her mind, so be it. He had no reason to want to 'protect' the girl from the horrors of the world. God, she was probably no more innocent to it than he was. Had those dark eyes killed? Probably not... but they were ready to, if needed.

'Look,' he started, 'I... I mean, how exactly are you going to 'reward' me, anyway?'

The girl smiled. She raised a hand and stared into his eyes. Magnus saw her mouth the words 'I'll show you' and realized the girl had taken his phrasing as agreement. He supposed he was taking the job just before his mind realized all sound and colour had fled from the world and that he couldn't move. A moment after, the world exploded into light.

---

Jack waited patiently for the hired killer to come around while she sat munching on the scraps inside his fridge. Her entire body buzzed with energy, seeming to burst through any moment, filling her head to toe with thrilling power. It would fade soon, all of it - she had directed it into the man, willing it to do her bidding. It was still unfocused, wild, fighting against her control, and so amazingly new and alien. What Jack had done before had been idle playing, using the scraps of power that had trickled in out of sight, terrified of discovery. She had planned this for a while, following the aging killer as he stumbled home from the casino at night, discreetly seeking information about him. He'd been something once, they'd said, before they'd shot apart his leg, before he'd turned to gambling, drugs and alcohol. After tonight, he would be something once more - though much greater than before. She could see the remnants of her power - spell? - dancing throughout his changing body.

He groaned, moving around on the dusty floor. Next came a curse. He began rubbing his eyes and broken, cragged features, before abruptly tensing and focusing his gaze on Jack and reaching for where he usually kept a gun. She smiled - he was always prepared for trouble, wasn't he?

'What... what did you do, girl? I feel like...' he trailed off, frowning. 'I feel great. That was... that was amazing. And my leg! You fixed my leg!'

Jack smiled, getting up from the couch. She spread her hands in feigned modesty, but couldn't resist bursting into a smile. It had worked! She barely resisted the urge to jump around the apartment, trying to keep her glee bottled up. She wasn't quite done yet. The hired gun blinked, focusing her with a suspicious stare.

'What was that? Did you... was it magic?'

She shrugged. 'I guess so.'

Magnus nodded, as if this was a perfectly valid explanation. 'I feel amazing!'

'Yeah... but there's still one thing to do. You really need a make-over.'

'Oh?'

'I'm afraid so. How would you feel about... this sort of look?' she asked, sending an image into his mind. She felt his grin in the back of her mind long before it appeared on the man's face.

---

Full Act: Jacqueline Coupe turns a washed-out hired killer into her Enforcer. He's immune to mortal weapons (guns, blades, low-level explosives) and is connected to her by a mental bond that allows him to know when she's in danger, as well as sharing location and basic emotions and sensations. He also gets a trenchcoat, fedora and replica Tommy Gun, obviously.

Zilch Act: She lets the Enforcer continue his old work - hopefully sharing the profits - while spending the rest of her time gambling at the casinos.

racnor · « **Reply #5 on:** February 22, 2013, 03:24:57 pm »

And thus appears my first official godhood act ever.
Elton staggered back to his apartment complex at 1:00 am, sight blurred with fatigue. He collapsed into bed, and went right back to sleep without even taking is grease-stained clothing off. When he woke, the odd weight on his chest was still there. Either it was real, or he was too insane to tell the difference.
He spent the morning looking out the window at the streams of people passing under him, commuting to early jobs. Tired people. Confused people. Weakened people. He wasn’t like them anymore. Soon, he would make them better. Soon, but not yet. He didn’t understand what he was, but there had to be others. Otherwise, what was the point of all this?
Power calls to power, and there’s no need to waste a good foundation even if the building has fallen. Best to check first. The next thing he knew, Elton was at a hardware store purchasing a stud Finder and a bag of glass marbles. “I’ll have to be careful about thinking of ideas soon, ” he remarked to the cashier, “or someday, I’ll probably wake up from one of these broke and trying to smuggle a collection of drill bits out of a store”. He returned to the apartment.
Dimly aware that he was no longer paying more than lip service to normal physics, Elton set to work. When he came back to reality, the sun was just setting, he was holding a cauliflower-like explosion of wire covered in blinking lights with a handle on the bottom. Intricate carvings of screwdrivers and people covered the handle, far beyond his almost non-existent artistic capabilities. He pressed a small button on the side, and a quite hum rose from it. He carefully placed it on the table, and the sound rose to a screeching crackle, which in turn quieted a little as he stepped away. The lights closest to him were flashing.
“Perfect”

Elton snatched the scanner off the table again and stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. Tonight he would find answers.
Act: Elton creates a scanner that determines the direction and distance of magical power. The scanner can tune out the person holding it, for obvious reasons.
Zilch act: Elton follows the scanner through the city, looking for magical sites or creatures.

(If anyone wants to meet some other players, I can try to locate you with the device.)

IamanElfCollaborator · « **Reply #6 on:** February 22, 2013, 03:36:11 pm »

(Crap. He'll probably find the Salamander easy enough then.)

Xantalos · « **Reply #7 on:** February 22, 2013, 05:10:50 pm »

The day, to be frank, had been shit. Craig Ferguson had never had good luck, but this was just unbelivable, even for him. He'd been trying to advertise his carpenter business for some time now, and even though this part of the city was pretty seedy, the local bars generally needed a new table a week due to the previous ones getting shot up. If you didn't mind the local gangs taking a cut of your profits or the meth dealers pitching you their new product at every corner, it wasn't such a bad part of the city, so long as you kept busy. This, however, was not the kind of busy Craig was looking for.
This 'busy' was a block of wood, about 7' by 4, and by the look of it, old as all hell. It was also gnarled to all hell, the various vortices in trhe wood actually shifting it's shape more towards spherical. Craig knew for a fact that there were no trees this old within 25 miles of city limits - or any trees for that matter - so tbe question presented itself: Where did thid guy get it, and how illegal IS this piece of shit? He turned toward the scum who had smuggled it in, a squirmy-looking man with a ratty face. Craig didn't know his name.
"So what exactly did this rich guy want me to do with this?"
The rat sniffed and replied, "Well, what he told me he wanted was a, a throne, yasee? Like a big big chair thing with lions and dragons and bears and shit like that. You can do something like that, right?"
"Well, maybe. Certainly not just with this piece of wood. I'm probably gonna use this ... thing as a backbone for it and then make the rest of the stuff with other wood. Your guy okay with that?"
"Yeah, should be fine. Here's half-" the rat handed Craig a thick wad of bills -
"And the other half you get upon delivery. I'm gonna go now, and leave the rest of this to you. See ya in a week!"
And with that, the con left Craig counting the money. He whistled as he finished, and commented, "This guy must be some kinda rich bastard to be able to pay this much for a chair." So maybe the day wasn't so much shit. Deciding he better get to sanding the damn thing, he hauled it up onto the table in his workshop and got his apron and goggles on. Powering up his sander, he lowered it to a particularly protruding knot, and-
As soon as the sander touched the wood, a shockwave pulsed outward from it, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. He quickly backed away from it as another, stronger shockwave boomed out of the previosly inanimate hunk of wood, and it began to glow with an eerie green light. Craig was buffeted by shockwaves comin at increasingly faster and stronger rates, and through half-closed eyes he could see gren lines tracing symbols and sigils onto the wood. He turned away as it let out an enormous shockwave that blew away everything around it, then settled still, the sigils on it glowing brighter. They pulsed once, twice, thrice, and with a mighty bang and a flash, Craig was blinded. When he opened his eyes he saw something unbelivable. An old man lay where the block of wood had once been, slumbering peacefully amidst the carnage. In the moment of silence that followed, Craig took a look at the slumbering man. He was tall, with a solemn-type face tget seemed to be locked in a perpetual frown; his eyes clenched shut under bushy eyebrows. Most of his lower face and chest was covered by the immense beard he sported, though, flowing and white, mixing with the shoulder-length white hair that bloomed from under his wide-brimmed hat. Presently the man, apparently waking up, scratched his nose, sat up and let out a yawn that Craig could smell from the other side of the room (god he had bad breath) and shook his head a little bit before he opened his eyes, which Craig idly noted were of no specific color he knew. That was secondary to the man's reaction to his workshop, though. As soon as his eyes opened, the man went completely still, allowing Craig to notice that he had a blue robe on with white spirally designs upon it, and a large walking stick at his side, before he let out a scream of terror and leapt off the table, showing remarkable mobility for a man of his age. Staff in hand, the man looked around frantically, and seeing Craig, thrust toward him with his staff, shouting, "Stand hrycg! Stand hrycg!" Craig didn't know what in the fuck that meant, but he put his hands up and backed away. Panting heavily, the strange man muttered toward him in a voice hardly audible, "Béon ic déab?" Craig attempted to pacify the man, saying, "Look man, I don't know what that was you just said, but listen, if you'll just calm down, I can get you to -"
He never got to finish the sentence as the man leapt forward, words flowing so rapidly out of his mouth that Craig could not tell one from another, and he began rapidly striding forward, the tip of that stick pressing into his throat. Craig shut up and began mentally praying when the old man froze again. His eyes widened and he muttered something that sounded like 'Artür...' He stiffened, then let out a sharp yell and promptly dashed out through the door, leaving Craig to wonder what the hell just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man dashed down the corridor and propped himself up against a wall.
What is this place? Stone walls perfectly straight, pillars of steel rising up from the ground, a pale man in strange cloth. Is this Mab's work?
WHERE IS ARTHUR. WHERE AM I.
The voices built in his head until it felt as if it would burst, until one silenced them.
No. This is deer thought. Skittish, scared, you are not that. You are man. You are adaptable. You will survive.
What of his speech? I do not know it.
You do.
And then he did. His face set in a determined scowl, the man marched back down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Craig had just gotten over the initial shock of seeing an old man come busting out of a wooden block when he came matching back in - and this time he looked scary. Gone was the disbelieving stare and panicked eyes, in their place hard eyes that pinned him to the spot. The man strode forward, his steps purposeful, and demanded in a booming voice, "Where is this?"
"What do you mean?"
"What eldritch realm is this? Where am I? TELL ME!"
Craig, shocked by the intensity of his voice, stammered, "Uhh, in my workshop?"
"Which is where?"
"In [CITYNAME]. Look, man, I don't know what the fuck is going on, but -"
"When am I?"
"Huh?"
"What year, you dolt! How long has it been?"
"It's just now 2013."
"Twenty ... There have been more then twenty years in the world. Speak clearly!"
"Two thousand thirteen don't hurt me!"
The man looked at him in shock.
"Over a thousand years, then ... Oh Arthur, does any of the realm remain after so long?"
"What realm, man? What are you talking about?"
"It matters little now. I must know my way around this new planet that has grown up in my exile."
With that, he pressed the end of his staff to Craig's head, and he felt an immense sense of suction, as if something were being pulled out of his head. Abruptly it ceased, and Craig watched as the man shuddered, then stood up straight and let out a great sigh.
"So this is the way of the world, then. Very well; I changed the land once, and I shall do it again."

Full Act: The man breaks out of his prison and absorbs knowledge from Craig Ferguson, gaining knowledge of everything he knows.

Knowledge gained and innocence lost, the man strode out of the workshop, navigating it as if it was his own, which it was in a way. Striding out into the street, he breathed in the air and promptly bent over in a coughing fit, leaning heavily on his staff. Such foul air in this day and age! So much had changed ... but he knew that if one thing had not changed, it was the magic that thrummed within his body. It would guide him, be where it may. But first, he would need a guide, an apprentice to teach and be taught. As always, the ideal candidate was a child.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The children were lined up in a row; Matthew wondered what was going on. The orphanage hadn't had a visitor in years, why would there be any now? The Saint Peter's Orphanage for Lost Children was dilapidated and dying, and all of the children here had been here for far too long. They would not be adopted today. However, that did not stop Matron Gwen from lining them all up, swatting them until they stood up straight.
"Come on, you louts! Tuck that shirt in! Straight back! John, stop poking Peter. All right, children, in line now!"
Presently, a tall man strode through the door. He had stern eyes, wore a robe that Matthew fancied was that of a wizard, and walked with a staff carved with intricate runes. Without paramble, he walked up to the first kid in the line, a boy named Greg, and clasped his face in a wrinkled hand and looked into his eyes. After a few moments, he shook his head with a grunt, released Greg, and moved onto the next boy. This went in for a few minutes, with the man looking into each boy's eyes in turn, before shaking his head for each in turn. Soon he reached Matthew and looked into his eyes.
Boundless pools of fire stared back at him, swirling, rushing toward him, threatened to consume him, and it was only by the greatest effort that he got through -
And it was over, and through the haze, Mat could see the man standing upright, nodding to the matron, and grabbing him by the hand and dragging him out the door without so much as a word.
Once outside (and his head was back in order), Mat tugged on the man's arm, and he rounded on him.
"What?"
"Sorry, mister, but ... Who are you? And where are you taking me?"
The old man stared at him for a moment before turning back around.
"I was once known as Merlin, youngling ... and I need a guide."
Zilch Act: Merlin adopts a child from a random orphanage that is only too happy to get him off their hands. He takes the child as his apprentice, and begins to teach him the fundamentals of magic in exchange for knowledge of the modern world while they search for a good base of operations - preferably a castle.

10ebbor10 · « **Reply #8 on:** February 23, 2013, 07:00:20 am »

It'd been almost 6 months since the accident, and his arm had barely started to heal. Nevertheless, his health insurance had decided that he was fine 3 months ago, and Robert couldn't afford to keep paying the excessive hospitalization bills. The injury had turned his arm into a multicolored neoimpressionistic painting, and he'd been lucky he could still used it. The pain, which would probably remain with him for the rest of his life, served as a constant reminder for that unlucky day last Summer.

-------
The biyearly audit was coming up, and everyone was under pressure to get impressive results. However, this fight for individual survival was detrimental for the facility. Engineers faked reports, hiding equipment malfunctions and cutting corners were they could. The accident hadn't been there fault however. Considering the means they had, they actually did a pretty good job of keeping the place togethet. The Scientists were cutting corners to. Test runs were skipped, and the OSHA standard's had been fairly relaxed. However, they to couldn't be blamed. The real problem had been the central management, a small council of shady bussiness men and bought scientists that officially managed the place. As if it hadn't been enough that their employement benefits drained the facilities finances, they'd also come up with the genial idea of staging a breakthrough while the auditors arrived.

Their plan would have been risky even if the facility had been in it's prime, which it hadn't been for more than 10 years. When an engineer told that their plan was crazy, and would get them all killed, he was fired. Many scientists, including Robert, tried a more subtle approach, which only resulted in them being stationed near the Arcelerator, "so that they could ensure nothing went wrong". In reality, this put them straight in the firing line should anything go wrong.

It had been a gray day that day, fitting of the disaster that was waiting to happen. After some initial electrical troubles, the Primary arcelerator was turned on at 12:15 exactly. Up untill 12:34, everything was fine. After that, all hell broke loose. A part of the insulation failed, resulting a shortcircuit of the primary electromagnetical arcelerator. Electrical resistance spiked, and the system started heating up rapidly. Within a single minute, the entire containment system had failed completely, and the entire room was flooded with radiation. Luckily, most scientists had escaped by that point.(Normally, the Arcelerator is sealed of during experiments, but the lock had broken 3 months ago and had been replaced with a plastic replica). Not Robert though, as soon as he noticed the temperature spike, he'd huried towards cooling mechanisms. Normally, these should compensate automatically, allowing for a safe shutdown of the arcelerator. Said functionallity had been disabled for the test however.
As such, the primary cooling system was operating far above it's capacity. The overheating resulted in a significant expansion of the cooling fluids. The old pipes had not been made to whistand this kind of pressure, and failed just as Robert entered the room.
-----

That was the past however, and though the future didn't look much brighter, he had to make of it what he could. His apparetement wasn't great, a small cubical rooms squashed into rundown gray concrete building. However, the rent was cheap, and the reason the rent was so cheap made it even more interesting. Most of the building was just a facade, it's interior taken up by a giant array of rusty fans slowly turning to remove that rose up from the underground. Once, this subway had transported many people towards their work in the inner city. Now this line laid abandonned, just like the factories, serving only as a ventilation shaft for the more modern lines. The large underground complex of tunnels was rarely inspected, and provided more than enough room for his experiments.

After all, the Incident had opened his eyes, revealing to him the fundamental errors in Modern science, and giving him a glimpse of that which was to come. Great opportunities awaited, yet carefullness was needed, or great horrors could befall humanity. The possibilities were virtually endless, and could usher in a new Golden age for humanity. The evidence of that had been carefully cushioned away in a small closet, hidden under an assortement of files and old newspapers. It was the first sample of a new metal he'd decided to call Elerium, and which apparently defied entropy, giving off a small soft glow at all times.

Full act: Robert creates Elerium, a strange metal that manipulates Quantum phenomena on a larger scale in order to give off a soft glow at all times. The energy required to do this is leached out of the ambient heat of the environement. The metal will slowly grow if given acces to excessive amounts of energy, but will slowly die of and crumble if exposed to cold for prolonged amounts of time.

((Note: Will spellcheck later))

Caesar · « **Reply #9 on:** February 24, 2013, 01:23:24 pm »

Blood ran through his hands, and with an almost disappointed shock he found out that it was his own. Staring down, he wondered what was happening. Where was he? How did he end up here? Wh- With a thundering shock he was taken out of his thoughts, and as his life slowly bled out of him, so did the clouds start bleeding their rain down on his decrepit form. - He saw a thick odor of decay, he smelled a gruesome sight, and he felt the power of thunder, but his senses were blurred. He was in a different world, somewhere better. Away from the world that had taken his aspirations, that had spit on his good intentions. He was in a world that was as red as his blood; where the sun was setting in a red sky and where a gentle and pleasant fire burned and shone a soft red light upon his weary body. A world where a woman whose face he could not quite make out waited for him, blowing a kiss with red lips, wearing a beautiful red dress. A world-

Another thunder pulled him back, and, astonishingly, his wrists were no longer slit, and he felt alive. Sweating, he looked around. He was in his apartment, alone, and a storm was raging over the city outside, no doubt fueled by its pollution. He remembered now. He remembered what had made him change his mind, what had saved him. He remembered the revelation that had come to him and that had set him on the same path that had once destroyed him. With a shiver, he got out of bed. He had no time to sleep. He knew what he was, and he had to act to it. With his thoughts set to a single goal like it had been once before, before his demise, he set to his wardrobe. His hands behind his back, he appraised his options, smiling slightly to himself. There was more to a color than people often believed, and his color was the strongest of all. The color red had two sides; It was violent and hateful yet sweet and loving. It contained strength and it flowed through people's veins. It saved him. Drunk, drowning desperately, deemed dead, deposed by the top dogs of the derelict city, Red had stumbled down to the dirty river, where the sewer disposed of sludge, like himself. There he had cried, and with a broken shard of glass slit his wrists.

Then, there had been a storm, and in that storm a dream. When he awakened his wounds were gone and replaced with a feeling of almost infinite power. And that dream had inspired him to do what he had done before, and to do what he would do now. He took up his suit and a large red overcoat, and made his way out into the rain. It did not take long for his entire body to get soaked, but did he mind? Not at all. He had a plan in mind and he would execute it. How could he have been so foolish? With his newfound strength he could pick up where he had left off before. He could be a phoenix, as if risen from the ashes of his own destruction as a stronger, more beautiful being. For a moment, he even felt almost immortal, but he managed to shrug off that arrogance. He had used some of his energy before, or so he thought. It had not been a waste, however. He felt that it had been a valuable investment, and he would find out how it had turned out soon enough. Right now, he needed something else. He needed to use the power of words.

Johnny Carpenter; A generic man for a very generic hopeless, homeless person. He put his generic bottle to his lips, only to find out that, as is generally the matter for his kind, he had nothing to drink. With a grunt, he put it down, and sighed. He had once had a sibling, a proud set of parents and even a wife who looked forward to fathering his children. How one substance ruined all of that, and how he still took to this substance, the cause of his misery, disgusted him. From a hard-working and honest manager of a supermarket he had went to an alcoholic. He was fired after they found him drunk during working times. Twice. His marriage collapsed soon after; A hungry woman, after all, is an unhappy woman. And when you spend all your money on rum, there is little hope for your marriage. He did not hate her for it, because she was right. He had tried quitting his addiction, but as his life crumbled and his family rejected him, his resolve faltered and eventually found itself in a metaphorical grave. Now, he lived with the other unfortunate souls of the city, rejected by society. What future did he have? He doubted he had any. He smashed the bottle against the wall in an angry groan, then rested his hands on his knees, crying. Crying felt good. He started to accept how useless his life was, how it made no sense to continue on such a venue. The rain that poured down on his gaunt body seemed to agree with him.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but at some moment he had stopped feeling alone. When he finally did look up, dazed and tired, trying to find the cause, he spotted a man. A warm red overcoat was over his shoulders, and he sensed an influx of hope. The man was a most peculiar sight; dressed completely in bright red, like the color most prevalent on Valentine's day. His eyes too were red, and his hands were folded behind his back. Still, despite the fact that his appearance was so strange that it was intimidating, he radiated warmth and his smile seemed almost inviting. The stranger sat down next to him, and Johnny looked at him in silence, not knowing what to say or how to act.

"Johnny, my friend. Life has fallen apart, and nobody seems to want you anymore. You are thinking about ending it, about the final act." The man put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "And I understand. I have gone through that, my own failures and the matters which were out of my control assassinated me, and I became a shell of a man. There I was, weeping in the sewers, a piece of glass in my hand." The man in red pulled out of a bottle of rum from underneath his coat, and Johnny's eyes immediately struggled to keep on the man as he spoke. "I cut my wrists, and I almost died. It was only when I was so close to death that I realized how much I had to live for. How I could still pursue my dream. All I needed was a little encouragement. And now, as to repay my debt, I am encouraging you, Johnny."

The man put the bottle on the ground, within mister Carpenter's reach. It looked alluring. "You can take the bottle and continue your life as it is. But I promise you that it will not last for long. Or, you can leave that bottle and accept my encouragement. The only debt you will have is that you will have to do the same to others. Save those who have given up hope, like yourself. And gather them. I know that you will fail in most cases, and that it will be hard.." The stranger shoved the bottle a little closer to Johnny. Johnny clenched his fists. For the first time in his life he felt the full disgust for that liquid. ".. but on the other hand- The select few that you save will prove to be as strong as you, as us. We are survivors not because we slay those who are not, but because we employ the right means to the right end." The stranged placed a finger on Johnny's forehead, as if to indicate intelligence, then pointed at his heart. "If you can garner those few, I can tell you that I will do whatever is in my power to lead you. But never forget that in the end, it is the crowd, no- the body, and not the head, which holds the power." The man suddenly got up, pushing the bottle a little closer to Johnny. "I might be mistaken, but I think that you are the right man. Save these people and keep in touch with them. When the time is right, I will return. There will be no penalty for failure save inaction from my part." He started walking away, and Johnny called after him. "Wh- Who are you? What is your name?" Once more the man turned around and smiled. That smile seemed to say; 'You know my name.' Within another moment, the man was gone, disappeared into the rain, leaving only the red overcoat and bottle of rum to testify of his existence.

Half-act: Red speaks with a homeless person named 'Johnny Carpenter' and, with divine aid, attempts to pursue him away from his addiction to alcohol. He tells Johnny to garner the few misfits who are strong enough to sustain through their suffering and wait for his return.

Fniff · « **Reply #10 on:** March 12, 2013, 09:15:22 am »

Chapter One: The Gears of Fate
Turn 2: Autumn
Jacqueline 'Jack' Coupe
There was a lot of bodies in the amusement park that day. Johnny didn't really care about the bodies. Johnny parked his Dodge near the gate, then lit another cigarette for himself. He was the cleanup crew: see a problem, get there before the cops do, find out what happened and who's responsible, then wipe clean the evidence. There was an added objective: make sure Duffey was alive.

Johnny walked over the bodies of the Irish Mobsters and over the spent AK mags and... drum mags? Who was using a Tommy Gun? He shook his head and looked around. He saw Duffey cowering in an abandoned candy floss trailer, and walked over.

"Johnny, oh Christ, Johnny, the fuck just happened--" said Duffey in his whiny D4 voice.

"Sir, get in my car, everything is safe." said Johnny. Duffey merely stayed still, but when Johnny grabbed him and practically threw him out of the trailer he ran off to the Dodge. Johnny saw a white suited "bro" lying on the ground some ways off to the distance. He walked over at a lesuirely pace and kneeled down to look at the poor fucker. The mafiya kid was scrawny and pale, looking like he was running out of blood.

"Howya?" said Johnny, smiling. "Everything's going to be alright."

"Who... who are you?" asked the kid.

"A friend. Now, tell me..." Johnny flicked his cigarette stub away and lit another, taking a long drag. "What's your name?"

"Sergei..."

"I see." Typical Ruskie name. "Mind telling me what happened here?"

*

They were waiting on Duffey and the rest of the Irish Mob. They were like the Irish gangbangers of the 30s and 40s, except in this city they never really left. They found a niche with connections to the many, many versions of the IRA, earning them weapons. They also ran a high quality import-export business at the dock. Sergei didn't like them.

Sergei was in the Mafiya. Just a lowly bratok, nothing to write home about, but he served under Dmitri. Dmitri was a good avtoriet, a big son of a bitch who was muscular and a head above most men. Sergei, Dmitri and a few of the boys were waiting around in the courtyard of the Green Eyed Amusement Park, an old Victorian amusement park that got shut down in the 1920s when kids started dying there. It gave Sergei the creeps but they had a few plants there making cocaine, so it was customary to have deals there back when this was all the Mafiya had.

Sergei flicked a mite of dust off his cheap white suit. You could say a lot about the organization's uniform. It was very easy to tell when it was dirty or not.

Six boys in black trenchcoats holding AK47s, rifles, and revolvers walked through the gate of the park, headed up by the man himself. Duffey was just a kid, holding up the organization's other parts while his dad dealt with the gang war. He wore colorful clothes and had green and blue streaked hair. Sergei felt subconsciously annoyed.

"Stop." Dmitri said. The mobsters obliged. Duffey smiled at Dmitri.

"Hiya!" said Duffey. Sergei only knew one person with that accent from watching British TV. Someone named Something Norton. His initials were G.N, he just couldn't remember the first name. "So, shall we get this on the road or what?"

"You speak when spoken to!" Sergei yelled out. "We ask the questions, not you!"

"Oooh, this one's a bit on edge!" said Duffey. He laughed. "Maybe you should stop sampling your own wares."

"How much guns you giving us?" asked Dmitri. Duffey motioned to a henchman, and the henchman tossed a briefcase on the ground, sliding towards Dmitri. Dmitri stopped it with a boot, then kneeled down and opened it. He thought, then nodded with the air of an expert. "Is good. Military, very nice. What you want?"

"500 kilos of coke, 200 of those lovely girls you have."

"Is impossible." said Dmitri, with a snap of the briefcase. "150 kilos. No girls."

"Uh, no?" said Duffey. "Listen, that's the final offer, there's no other option."

"If you were getting me enough weapons to supply army, this I could accept. 500 kilos of coke would get me enough weapons to take over this city. This is just briefcase. No go." said Dmitri, then standing up. "We rework deal or leave."

"This is ridiculous, those are top quality weapons!" said Duffey, huffing. "M16s, SPAS-12s, M60s... Do you realize how much shit we had to go through to even get the option to buy those?!"

"Yes. Don't care. 100 kilos of cocaine."

"250 would make me consider your offer."

"100."

"I wouldn't sell a pipe bomb for that much!"

"Isn't that funny? 100."

Duffey huffed and said "Alright, 100."

Sergei tried not to smile. He did not like Duffey in the slightest and he only knew him for five minutes tops. Dmitri motioned to Yuri, who grabbed two bales of cocaine and kicked it over to the Irish. Duffey began to motion towards the gate, then proceeded with his group toward the exit.

A man in a black trenchcoat and fedora holding a machine gun with a drum mag stepped out of the darkness. With a click of the trigger, he began to fire.

The Irish were the first to go, standing directly in the line of fire. Sergei screamed and jumped behind a bench, taking out his 44. Magnum and firing off a few rounds at the crazy guy in the trenchcoat in a blind panic, sticking behind cover as much as possible, sacrificing his aim. The ratatatatatatatatatatat of the machine gun firing and the screaming of his fellow men was not a good combination. Sergei peeked out of cover and saw Dmitri dragging himself along the ground.

Sergei looked over his shoulder. If he ran he could make it out of here. If he kept running to the docks, he could find a boat willing to take him up to New York or perhaps out of the country entirely. If you ran from your bros, especially an avtoriet like Dmitri, the Mafiya would pay in return. Possibly by melting your skin with acid like Vaka or chopping your legs off like Rooster.

Sergei shook his head. He wasn't a coward. He grabbed Dmitri by the shoulder and dragged him into cover. Dmitri coughed and got himself into a crouched position.

"Got a gun?" asked Dmitri. Sergei showed his revolver.

"Yeah, but I think--" ratatatatatatBLAMBLAMBLAMratatatatat "--the boys can handle it, just sit tight!" yelled Sergei over the gunfire.

There was a CHUGGACHUGGACHUGGA, and after a few long seconds Sergei poked a head over the bench. The crazy guy was standing, arms spread, above a puddle of his own blood. Yuri was standing behind a rubbish bin and, smart guy, had a smoking M60 in his hands. The recoil must have knocked him down as he was on his ass looking like a dumbass.

"Hey bros, I think I got him!" Yuri yelled, loud as a deaf kitten, and stood up grinning. He began to laugh. "Fuck yeah, I got him!"

The crazy guy looked up, then aimed his gun squarely at Yuri. With another blast of gunfire, Yuri was nothing but a stain.

Sergei ducked down again. That could have gone much better. Dmitri looked at him and Sergei looked back. Dmitri grabbed Sergei's hand, ripping the magnum out of his hands, then looked at the guy.

"Give me five minutes, Sergei." said Dmitri. "I'll sort this shit out."

And with that Dmitri was off.

Sergei took his chance and ran like hell away from the fight. There was three entrances. One was the main gate, and there was two side entrances. Sergei just had to keep running and he'd reach it. Then he'd escape. Then he'd survive. He caught a bullet to the back of his kneecap, and slivers of white hot pain ripped through his body. His legs couldn't move anymore, and the unwelcoming concrete ground greeted him like a fist.

He coughed, then all was silent.

*

"Who's the Humphrey Bogart lookalike, then?" asked Johnny.

"Who?" asked Sergei.

"Trenchcoat guy. Fedora. The one who shot everyone."

"Don't know."

"What happened to yer man, Dmitri?"

"Don't know."

"What's two plus two?"

"Huh?"

"Just messing with ya, don't mind it." Johnny flicked yet another cigarette away and lit one more. "So, your leg there... That's not looking good from here mate."

"Can you get me to a hospital?" said Sergei hopefully. Johnny thought.

"Well, there's no friendly hospitals in the vicinity, the cops are on the way, no-one would mind seeing yet another dead Mafiya on the streets, you'd die on the way there from the shock, you've told me all you know, and really you're just not worth the trouble." Johnny took out his pistol. "Sorry, but I'm going to need to pull an old Yeller on you. No hard feelings."

"No, NO!" Sergei screamed. Johnny shoved the gun in Sergei's open mouth, then pulled the trigger.

Johnny would have liked to advertise himself as a professional, but really he liked the work. Hey, they were just mafiya, right?

*

Magnus had taken a few jobs after the girl had done... whatever exactly she did to him. He didn't want to go all out and start charging the police like he thought he was Superman. He felt great and the girl told him he was ready to fight, but risks were always there. However, he found that he was really difficult to kill, if not outright impossible. It was like bullets just bounced off him like plastic knives to a steel door.

Now he was taking down a drug deal between the Irish and the Mafiya. These guys were heavy hitters, make no mistake, and he wouldn't even think about doing it for all the cash in the world. Now was different.

The mobsters looked at him confusedly. Their thug minds couldn't come up with a gang for him, most likely, and had either defaulted to "crazy idiot" or "cop". Problem is, cops haven't dressed like this since the 30s. This job was ordered by the Cartel. The Cartel weren't about teaching lessons, so Magnus felt he was safe when he started firing.

As he walked away from the amusement park, he had to admit... the girl was handy. [19] Hell, she deserved a bit... 40,000 dollars out of 80,000. They were pretty much partners anyway.

*

Liberal Guardian on Mafiya-Irish Mob Incident, February 2012
GANG WAR! Firey shootout between Mafiya and Irish Mobsters in Amusement Park leaves 14 dead!
Police state no living witnesses! Is this the beginning of yet another turf war? Conservatives have refused to comment.

Note found inside briefcase containing 40,000 dollars, sent to Coupe Residence.
"Thanks - M"

Nate Richards
For a second, it was not, then it was.

Spirits in this world were few and far between. The Inquisitors were basically to magic as the KT extinction event was to dinosaurs: any survivors were desperately rare. The world was now empty of magic. Spirits are creatures who live off magic. You do the math.

It survived, though. It was a spirit of fire. Spirits embodying elements tended to survive, being more there then any of the others. It lived off the warmth and the comfort made by the flames. It lived on through the ages. Fire went, though, and became replaced with gaslamps, which were then replaced with electronic torches. Now it had a problem.

Spirits do not think as such. They are cunning, they plan, and they can seem very smart. They just don't really think like humans do. They have a purpose, and that purpose must be done. They're animals.

However, mages of old found a use for them. Spirits are invisible and unable to be sensed with conventional tools. They are also formless. They're more like sentient moods then actual living beings. However, if you're good with magic, you can bind them into a willing form. This is typically referred to in magical circles (or was) as a familiar.

Familiars were good for instant labor, of course, and other tasks if smart enough, but they truly shined through for alchemists as they could replicate the biology of extinct creatures. This included Salamanders, otherwise known as the Dragon Inferior or Vegrandis Draco.

Any good mage who wanted to earn a good pay knew how to make a Salamander familiar. Nab a spirit of fire, bind it into the form, then you have a beast whose tail, eyes, tongue, and feet are worth a lot to alchemists, along with the internal organs. There's no real harm to the spirit, either. Apart from the emotional scarring, but hey!

The spirit was not there one minute, then there the next. It's a disorientating to be made real. You feel like you're made out of lead despite usually being made out of flesh. It was also very small and very fragile. The student acted very surprised at it's arrival, gasping and displaying the usual organic reactions to the bizarre. The spirit... Wasn't really a spirit now, was it? It was a Salamander.

The student continued to stare, occasionally petting and poking at it. The Salamander kept up it's solder-like pose. Eventually the student shook it's head and walked over to a desk, sitting at it and trying to avoid looking at the Salamander.

And so it went for a fortnight. The Salamander eventually made it's home in the warrens made by mice and rats, which were chased off by hissing and sharp teeth. Sometimes it came out to eat food from the fridge which it opened using a pencil, liberal application of parkour, and patience. Hunger. That was new for the Salamander. Very new. Also tasty. Tastier then fire, if that was possible. It's existence thus far was confused but pleasant.

Day seven, Monday. The Salamander was sunning itself on the expanse of the desk, on top of some papers that were in the direct sunlight. The student walked in, threw it's coat on the gathering continent of thrown clothes, and sat down on the chair. It looked at the Salamander and the Salamander looked back.

"Off." said the student. Like a watch, the Salamander's legs moved in clockwork fashion without their say-so. The Salamander fell off the desk and hissed in pain. It stood up and looked irately at the student. What wizardry did that mortal just do to it!?

"What?" said the student. "You're the one who walked off the desk! I just needed you to get off the desk!"

That may be so, mortal student, but you should specify!

"You go specify yourself... Wait. Oh, Nate, you're having an imaginary conversation with a lizard..." the student gripped the bridge of it's nose and turned away from the Salamander.

The salamander tried to sigh but it came out as an irritated hiss. It skulked off to a hole in which it entered it's warrens once again.

Red Kirmiz
Thomas Azur was the mayor. He was respected by the press, the police, the people, and the criminal element. Sure, crime went up a lot on his term but he gave funding out like candy. Even the Art Council was getting some. He was well liked by everyone, and that gave him a lot of leeway.

No-one minded his truly massive amount of incoming money that seemed to be coming from absolutely nowhere. He covered it up with sufficient donations to several banks. The tax inspectors who were still curious unfortunately died in a coincidental drive by shooting by the Hoods.

Yes, everything was going just fine for Thomas. He was at his desk in his opulent office which had the perfect view of the nicer parts of the city, reading the newspaper of the city, the Liberal Guardian. The headline, however, was bad news. Firey shootout in the Green Eyed park? Shit, that was Mafiya territory. Big mafiya territory. If the Irish Mob attacked there, it was a ballsy move but it seemed to work. However, something about it made Azur edgy...

He picked up the phone on his desk and called his friend Vimes, who could probably shed some light on the situation.

"Chief of Police S. Vimes." said Vimes. "Who is this?"

"It's Thomas." said Thomas, twirling the line a bit with his index finger. "Listen, I need some information on that gangland shooting."

"Ah. Why?" asked Vimes. The annoying thing about Vimes was that he either knew Azur inside out or didn't have a clue. Either way it was frustrating.

"The Irish Mobsters and the Mafiya are at peace, Vimes, this is just off."

"Well, we found out it's probably not what the press are saying, as is usual. It's probably the work of a lone gunman. We got forensics on it, though I might as well ask one of those psychic detectives from the television to come down and take a look for all the good it will do."

"I see. Who's the gunman by your estimations?"

"Probably a vigilante or mercenary, wields an automatic, and very good at his job."

"Hm. Alright, any other info?"

"Well, I do have something about Red...You know, the Phoneix."

"Do tell." said Thomas, calmly. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"He's been doing some... charity work." said Vimes. "Some businessman got talked up by him, apparently throwing open his doors to the homeless and the poor."

"How did it go?" said Thomas, beginning to lean back in his chair.

[11+3+5=19] "Very well. Good publicity for the man, Rodric I think his name was. They're thinking of making it into an actual event." said Vimes.

"Very interesting, Vimes. Our friend Red seems to be off the rat run entirely and in the opposite direction, eh?"

"I don't really care to be perfectly--"

"Excellent! Goodbye, Vimes!"

Azur slammed the phone down on it's stand, cracking the plastic slightly, before Vimes could respond. He stood up and briskly walked over to a sofa, picked up a fluffy pillow, and put the pillow against his face quickly, then began to scream into it's soft fabric.

The Phoenix was back. Oh god, the Phoenix was back.

*

Carpenter was an infinitely sad person.

Nothing ever went right for him. First, his parents left him to rot in that orphanage. The only thing he got from his parents was his green eyes. Apparently that was a family trait. So, the orphanage matron beat and abused him because of the bible or the voices in her head or whatever the hell was her problem. She burned to death in a fire two years after Johnny left. One of his many regrets was that he was not there to see it.

So, when he got adopted, everything changed. Now he had parents! A sister! It was the best feeling of his life to have somewhere to belong to, somewhere to feel like home. He was 8 then. He didn't know that life wasn't Santa Claus, it was a loan shark that broke your legs when you didn't pay up and had an interest rate that was not measured by days, but by seconds.

He got a job. He got a wife (Tara, raven haired and beautiful as the sunrise on a beach), and maybe he could get enough money to get out of this goddamn city and somewhere better. Anywhere was better. New York? Miami? San Fran? Hell, get out of America entirely, the big fucked up place, go somewhere like Dublin, or London, or Tokyo, or... Whatever looked good on a map.

Of course that went tits up. He didn't consider himself a drinker, he just liked having a shot of whiskey every now and then. It made him feel less... lesser. Like an actual person. That spiraled out of control when he started to sneak in whiskey in a thermos, pretending it was coffee. When the bosses actually checked, well...

He was fired. Tara left. His family disowned him. He lost his home pretty quickly. Lost what savings he had left.

Now he was homeless. Sometimes he did jobs for the gangs in the area, smuggling guns and drugs. He was a hobo, who cared? It was all Johnny could do to get more whiskey, that sweet opiate, the ambrosia of the damned and the lost. It was so cold nowadays, colder then the days of his childhood where the sun shined every day (Not the orphanage days though, every day was dark then), and now the only way to warm himself up was the drink...

Then the man in red came. That changed a lot.

It was hard shaking the alcohol, and sometimes he just wanted to stop. So why didn't he?

[19+3=20 due to capping] Hard to say. It just felt like that would be a bad idea. So he fought past the withdrawal pangs, and eventually they just stopped coming. His expenses took a massive nose dive. Things were actually going okay for once. He got a few friends to join in. Some managed to kick it, some didn't, but soon he had an actual collection of pretty physically fit and without much to do.

Johnny didn't really have a guideline for this sort of thing, but he thought things were going to go well.

Lloyd Absolon
Richard wasn't a bad guy. He was a police officer after all, and how could a police officer be bad? Richard was a cop on the beat and wasn't unhappy about it. In fact it was fun at the start. First on the scene, before the action got cold and everyone started investigating, the one who pulled the gun on the perps and arrested people. Detectives were the smartasses, but the beat cops got it done.

Then it got weird. People higher on the ladder then him started taking him aside and telling him to stop asking about that possible drug lab he saw on fifth street. Gangsters started laughing and tossing Richard twenties when he said he was going to need to take him downtown. When he did take them downtown, the mayor (The goddamn mayor!) would call the warden and soon the gangsters were back on the street.

Richard felt less like a police officer and more like a cardboard cut out. Whenever he arrested a jaywalker or some non-affiliated drug dealer, it was a message to everybody with prying eyes. Citizens, we're not a bunch of guys who do nothing at all and let criminals run wild as long as they pay us some cash for the pleasure, we're actually a functioning police department.

Sad thing was, that would be an achievement in this city. Even Detroit had higher standards. Even the Russian police force would look down on this city's police.

He was sent to investigate a disturbance in the rust streets, a bunch of run-down factories and abandoned mills. Richard was rapidly learning that "disturbance" was code in this city's police department for "buzz off for a few hours, we gotta do something shady without you around, you possible whistleblower". Oh well. Sometimes he could pretend he was an actual cop, walking down the street in his shiny boots and raincoat.

He kicked a can while he walked. So, a kid had heard grinding and mechanical noises from the old factory down the street. Richard recognized the address. That was the old Absolon place, wasn't it? That crashed and burned a few years ago cos the guy was following the Charles Dickens method of management. The unions went nuts and his production rate was a joke.

Richard hated these old factories. They were always filled with crackheads, PCP nuts, and some of those weird homeless guys who just went crazy for no real reason and started swinging a lead pipe at you. The rust streets were also the place where the serial killers dumped the bodies, and this city might as well have called itself the serial killer capital of the world because it had too many serial killers for it's own good.

Richard saw the factory. It was a nice looking place, even after all these years of abandonment. The Absolon guy was really into his aesthetics, lot of brass and classy architecture. However, inside, the lights were on. Richard assumed the weird homeless guys. They had a habit of doing bizarre shit when they got past the "murder death kill" stage of their insanity. They painted glyphs on the ground and all over the walls, made shrines to dead crows and dead teenage runaways they butchered, and made statues of old dolls. Not fun stuff to see when it's the middle of the night and you're not sure if they're gone or if they're waiting for you. Richard really didn't want an encounter with them but he had to check it out. He took out his pistol and stepped through the large gap in the gate.

The factory seemed to grow in size and tower above him as he approached. He pushed open a metal door under which light shined through, and stepped inside. The door entered into a large open antechamber which seemed to be the loading bay for trucks to take the finished product from the factory, but now the trucks were long gone. The light seemed to be Christmas lights hung liberally on the ceiling.

He gripped his gun tighter, feeling sweat bind it to the metal, and looked for entrances further into the factory. He headed to one and opened it, heading into a corridor. Richard walked down the corridor, the clacks of his feet against the broken tiles seeming way too loud. Inside, he was taking bets on when the hobos would jump out at him and try to brain him with a bit of brick. An optimistic view would to say "any moment now".

As he headed deeper into the factory, he found that the area became cleaner and cleaner as he went on. That was odd. Usually the hobos lived in dirty and nasty places and made them dirtier and nastier just by their existence. Something was up. Someone was actually trying to clean the place up. Was this going to turn into a gangland thing? That was very risky. But what kind of gang ran in the rust streets? Everyone was too freaked out to go there, there wasn't any market there for anything except crack, and even then the dealers had carved out their turf there and the trade was static there. Richard felt something in his stomach telling him that something was awfully wrong here.

There was the sound of mechanical clicking. As the cop, you learn to appreciate the small sounds. The cocking of a gun, the lightest grunt, the sound of a knife being drawn, all these sounds needed to be memorized and acted against or you'll get some nasty scars from whoever's making them. He pointed his gun in the direction of the sound, and saw.

A fucked-up mechanical version of a human, all brass and steel, with soulless lenses where there should be eyes, and creepy tombstone-shaped rows of teeth that looked more like the bars of a jail cell then an actual set of human's teeth.

"Query." it said in a hollow voice. "Identify self."

That's about when Richard's mind broke in half in pure shitting terror. When he came to, he was about five blocks away, had apparently fired every single pistol round in his handgun, and he had found he had soiled himself.

*

...

REINITIATING SELF

Damage Report

Right Arm = DAMAGED GUNSHOT
Head = DAMAGED GUNSHOT
Torso = DAMAGED GUNSHOT
All other systems reading optimal.

Intruder escaped. Inform local manager about intrusion.

Robert
To get a good place to make a meth lab, you had to find the right place. Subways were always a good one, there were lots of abandoned stations and no-one hung around there often. Dog swore by them, you just needed to add the needed equipment and no-one bothered you. The cops wouldn't even see it under the heat of the building above.

Dog was a typical gangbanger, but he was smarter then any. He could find places where the cops couldn't find you, literal and legal blindspots in both the gang's and the police's eyes, where to get the best weapons and the best people for a job. Dog wasn't a killer, he was just very good at finding places. He got a lot of jobs, some of which were finding good places for meth labs. Those always paid well by the Cartel.

He was walking down the dark tunnel with his flashlight's beam bouncing between the ceiling and the roof as he walked. Something was off as he got closer and closer to the station, but he couldn't tell what it was. Dog didn't like this feeling, and kept his free hand close to his gun that he had only used before once.

The station itself was as usual, abandoned and dusty. Then there was a problem. There was fans here already. It was cool, there was industrial floodlights that lit up the whole place, and in the center of the station there was a strange device that looked like a mish-mashed combination of a car engine, a computer, and a briefcase for putting the nuclear button in.

Dog climbed off the rail and onto the station, then cautiously walked over to the device. There was a blue button on the briefcase, near the latch. Dog tried to jiggle the case open, but it could not budge. Sighing, he pressed the button. The briefcase immediately opened to show a beautiful, glowing metal. Elerium has an error with it. It will absorb any energy in a nearby area in order to keep glowing.

Dog fell over without any feeling as his nerves switched off in his legs. His flashlight smashed as he landed. The feeling of nothingness crept up more and more, making him unable to move. Knowing not what to do, he began to scream. The elerium didn't effect it's creator, no, but he was different from a human anyway. It will effect anyone else, however.

Dog kept screaming until the nothingness reached his chest, then he began to gag and choke as his heart and lungs stopped. Finally, it all stopped for Dog. Elerium is more dangerous in it's raw form then some forms of uranium. It will kill you near instantly, and if you avoid this you will at best be paralyzed from the ankle down.

Within the briefcase the elerium glowed so beautifully, like an impossibility.

Elton Peterson
Elton was a good employee. He worked pretty well, and he didn't mess about like some of the others. He was honest, too. Tara liked him.

Tara had been working in Lincoln Motors since she had been 12, and when Lincoln died in his bed at age 74 when she was 22, she was happy enough to learn it was hers now. She would be happy working for whoever decided to own it. It wasn't such a bad place. It was in Mafiya territory but Tara never bothered them and they never bothered her. She had only called the cops once and that was when that guy wanted to take a swing at her for telling him the engine couldn't be repaired without paying more then the payment for checking it out.

Really, the Mafiya were better peacekeepers then the police. Trouble came to Lincoln's Motors like drunks came to AA meetings.

Back onto Elton, good kid. However, when she found that her tools were on his worktable and several materials missing, she knew something was up. While he was on duty fixing a car, she decided to pose the question. Tara walked over to him as he was leaning over the hood of some retrofitted Dodge Challenger that Tara wished she could own one day.

"Heya, Elton." she said.

"Hi." said Elton.

"How's the dodge? What's the problem with it?"

"Something went wrong with the engine itself, it can't start up properly. Everything else is fine. It could be the spark plugs or it could be a problem with the rest of the ignition, I'm checking it out."

"Oh. You replacing the plugs?"

"Yeah. First things first, right?"

"It'd be easier replacing the spark plugs then replacing the whole ignition... Listen, Elton, I need to talk to you about something."

Elton paused in his fixing for just a second, then kept on going. He's definitely worried. Maybe not worried about that specific thing, but definitely something. "Go on." he said.

"I don't mind you fixing stuff up on the job, or tinkering, or whatever you're doing. It's just that, would you telling me what exactly you're doing first? I know you're not into that criminal stuff, but I still want to take precautions and make sure you're not doing anything that might make the cops edgy." Tara explained. Elton paused again, then kept working.

"... Alright."

"What were you working on?"

"Just a project. Little mechanical device. Nothing... illegal."

Tara nodded, then said goodbye and walked off. She knew that was all she was going to get out of him for now. What she did not hear was Elton's sigh of relief.

Merlin
Fifth of July
Sooo... Promised I'd write a diary when I get adopted, and now I am.

My name is Matthew Peters. I am 12 years old, and am an orphan. Originally I lived in an orphanage, but now I don't. Which I am really happy for. When I grow up, I don't know what I wanna be. Everyone has their lives planned out, but every adult I know isn't doing what they want to do. Apart from the guy who adopted me, but I don't know what his deal is.

He calls himself Merlin. I don't know why either. He picked me out of a crowd of preening kids, all of whom looked cuter then me cos they were younger. Maybe I looked more pitiable cos I wasn't making an effort? Though, I don't think he's the type to pity...

He needs me as a guide. I don't get it. He makes me kinda... dunno. He's just odd.

He apparently doesn't have a house. Our orphanage has amazing standards. I told him we should stay at a hotel for a while, and he went with my opinion. Now we're walking around. Get back to you when we find a hotel.

Tenth of July
Don't worry diary, everything is explained. He's a hippy. We stayed at a hostel because that was pretty much free, and now he's teaching me hippy stuff. Oh well, at least he's checking around with me for a good place to settle down. The hostel's okay anyway. Better then the matron and those other bastards.

Still, this hippy stuff is sticking in my head. Like numbers, I guess. Guess my mind thinks it's important cos of subconscious and stuff. Lessons always stick cos they ask you to memorize. Guess that makes sense.

Twelfth of July
Okay, diary, something weird happened.

I managed to make a cup move. I was thinking about those lessons about the "element of air" and I was drinking some tea out of a cup while I was doing it. I like tea. Coffee was always too zingy to me and Mr Preston was British so he always made tons, and he always let me have a cup with him. Anyway, the cup moved towards me when I was about to pick it up, like it was of it's own movement.

I think one of those hippies in the other beds might have slipped me a tab or something. This is too weird.

Fifteenth of July
[6] Haven't found a house yet... Oh well. It's only for a few more weeks more yet, right? I can live here for a while more.

Haven't applied more of the lessons yet. I'm almost too afraid to, cos it's just too weird and out there. Still, they are starting to make sense, and I think he knows I haven't been applying them, so maybe I should try a few out, but I'm not sure if I want to see if he's right, cos that would just turn my life completely round the bend...

I don't know what to do. This is just too weird.

Meanwhile...
Jules was sitting in the bar, drinking a glass of red wine in a corner booth. It was the expensive stuff, but he could pay. On the jukebox the Pogues were playing I'm A Man You Don't Meet Every Day. That tended to play a lot when Jules was around. He imagined it was the jukebox's way of warning to the rest of the patrons.

He always liked these quiet times. Of course it had been quiet times until Kaleno, that's when the heroes starting fighting back which was always irritating since the heroes were the tastiest because they had such personality and flavor. And it had been still quiet times until those other fellows started meeting him. He can't believe he got killed with a shotgun. A shotgun. A cobbled together piece of trash with not a single magical enchantment. No matter how many people he killed brutally, no matter how many armies he crushed, that fact stuck out like a sore middle finger reminding him.

It irritated him. He took another sip of the wine and poured himself another glass. It was good wine.

Soon, it was here again.

The Stranger was upright in the opposite seat, looking at Jules with black lenses in it's gasmask. Jules gave it a look as the jukebox switched to Dirge For The Planet by Firelake as the bartender wondered why he had even put these songs on the jukebox.

"Sooo, still not talking, then?" Jules asked. The Stranger nodded.

"Can you sign, at least?" said Jules.

The Stranger made it's right hand into a fist then bumped it up against it's forehead, then held it's left hand away from it's chest. It then skidded it's right hand over the left.

"Well, ditto, friend." Jules huffed. "Got anything important?"

The Stranger took a rolled up newspaper out of the pouch on it's hoodie and passed it over to Jules. He opened it and read it. Liberal Guardian, something about a gangland shooting.

"Yeah, the Jack girl. Reminds me of one of my kids, actually. More of the magician type then gambling, though. Anyway, this is old news, why are you giving me this?" said Jules.

The Stranger shook it's head then made held out it's arms, palms facing the sky, in a sort of "What are we going to do?" gesture.

"I tell you, we're going to wait because you couldn't bother acting this Spring. If we attack now the others will notice. They didn't have their eyes on them then, but now if we make a move they make a move against us. We wait until we get an opportunity."

The Stranger thumped it's fist on the table, making a loud bang.

"If you don't like it, then go ahead, act without me. See how far you get."

The Stranger stood up and began to walk away, then stopped and walked back to sit again.

"See, so. We wait." said Jules. The Stranger looked to the ground in frustration in an almost teenage pout. Jules had it right in his hands. He grabbed the eye of a passing waitress and said "A bottle of..."

He looked to the Stranger. It shrugged.

"... Beer?"

The Stranger shook it's head and made a sign at the waitress.

"Oh, uh..." The waitress said. "My mother's deaf, uh... I think he wants... cola?"

The Stranger made a thumbs up sign. The waitress smiled and walked off, obviously feeling confident from interpreting a deaf customer correctly, which was what they should have taught in liberal arts. Jules looked at the Stranger and smirked.

"Nice to waiters, not so nice to the rest of humanity?" he said.

The Stranger shrugged in a way Jules thought meant in the context "I like people who do me favors". He couldn't tell; he tried reading the Stranger's mind and it was rather painful to say the least. This didn't mean he wasn't good at reading people anyway, and when you came right down to it the Stranger was basically a person. Well, it had the same mannerisms. Jules didn't like not knowing much about the Stranger.

"Interesting how that waitress didn't notice the gasmask. Weird how no-one seems to ask about that, right?"

The Stranger tilted it's head in a sarcastic fashion.

"You thought about it, right? Of course you did."

The waitress (Who Jules knew was Veronica Keyes) came back and laid the cola on the table. The Stranger took a generous amount of change from it's pocket and handed it to the waitress. It was a nice tip, the waitress certainly thanked it profusely. The Stranger waved off the kindness, and soon she left.

Jules remained quiet for the duration, drinking his wine. The Stranger looked at him suspiciously.

"You do know that some of that change was in pennies from 1834, right? Might be a bit of a generous tip..."

The Stranger froze a second, then shook it's head. Jules was genuinely surprised when it lifted it's gasmask a few inches up and began to drink it's coke. It was silent as it did so. Even with his powers of clairvoyance, he couldn't see much further then where he did around the Stranger.

"You really do care about your identity, don't you? I can't even see if you have anything under those clothes."

The Stranger shrugged again, and put down the coke. Then, it was gone.

Jules finished off his wine over the night, and soon was gone from both memory and location. But the Green Eyed Man is never truly gone from a place.

IamanElfCollaborator · « **Reply #11 on:** March 12, 2013, 10:47:18 am »

Nate sighed. The Salamander, or whatever it was called, was ticking him off. He didn't even KNOW if it had spoken to him or not.
"You'd think those things would be nicer to me. I summoned them, after all."

He sighed irritably and placed his head in his hands, looking at his coursework.
"Computer science. Greaaat. Wish some sort of animal spirit knew THAT, don't I?"
He plodded on with it. It was hard, but considering Nate was good with tech in general, it wasn't that hard.

He then looked into the hole the Salamander fled into.
"Hm. I think if I fed that thing, it'd be nicer to me? It'd be nice if I didn't have a flaming lizard in my room who could kill me at any instant."

He went out, taking his allowance with him.

An hour later...

The fridge was now stocked with fruits, and vegetables with a label saying "FOR SALAMANDER" on them. It had also been restocked for Nate.

As for Nate's room, there was now a cage of rats that he'd managed to coax into it. He also had the fortune of finding a nice (fireproof) cushion at the pet store (the cashier looked at him weirdly when he said that he needed the cushion for a 'pyromanic pet'). He felt pity that the thing had to sleep outside and he'd rather that it sleeped here, or at least viewed it as home.

He placed some bananas outside the hole and a rat into the hole.
"Might as well coax it out, eh?"

He laid back and contemplated turning on his PS2 and playing Persona again.......but then he realized.
"Hm....my power.....what else could I do with it?"

He had an idea. He wanted to see if worked.

He pointed at the floor, concentrating deeply. He had the mental image in his mind, now he would bring it in.
"Pixie, I summon thee!"

Null Act: Nate goes out and buys some grocceries for himself and Salamander. He sets aside some for the lizard.

Null Act: Nate coaxes some rats into a cage and brings them home, putting one into the warrens for the Salamander.

Full Act: Nate summons a Pixie, a small fairy known for healing and guidance.

Xantalos · « **Reply #12 on:** March 12, 2013, 04:24:46 pm »

Merlin sighed, sitting down in the singular chair in the room. "Are there no proper dwellings in this city?"
Mat frowned, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. "Whatcha mean?"
Merlin waved his hands about as if searching for something to say, then dropped them in frustration. "I mean that every prospective home we have looked for has been either unsuitable -"
"Like that place you didn't know was a crackhouse?"
"Let us not speak of that." Merlin shuddered with the memory.
"They have all either been unsuitable, occupied, or both, and we cannot stay in this, this-"
"Hostel?"
"In this hostel forever. I have only now been given this opportunity, and I intend not to waste it."
He moved to a sitting position.
"Well, what'll we do then? You said it yourself - all the houses in the city are occupied or trash, and it's not like you can just make one out of thin air or something like that. We'll have to -"
"Stop," cried Merlin, holding up a hand. His face was animated with the expression of one who has just realized something very good.
"Repeat what you said. The last sentence."
"It's not like you can make a house out of thin air? You know you can't, right? That's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible, Matthew; you will learn that soon enough," muttered Merlin, heaving himself out of the chair. "Fetch my staff, if you please. We have some walking to do and I'd rather not have my legs fail on me."
Merlin turned around in the doorway, eyeing the room contemplatively.
"As a matter of fact, is there anything particularly dear to you here? Of so, take it with you; I doubt we shall be returning."
"Well, there's my diary, but apart from that, not much."
"Then hurry up and get it. We have much to do today."
With that, he turned around and marched out the door, leaving Mat standing there rather bewildered, before he hurriedly grabbed his diary and ran off, following.

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

Mat stood at the edge of the yard. He blinked, raised an eyebrow, then turned to Merlin and asked, "This is your secret plan? It's a pile of junk!"
'It' was referring to the dilapidated pile of lumber at the edge of the yard where they were standing. It would have been called rotted, dangerous, and likely to fall down except that it already had, rendering such statements redundant. Merlin looked askance at Mat, having been striding around the pile for several minutes now, muttering under his breath. He blinked, and said, "Never you mind that, I'm about ready to begin; do you have the things I requested?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't exactly easy to get this. I had to swipe a condlestik from the hostel to get the last part, and I don't know how to melt it down."
"No matter, I will perform that part; now, you should retreat to a safe distance, as I do not wish you to be injured."
"Err ... how far away would this be?"
"About there is fine," he said, pointing to the edge of the yard. "Now watch closely, as you may have to do this yourself someday." Curious despite himself, Mat watched from the edge of the yard as Merlin pulled several seemingly unconected things out of the sack he was carrying - some glue, a bit of concrete, a match, a copper wire, and various plants that he didn't know the name of that Merlin seemingly kept in his pockets - it accounted for some of the smell. Finally, a steel candlestick, swiped from under the unknowing noses fo the hostel managers, though they wouldn't miss it - the lady there seemed obsessed with the things and her hamper was overflowing. He leaned forward in curiosity as Merlin dragged his staff along the ground in a cirlce, then in an angle, then more. He peered over and saw that the completed design was that of a pentacle within a circle. With that done, Merlin pulled out some sort of salt from beneath his robes and sprinkled it along the grooves, trailing little white lines across the ground. He then placed several things in the outer triangles of the pentagram - the wire, the glue, the rubble, the match, a twig of an oak tree, and a crystal of some kind - it was milky white and sharply angled. He then held out th candlestick in front of him, and shouted over to Mat, "You may want to cover your eyes now!" Shutting his eyes and clamping his hands over them, Mat sat down and wondered what in the hell Merlin was doing now. Curious, he peeked out from under his hands to see Merlin just standing there, gripping the candlestick tightly in both hands. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but as he watched, the candlestick slowly started to heat up. It was barely perceltible at first, but soon the thing was glowing cherry red, a fact that didn't seem to bother Merlin, who continued to grip it tightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. The candlestick seemed more favorable to heating up now; it soon progressed to white-hot, then went beyond that, until it was so bright that Mat was forced to cover his eyes again, and to turn away when that was not enough. The metal could obviously not withstand this forever, however, and soon it began to melt in large streams, pouring over Merlin's hands without so much as a singe. As the metal settled into the grooves on the ground, it shifted, moved by something while ti was still liquid, to run out into all the grooves of the pentacle and circle. All of a sudden, it stopped and abruptly transtioned to solid form once again, the displaced heat sendigna notable shimmer around Merlin. Mat had, by this time, turned back and was staring at him in openmouthed shock.

The pantacle was set. The catalysts in their positions.
Everything was ready. Only one thing was missing:
The magic.

With a sudden wumph, the steel lines intermixed with salt lit up with a green glow. Small flames appeared on the, flickering and flaring as they grew higher, illuminating Merlin's face in an eerie green light. The surrounding area seemed to darken as the flames grew higher, leaving the flames the only illumination for a few meters. Suddenly Merlin began to speak, and not in the contemplative, thoughtful, quiet voice he normally used. Instead his voice was strong and clear, ringing straight through Mat's head and out the other side. Yet despite the volume of his proclamations, Mat couldn't seem to fit them together in his head; they slipped away from him and he was left with a vague feeling of loudness. He looked over at Merlin and saw the flames continuing to build and dance, and there they began spinning around as though they were a tornado. As the flames got taller and taller, they gradually roose up above Merlin, obscuring him but for his voice, still shoutng words of power. All of a sudden, the dilapidated pile of rubble that was the house in front of them began to glow with a light blue cadence. Slowly at first, but soon speeding up to an appreciable rate, every piece of the house lifted up, still wrapped in the blue effervescence, and rebuilt the former house crumb by crumb. The fire around Merlin continued to whilr, though his voice had silenced itself. When the last piece of wood had built itself back into the house, Merlin bellowed one final word, and the area around him seemed to ... stretch, and then fold, and ... Mat's brain couldn't process much beyond that point, so he just shut his eyes and looked away. After what seemed an eternity, the light came back, the fire died down, and space stopped doing ... that, leaving Merlin leaning on his staff in the pentacle within a circle, in front of a reassembled house that still looked pretty crap. After a while, Mat spoke.
"What WAS that?"
Merlin chuckled, turning to face him. "That, Matthew, was what I call a ritual."
"Was it magic? It was, wasn't it? You just did magic!"
"Well, what else could it have been? That I have an army of invisible dwarfs tending to my every whim, hmm?" This seemed to amuse him, as he broke out laughing. Mat waited until he'd quieted down and asked, "But won't ... all that, what you jsut did, won't that attract attention? It's risky even turning on a light in some part of the city, not to mention ... that. And you didn't do all that much for that much fanfare, did you? I mean, pillar of flames, darkening the surroundings, that loks like top-level whizbang but all you did was rebuila a shack? What else -"
"Ahh, pipe down, Matthew, you are making my head shrink from your assault!"
"Sorry."
"No, it's all right, lad, and it's good that you're curious - otherwise you wouldn't have known what I did, now would you, eh?" Mat looked up at Merlin, seemingly now in front of him and smiling. "That's good! Shows you have potential. But you are right, you know," he said, nudging Mat forward, toward the rebuilt house. "Why dont' we go have a look?"

Tentatively, Mat stepped forward, one foot after the other, towards the shack, so insignificant yet so tantalizing, promising unknown yields and imagined bounty.
Mat stepped forward. Then again, and again, and again, until he was at the door. He reached out for the doorknob, only to be stopped by Merlin's hand on his shoulder.
He turned around, an inquisitive expression on his face. Merlin smiled when he saw that, a smile that bore the weight of the world.
"One last thing before you enter, lad. You must be sure."
"Sure of what?"
Suddenyl Merlin seemed very tall. His solemn face gazed down at Mat, encasing him in shadow. When he next spoke, it was in a sonorous tone, deeper than any he'd heard.
Do you wish to continue along this path?
Mat gulped, and asked, "What path, Mer?"
The path of the arcane. The Wizard's Way. The secrets of sorcerors and mages, of gods and men. Should you choose to accept this path, know this: it will not be easy. There will be challenges placed in your path so great as that no mere man could overcome them - but I have seen the fire stiring within you, Matthew Anderson Peters. I have seen your soul straining against the bonds that this world, so long asleep, has placed upon you. I see the world awakening - and you with it. If you come with me, you will have the ear of gods, kings, and those from other places. You will tavel far, see wonders beyond imagining, perhaps pay prices dear. Should you choose to accept my offer, you will become my apprentice, the first that I, Merlin, he who schemed to concieve King Arthur of Britain, I who foretold the Saxon king's fall, have claimed in over a millenium. I do not give tese offers likely, and if you refuse now, it is unlikely that you will recieve it again.
Do you accept?
Mat gulped, shivering in the wizard's shadow. This was the Merlin? The fabled archmage of legend? How dangerous could this be, to accept an offer from a man who engineered the reign of the greatest king who ever lived? What plots could lie in wait for him in those eyes?
On the other hand, the promise of harnessing the elements of the world, of travelling to places unknow, to do great things? There was no way he could pass that up, not if he were given all the money in the world. He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his trousers, and stuck his open hand out toward the wizard and said, "I accept." The wizard's face was unreadable for several seconds, and then it broke into a smile filled with joy. He shook Mat's hand gladly, saying, "Thank you, Matthew, I knew you would accept, but I just had to make sure - didn't want to overwhelm you or anything - but let's not worry about that now. Go on; open the door." Mat turned around and slowly stuck his hand out, gripping the doorknob. He hesitated a moment, took a closer look at it - just an ordinary doorknob - turned the handle, and walked in to face -
Amazing was the only word he could find for his surroundings. From inside the ordinary door, this ordinary door with the wood slightly damp and the paint peeling off, was an immense floor of marble, stretching back some distance before terminating in tow sets of stairs, each curving around to form a platform from which one could watch the door open from a height. Mat idly noted as he stumbled in that the doors were higher on the inside than on the outside, and appeared to be carved wood, about 10 feet high, with images of dragons and other wild beasts upon them. THe whole place was lit up by two chandeliers, all crystal and gold, shimmering with light, on a ceiling high above. Two corridors headed off to the sides of the stairs, one going left, on going right. Striding past him, Merlin turned to him, spread his arms wide, and said grandly, "Now THIS is a house! What do you think?"
"Bwuh - I - egh - I -"
"It's all right, son, just don't drool on the floor." That said, he pulled Mat in by the shoulders and heaved the door shut, leaving them standing in the opulent palace.
"Just one thing, first."
"Yes?"
"Won't somebody have heard that and come looking for whatever made all that noise? What if they look in here?"
"Never fear, Matthew, I accounted for that. Did you happen to look at the neighborhood around here? See very many people?"
"Well, no."
"That's because the gang violence that all those drugs brought about drove everyone out of here, into better parts of the city. With no people, the gangs had no one to sell to, so they moved on as well. No one lives here now, and no one will come looking. Besides, if anyone other than you or I - that's why I asked you for that snippet of hair - opens the door or climbs in through the window they will find only an ordinary shack with nothing inside. Our house is for us alone - remember that. Now, come with me. I have something to show you."

They walked through several hallways and went through a very imposing door before descending down a set of stone stairs into a cavern that seemed illuminated with purple luminescence. As they got closer to the ground, Mat saw why - the ground there was littered with purple crystals, each no larger than a finger that were scattered around the sand floor of the cavern. He reached out to touch one, but stopped when Merlin let out an exclamation.
"I wouldn't touch those, lad, not yet - they're too delicate for now. Just remember, if a task seems beyond your strength, you may attempt to harness the crystals here, but only after asking me, is that understood?" Mat nodded.
"Good. Just remember that."
Afterwards Mat suddenly found himself very tired, and peering out one of the windows in what appeared to be a sitting room, noted it was nighttime. Merlin, noticing his yawning, chuckled and guided him upstairs to an enormous bedroom with an amazing bed specked with stars and moons. Jumping into the bed, he wished Merlin goodnight and lay down happily on the bed after he'd left, contemplating all that had happened that day. On that thought, he'd hate to forget it... Changing into pyjamas from the drawer in the corner (just his size), he pulled out his diary from his pants pocket and began to write.

Today the most amazing thing happened to me...

Full Act: Merlin creates a 'bigger on the inside' house in an abandoned part of the city. From the outside, it appears to be a wreckes shack, but from the inside, it is an opulent mansion, fully stocked with amneties of all kinds, posessing electric lighting, the whole shebang. If anyone but Merlin or Matthew attempt to enter, they will find only the interior of the shack.
Within this mansion is a cavern filled with crystals that glow with inner energy. They will porvide Merlin with 1 Full Act every 4 turns, though they may produce Acts faster if more power is channeled into them, but if Merlin fails to use the Act when he recieves it, it vanishes and he has to wait for the next Act it produces.

Zilch Act: Merlin takes on Matthew as his apprentice, schooling him in the ways of wizardry with a greater focus now that their needs of shelter and food are met.

The Alchemist · « **Reply #13 on:** March 12, 2013, 05:52:31 pm »

Lloyd arrived at the rust streets early in the morning, the sun was barely rising in the East and eclipsed by the reinvigorated factory. He could hear the sounds of gunshots and incoherent ramblings of hobos as he entered the factory, the last sounds of water droplets dripping in low puddles on the floor resounding throughout the room as the final hole in the roof was covered. A sharp ring filled the air as the ringers descended and made their way onto the factory floor. The ringers stopped in the middle of the empty expanse and Lloyd couldn't help grinning as his ringers started wordlessly scraping off bits of rust that accumulated on their bodies.

Lloyd passed the still dirty and machine filled west wing before turning into the East wing. The loading docks connected to a wide hallway that led directly to the entrances of the East and West wings as well as the managerial offices. He hoped that he would be able to turn the managerial offices into a living quarters of sort soon enough so he wouldn't have to walk from his barely functional motel room and the factory every few days a week. However, that could wait as Lloyd spotted a badly damaged ringer conversing with Aldrow. The damaged ringer had the left half of his head barely hanging on by a single piece of metal, his chest had four holes two of which struck and obscured his nameplate on the upper-right hand region on his chest plate, and his right arm was badly mangled with the right hand only holding a single finger. "What happened to you," Lloyd asked.

"Well from what I've gathered," Aldrow began before Lloyd interrupted him.

"He can answer for himself. Now ringer," Lloyd said looking at the busted ringers chest plate, "A-12, what happened? Be specific."

"A few days ago unidentified intruder arrived. Inquired towards intruders identity. Then projectiles slammed rapidly into torso, head, and right arm."

"Was there anything specific to the intruder what was he wearing? What did he look like?"

"Couldn't see face clearly. He wore a uniform. A blue uniform. The uniform had a badge. The badge had," he paused for a few seconds thinking over for the correct word, "markings."

"Can you show me what the markings looked like," Lloyd said handing a nearby clipboard and pen to the ringer. The ringer wrote down R-I-C-H-A-R-D. "Thank you for your assistance. Head down to the other ringers and get them to fix you up." The ringer nodded silently before walking off. Lloyd was sure that this intruder's story wouldn't be believed by anyone, but still it was troubling that someone had already discovered his creations. Lloyd sighed he would have to deal with this issue, but for now his plans had been forced along and he would have to attend to that first.

Aldrow turned back to Lloyd and asked, "What are your new orders sir?"

"Well we can't rely on our scrap metal supplies for forever. I'll need you to organize some ringers and scavenge from the other abandoned factories. The rest can work on building more of a new model I'm making. Oh and feel free to order some of the new models in the scavenging squads just leave enough to defend the factory in case we get any more visitors." Lloyd made his way back to the west wing ripping through the already broken and rust ridden machines until there was a pile just big enough for one of his creations.

Full Act: Lloyd constructs the first of a type of guardians called bolters. The first bolter he calls Ayana and is in the shape of a woman to act as his personal body guard. The bolters are incredibly perceptive and fast with the ability to shift their form as long as it remains one continuous piece and can shoot scrap metal out of their fingers either from their own bodies or from pieces they've collected at short ranges at the cost of being weak and small in stature with no ability to create any memories beyond target recognition and skills. The normal form of a bolter is that of a normal human. Ayana is only different in her ability to create and hold memories.

Null Act: Lloyd sends his ringers to scavenge metal from nearby factories and build as many ringers and bolters as possible.

Lloyd then cleaned himself off and dressed in his more normal and dreary brown coat and black shirt. He then set off for the inner city heading to one of the government buildings to get through the necessary legal steps to avoid another episode of unnecessary disturbances from the police. He was accompanied by his new body guard Ayana who kept to the shadows and watched vigilantly for anyone intent on harming Lloyd. Lloyd walked along the dirty rot filled streets keeping his head down, the smell of trash and decomposing flesh filled his nostrils. The people along the streets were even more rotten than the garbage tossed in the streets, they made an extreme effort to avoid him while showing as much disdain as possible and as they passed they remarked snide comments like swindler, slaver, and monster. The garbage lining the streets slowly got cleaner the closer he approached the city's center, but the stench and the people still lingered. The overall attitude of the residents remained the same although a few homeless sneaked out of their alleyways, either too oblivious or too doped out of their minds to know who he was, and begged him for any change he could spare. Nothing made him quite as angry as these vermin here he was trying to build an empire from scratch and they couldn't even be bothered to even try making something of themselves.

One in particular stood out to Lloyd, he was in his late 50's had faded brown frazzled hair, an uneven dirty beard, a slightly large figure dressed in a torn white shirt and a stained green jacket over it with an equally stained dark green pair of pants over his leg and the rest curled up around what remained of his other leg. He was sitting down, didn't even have a wheelchair or crutches to move around with, and Lloyd stared at him. This man was Lloyd's last factory manager before he went out of business, he lost his leg when a structural support broke apart pinning his leg as parts of the walls and ceiling fell upon the unsuspecting workers killing four of them and most importantly eating up the remainder of Lloyd's capital. Lloyd never knew the mans real name even after the lawsuits that followed and only remembered him by the nickname that the workers gave him, Ol' Mack. Mack looked at Lloyd his eyes barely even registering who he saw and barely spat out, "-ey you look like Absolon that dirty bastard. Oh what I'd do to 'im if I ever met 'im agin. Workin' for 'im was the worst decision I ever made ruined my life 'e did." Lloyd recoiled slightly from this berating and Ayana emerged from the shadows near Mack looking anxiously for permission to carry out her duty. Lloyd very nearly nodded before Mack resumed,"But enough about teh story of my life; you wouldn't happen to have any change to spare?"

Lloyd shook his head more to Ayana than to Mack and took off immediately. He continued his walk albeit slower and more thoughtful than before looking at the ground all the way. He barely felt a ping for Mack, but it was still there; it was unacceptable, it was weakness. Lloyd buried the thoughts of Mack and was in the process of consolidating his thoughts before he was interrupted. A little blonde girl, who couldn't possibly be older than 8, ran up to him smiling widely with a single tooth missing and yelling, "Hiya mister, what's your name?" Lloyd smiled out of surprise rather than because of his nature. Both smiles were quickly diminished when the girl's mother ran up ripping her away from Lloyd and scolding her for talking to strangers. Lloyd breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed when he finally arrived at his destination.

Null Act: Lloyd gets the necessary permits and deals with the other legal matters in order for his factory to be operating legally while hopefully not attracting too much attention.

Lloyd made his way back to his factory as the moon was slowly rising in the nights sky. Everyone was either locked in their homes in fear of criminals robbing them as they strolled around their neighborhoods. A few petty thugs tried approaching Lloyd as he walked, but as soon as they saw him they just laughed knowing that he was broke. They let him go, but not before lightly terrorizing and threatening him away from their territory. The factory came into view and Lloyd stopped in his tracks as he saw a figure standing a few paces away from and facing towards his factory. "What do you see," Lloyd asked Ayana.

"A man he has a weird device in his hands. There's a slight bulge on his chest under his clothes. Abnormal for most humans requires further investigation."

Lloyd nodded then motioned for her to stay close. Slowly he approached the man his heart pounding all the way. He put on a fake smile and tapped him on the shoulder saying, "Hey, what are you doing in a place like this? It's dangerous here especially at night."

racnor · « **Reply #14 on:** March 12, 2013, 07:42:42 pm »

Elton would never have gone anywhere near this place before. This was were people went to die, these abandoned factories. That was then. Now the errant thoughts were rising from the depths of his mind again, just like they had 6 months before. A babbling man toward him, gesturing with a bottle, but stepped back when Elton gestured at him with the screeching device in his hand. That didn't matter right now. He didn't have an Idea yet, but he would soon. Just after he found... Aha! Like a diamond in a pile of granite, a single building hummed quietly, and several floors were lit. The scanner was putting on a veritable lightshow, and a few desperate-looking people, suddenly illuminated, shrunk back into their decrepit ruins.
The doors were held closed with an actual lock, which looked fairly out of place in this neighborhood. Of course, that was nothing compared to the thing that opened the door. A whirring face of clockwork with glass eyes leaned out.

Query. Identif-"
"So YOU triggered the scanner!" Elton burst out. “ You look like some kind of wind-up toy.”
“Statement insufficient. Query, Intent. Our time is valuable”
“So you have pattern recognition, speech , and evaluation capability. Approximate size of clockwork processing unit capable of sufficiently complex calculation… 12 cubic Terameters. Over one trillion tons of metal. You shouldn’t be able to exist in a gravitational field. So this is magic. Are you self-powered? Can you reprodu-.. Oh, you’re gone.”
Elton stood awkwardly at the door. A few minutes later, a man stepped out.
“Hi. I’m Elton Peterson, are you a wizard?”

I cannot post my act until I know the results of this meeting.

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