Terrador

Angus flinches at the drawn sword, lip curled briefly into a snarl. [He's drawn and still talkin'. This ain't how people get stabbed.] He steadies his face, still on edge, waiting for Serge to say his piece and sheathe his sword. This wouldn't do--not even a bit. First time leading, and already Serge has a deadly grudge? [Th'damned nerve! I stick my neck out and get this shit?] The mercenary turns his back--[As if 'e thinks 'e'd get the last word!]--and his hand reaches down for his trusty... pet. Geoffrey, there, shivering in the saddle. [it's been better to not take up the axe, hasn't it.] A friend could've been dinner, and a monster could've been a friend. Sobered immensely (though perhaps not entirely!) by the cub's presence, he leaves the pair to their own devices. [Hard t'sound like you're talkin' down when that's just what you're doin'.] With a deliberation and gentleness that could only be affected, Angus rests a hand on Serge's shoulder. "You lived, didn't you?" Fully expecting the mercenary's rage, Angus lifts a hand. "I mean--you had wha', seven people an' a cliff for those two? If things wen' as I'd wanted, anyhow. Apellon did near gut me, which is why I'd keep 'is buddies out of reach 'til you lot ganged up and did 'em in." He shakes his head--as usual, though, Cassandra made things more complicated. "No clue wha' possessed th'Princess, but... eh, shit. How do I say this." Angus kicks one heel into the other, knocking a bit of Agro's own leavings off. A few awkward moments bridge the gap, until the knight meets Serge's eye with a passion born of inspiration. "Th'name's Angus Kearney. An' it's my divine an' personal duty t'keep you an' your merry band from bloody death." He thumbs all too cheerily at Doug, his own momentum beginning to overwhelm that of the tension Serge brought. "Should've asked him about it; don't think but two others really gave a damn 'bout them Kylander boys. Point of it, I don' gamble lives ligh'ly." Some fiendish part of him couldn't help but tack on [barrin' that one time], but Angus pressed forward. Now that he just might have earned some trust, he could settle the issue at hand. "An' like it or not, I'm th'one leadin'. Most of th'time that'll be th'same as not, but in a pinch I need t'know your ears work." The baron leans in, still positive to the point of serene. Serge wouldn't try to run him through, and anything else Angus couldn't give a real whit about. "We have an understandin' on tha'? Well, that, an' keepin' sheathed 'til my say-so. Might stab someone importan' that way!" Angus chuckles at his own joke--the understanding came only after the words departed. [Honestly. Me, important? Already a circus. I'd nearly let Doug take th'reins at this point.] [...nearly.]

Angus scratches his chin, curiosity piqued at the mention of a 'massacre'. "Wasn't that bad, was it?", the baron postulates. "I mean, we lost Zadkiel, Ermin, an' Jeeves, but for gettin' caught out as bad as we did... well, most of us made it home, eh?"

Angus deposits Heather Shield! Angus withdraws Gattling Bow! --- The young Baron Kearney keeps his eyes away from Malaphar as the announcements trail off, chasing one warrior after another with his gaze. Everything appeared par for the course, but Owen managed to catch Angus' ear. [Well, looks like I've got Doug an' Serge with me. Th'rest of those new Reliants as well. That'll do, I bet.] He claps Doug on the shoulder--if what he knew about Serge's crew was right, something in the mooncalf's possession was best used elsewhere. In what must have been a stroke of absolutely divine providence, Angus found Scuttle alone, the other archer having only recently departed. He taps her roughly on the shoulder with the unwieldy thing, waggling it slightly once she turned around. "Ho there, Scuttle!" Angus extends his arm, offering the strange bow he had picked up not long ago. "I didn' see you miss a shot t'day. Think you c'n handle a beast like this?" His own beast sniffs Scuttle's boots, tongue extended towards a sand-covered stain. An interposing hand promptly coerces the cub back a step; it wouldn't do for him to take to that taste! --- Angus gives Scuttle the Gattling Bow!

Angus claps a hand on Doug's shoulder, staring at Cassandra, waiting for the hint of a swing. Waiting... nothing. As Emmet's words cooled Cassandra, Angus felt something similar laying eyes on Malaphar. Something that almost froze over his soul... like looking through the blackest winter into the face of Engel. He was so natural there, beside Owen. As if the two were brothers, in a way Dettard could never be... Then, crying for moisture, Angus' eyes shut. They open, noticing, downwards... [Tits?!] The baron palms the page, unsure whether to be furious or intensely amused. "Doug, mate!" A harsh whisper, all too easy to overhear. "Th'hell you drawin' tits in public for? Be decent, there's ladies about!" He thinks back--Doug had said something, hadn't he? About Cassandra, it was. Seeing her get into a scrap... it could only bring a grin to Angus' face, despite the events of the day. "Though I gotta agree. Seein' Cass fight, that's th'best entertainment I've ever had."

Level cap is 40, with, 18,500,000 EXP in total. For context, hitting 20 takes 210,000.

Angus shakes his head at Nona, waving the sheet in hand. "Nah, see, I made sure t'have a..." He looks down. This was not a map. This was: "A recipe for pie. Shit." The bear-taming baron stuffs the recipe back into its home (he had such a thing for a beary good reason!). He looks up at the woman facing him--Nona. Realizing his mistake, Angus' eyes dart with a pretense of boredom, hoping to find a distraction. Serge's voice was enough, going on about the twins. Scuttle as well, but that fazed him far less. [Damn, these two really haven't seen much battle. It's right hard t'tell who's there an' who's not 'til you're right up close.] And close he did. Tired steps, but not downtrodden. Purposeful, yet plodding. A slow, heavy drum, tallying his doubts that Apellon and Arteria lay dead. A final beat confirms Serge's words. [Dead don't walk. There's more of th'rotten bastards.] Angus dismisses the concern after a few more moments' thought; had the robbers any strength at all, they'd have fell on them already. There was time, at least, to fulfill one promise. Arteria left behind a fair bit more than her brother: a lock of hair shaved clean by Adele, as well as her weapon of choice, both claimed by the baron. Angus fancied a somewhat isolated patch of crimson to be her brother's (though, in truth, no little of Angus' was there as well). He digs crudely, on his knees, with pommel and clenched fist. A tomb for hair and blood. Their killer by proxy stands, sword in hand. [There ain't a priest 'ere, but I've got a prayer or two for 'em.] A glance to his cub offers little reassurance. His gut balloons, heralding a massive breath. In the barest moment of solemnity, Angus Kearney hopes to offer what passes for a blessing. "Apellon. Arteria. May Engel's mercy touch th'valorous." The ground yields under the descending blade. Angus' hands tarry in leaving it, but leave it they do. His posture straightens, his shoulders fall back. It was done.

For what remained of the battle, Angus toiled at a most embarrassing task: Agro bucked and turned, considering every direction a potential, if quickly discarded, venue of escape. "C'mon--shit! It's jus' Doug, ge' a grip!" The beast's master pats its neck with unease, eyes on the spectacle he thought to be enraging the horse. [Not even a warhorse c'n handle everything], he considers. [An' a panicked pegasus plowin' to the Princess... alrigh', I'd buy that.] Cassandra's furious response elicited an untimely grin from Angus, no matter how slight. Just that petty piece of normalcy, even in such a strange (and, were Angus to speak true to himself, frightening) skirmish was worth no little. At very least, it distracted him from the true source of his horse's troubles. --- The return of Serge's men, as well as Valter's girls, was no sore sight for a knight! Angus would be damned if one of them wasn't carrying his little cretin, as well! He leads his mount by the bit, finally communicating its safety, to the beast that absolutely hadn't played at chewing off a leg or two. Angus expertly snatches up his bear, offering Lars a hearty slap on the arm. "Good man!" Angus bellows before setting Geoffrey down (the better to tousle his fur, of course!).The baron crashes to the ground beside his cub, beckoning the closest of the Valter sisters down to his side. "Oi, Nona! Come down here an' help me with somethin, would you?" One hand roughly paws at Agro's saddlebags, in a few moments ripping free a tattered sheet. The other gives Geoffrey's muzzle something to chase while Angus' incessant hollering continues. "Best know where th'hell we are, eh?"

Try replying then?

Hey Ana, any reason you've ignored BBM's and my posts? If this were a mafia game, that'd paint you as SCUMMY

Oh, funny story here. My family's hometown used to have a nasty dueling problem. We're talking a dozen dead in a year with a population under 500 back then. Things were awful, and stayed that way until long after the rest of the civilized world was frowning badly on the practice. Incidentally, you can still get revolver rentals at 1st and Main. But that has nothing at all to do with it.

REDACTED

Angus groans softly--it at least looked as if Claire was alright after being tossed face-first into a pegasus. Perhaps battered and bruised, but in good enough health to roast Angus' arse over an open fire after the battle, at least. [Well, what's one more girl with half a mind to kill me, after all the rest?] Baron Kearney pauses for a moment, the lull in battle all too tempting. Those two... still moving well, crimson or not. Doug and Claire would be more than capable of disarming that ballista. Owen, though, Angus couldn't see. [After whatever brilliant bullshit 'e had up 'is sleeve earlier... he's gotta just be behind th'castle. Th'twins came for us, an' we did just fine.] [The twins.] Young Kearney looks back to the two bodies, robbed of their souls. No... only one. [Cass might've gotten lucky, but at least she took hers with some honesty. Apellon... rotten bastard. Needed a merc t'do my work.] He spurs Agro away from the corpses--they would need to be buried, but that could at least wait. The knight stands in his saddle... still, no sight of an enemy, barring that thief. Absent any compulsion for haste or thought, Angus finds himself staring blankly at Serge for a few moments. Why so much bluster out of a professional? A warrior who talks like the greenest squire? "Don't make no damn sense," he mutters, almost to himself. Angus to (10,3)

Don't spend Stardust yet. For real, you'll need it later. It's okay if your gyms start slow. Big catches will supplant your resource-intensive investments.

...I got a girl's digits. This game has been out a week.

I don't have a story in particular, but I've talked to so many teenagers since I got this game, strangers in general too Yesterday was wild though. Hit up a huge squad in a park, was gonna knock down their gyms for shits with a fortuitous hatch but servers bodied me Later that evening, snagged a Rhyhorn and a Squirtle, directed some high schoolers to do the same Then went up to the local McDonalds due to some lure action, talked to a pile of people, knocked down a gym a couple of times but there were too many reinforcements, then checked out a local spot with some other nerds I love what this game is doing to the world

naisu naisu! I got a 10k hatch today (I only walked >ten miles today, which is a lot for someone FAT and SEDENTARY), it was a Big Snorlax which I've buffed to a whopping 919; I suspect it's the biggest 'mon on the block for the time being. Shame me trying to knock down a few gyms a ways away from home got stuffed by server crap! I did snag a Tauros on my second foray today, up to 35/35 in the 'dex and 23.8k on Jogger (patently bullshit, 30 is closer to accurate)!

3) What's the most ambitious physical activity you ever attempted?

It's probably server troubles. Even nighttime isn't incredibly consistent, but it's better. Though that sounds like a problem I haven't seen much.

My neighborhood is similar; spawn rates are quite low. Not abysmally so, but quite low. My advice would be to head for grassy areas, then check the nearby Pokemon to see what you're close to. I'm interpreting my immediate area's barrenness as an excuse to foray solid distances out in search of Pokemon, but to each his own

As a white male, your rates of violent victimization are lower than literally any other American demographic. Mass shootings are awful, but statistically insignificant. Don't buy into the racist fearmongering.

Gallade, try playing at night. Server loads are much lower, and lower brightness/audio are 100% playable, reducing battery drain. Not to mention fewer cars!

1. I believe my most-caught Pokemon is Rattata. 2. I just want to find more! I love the adventure. 3. All the time. I'm garbage. I still have 96 though, namely because my college is an A+ spot to pick up balls and such. 4. I looked for a Fearow today that eluded me despite my best efforts, but the hardest to actually catch was a Snorlax today. Servers crashed, but I wrapped to where I thought he'd be and BOOM, found him in a cul-de-sac and discovered he has a combat power of 400. I was level 6 when I captured him, but leveled soon after (maybe directly after that capture?) 5. Yes. I evolved a Weedle (to Kakuna), a Rattata (to Raticate), and a Pidgey (to Pidgeotto).

Angus weathers the first bolt, but ducks frantically into Agro to dodge the second--two bolts, in such short succession! [Th'hell's goin' on over there?! How c'n a ballista get two bolts off that fast?] He stands in the saddle, all but ignoring the healing touch as he curls his right hand. Peering through the pinhole, he can just see the ballistician... and whatever he was doing, he wasn't reloading. A quick nod to the Princess precedes his gallop towards Doug, to relay the news. "Oi, Doug! Ballista's havin' some trouble, we sh--" The knight lifts his arm to gesture, but finds there's somebody there! "...righ', prob'ly a good idea. Take 'er, an' get th'bastard mannin' that thing!" He hurls her into the air, towards Doug and that strange new pegasus. To his left--who was that fellow? Right; Adele's butler. [Good man.] Angus to (17,4), Take Claire, Give Claire to Doug, Canto to (16,4)

There were scant few hours remaining until the Heion Riese would depart. In some way, any ego aside, this mission would rest on Bruno's shoulders. Vice Admiral Turner's hands would be more than full ensuring the Riese operated properly, and without him, Bruno knew his spaceflight experience (if not leadership experience, thanks to Thorvald) was greater than that of the rest combined. One wrong move, one nascent mistake not corrected... The thought did not bring Bruno anxiety, but it did impress upon him the need for focus. The need to center himself. Exertion. Rhythm. Peace. Bruno's feet against the well-worn track echo for hours, as do the memories that may assist him in battle. --- 1228 hours. "Lieutenant Junior Grade, Bruno Tian, reporting for deployment."

1) You are given the chance to rewrite any game, and the public will experience it as you've written it. What game do you choose? 2) Every piece of media in the world will have one enormous amazing piece of fanfic released,but it's all the same AU (not crossover, but all coffee shop, zombies, space, etc.). What's the AU you would pick?