mr_e_s

To anyone interested in boopers: I'm devoting most of my writing time to an internet forum RP (I know, right?) Anywyas, if anyone out there enjoys reading these and wants me to write more, leave me some requests, a list or something, of pairings or general ideas you'd like to see and I'll do them up as prompt as I can muster. If not, I'll still write stuff, it'll just be less frequent. Just, you know, in case someone besides me is enjoying these. BLATANT ADVERTISING FOR SHU'S QUEST: Shu's Quest RP topic

just Prophet, not The Prophet. Get it straight, North Dakota town.

The baron? A bit, I'd think, but it'll probably be robed by the surviving guards.

I named the country Arcya, I'm pretty sure, but I'm not so attached to the name. So sure, sounds good, approved. Have fun

Oh. Kay.

Beat me at what?

Heh, I had to break up that last post cuase it was getting way too damn long. Will put the Brute leaving the manse in a later post.

Stark "Lightkratos, man, you're pretty far gone already, ain'tcha?" Stark helped Jeph to his feet and into his seat. He didn't know the guy super well, but well enough that he probably shouldn't let him pass out on a shitty pub floor. Common courtesy and all. "What's eatin' him? You know this guy Stark? He totally doesn't look as superbadass as you do." Fargo chimed in." "I-" "Wow, what a coincidence! Both of you lost your jobs on the same day. Jeph, you're Jeph, right? Not that I know you or anything, Stark here just said your name. Now, I don't like this one bit at all. I mean sure, it's bad you're out of a job, but both of you? That's a sign, it's got to be." Stark wasn't sure if the kid was drunk already or if he was always like this. Either way, he figured he might have picked the wrong side in the fight. "Listen Jeph, this ain't the end, man. We don't need this town anyways. there's plenty of jobs for guys what know how to use weapons." Stark realized he'd never actually seen Jeph in a fight, maybe he was a total pansy. The sobbing didn't make a great case otherwise. "We'll bounce back. Us swords for hire always do. Besides, perfect chance to get out of this town, right?" Stark pounded back the rest of his grog. He almost ordered another, but he thought better of it. "Besides, my good friend Fargo here just came into some money, and the next round's on him, so cheer up!" The Brute As fortuitous as the peaceful entry into the manse was, it still left the problem of an inversely proportionate facility upon exit. Or at least, that was the most likely prediction of the scenario to come. While his intentions weren't directly violent, it was somewhat likely some form of persuasion would be required to obtain the information he sought. People were generally unwilling to part with their valuables. Even if they had no idea what their true machinations were. Certainly, the guard inside the estate were more prim and proper then those left to their own devices outside. Be it selection based on duty, or else fear of repercussions for improper behavior, they seemed to be a cut above those on the exterior. Several times he was asked to state his business here, and several times he requested the presence of the community's patriarchal figure.He could see the base signs of fear in the men's eyes, but few if any actually gave any physical indications beyond the narrowing of their pupils and heightening of their eyebrows. There was the occasional quaver in vocal cords. He almost had a problem with one guard in the inner sanctum of the manse, who demanded that he relinquish possession of his primary weapon. It was easily handled, as so many situations could be, with a menacing glare that told him if he tried it would yield unpleasant results. There were no heroes in the world. There were only people. Perhaps that was for the best. There were two guards stationed at each side of a pair of large, oak doors, leading into what he assumed was the study of the baron Oakheim. A man conceited enough to name the town after himself. Reprehensible, really. Taxing all those people to be miserable on his land for a very shoddy illusion of safety, and a right to purchase his goods. People like this were the very epitome of the world's problems. Had the people anded together five years ago instead of running around like decapitated poultry, arguing and fighting amongst themselves, this world could have been magnificent. But the chaff so rarely rise up to the level of the wheat. This man was purely chaff, he recognized it as soon as he walked into the study. A puppy with delusions of being a fierce wolf. "Salutations, Mr. Oakheim. I do believe I have a proposition for you that will benefit us both greatly." He sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk from the short rotund man. The juxtaposition of the scene was palpable. Made worse by how over-sized the baron's chair was for him, and how The Brute's chair would have been small for a man half his size. The baron clearly had this set out so that anyone who came to see him would feel small and unimportant, but it seemed to have the opposite effect in this particular situation. The baron was not as skilled at hiding his fear as most of the guard. He gave a silent signal for the two guards at the door to be ready to kill The Brute in an instant after receiving the signal to do so from their fuhrer. "What is it you wanted to discuss with me?" The baron said, rather gruffly. "Well, it's a matter involving something that recently came into your possession during your trip to the capitol city of-" The order had been given, and the short swords of the guards made to end The Brute's existence right there. Unfortunately for one of the guars, he already had a hatchet burrowed into his skull, the other was considerably more fortunate, having only been knocked over by the chiar as The Brute sent it flying back with his legs as he stood up quickly. Before the guard could gather his thoughts, his sword was out of his hand and his neck was in The Brute's. "You needn't die here. Just lie down, and remain perfectly still, and I promise you, your blood will not be spilled." There wasn't even a hesitation in the guard's movement as he was let go. He lay to the ground, not making an attempt for his weapon, just remaining motionless. The Brute grabbed the still breathing guard's sword, and shoved it in between the door handles, preventing any interference from the outside. The shock hadn't quite worn off on the baron, who was likely used to being on the other side of this kind of fear. He was making sounds, none of them really formed words though, and The Brute took it upon himself to keep the conversation going. "I take it from that rash decision you made just now you do indeed know to what I am referring. That is good. It's nice to know I haven't wasted my time coming out here to this backwater community. What a shame it would have been to leave the comforts of civilization to find out that my prize hadn't been here at all. I might have gotten quite irate. I'm not as pleasant a guest when I get irate. Now, if you could tell me where to procure it, I'd be much obliged to leave and never return. You could continue siphoning the lifeblood of the people of this community unfettered by individuals such as myself. If, however, there is a problem, well, I suppose you wouldn't have to worry about how many nickels and dimes you could take with you to the afterlife, anyways. Perhaps it would be a release." "Sense seemed to have retaken the baron with those last words. Sense, but not reason, alas. "I-I-I-I don't have it anymore! It was stolen last night!" He was now actively pushing away from the table without getting up from his chair, as though he were trying to see if he could somehow permeate the fabric and find his way into the plush stuffing of it, to become the chair. The Brute appreciated the imagery of it, before finally sighing and resolving to his next actions. The barons screams brought the guard's attention, but the doors held true, and there was no other entrance into the room. Strong sturdy doors. Oak. They made for a nice office. They'd also do as a coffin. He asked politely again, and again. And in each answer, though there were minute changes in the phrasing, the core of the problem remained the same. An unknown thief had robbed the manse two night's ago, and had reportedly been murdered since, the killers had left town without being stopped, supposedly carrying the corpse of their victim out of the town with them. Apparently the Baron had several guards patrolling the area to look for them, but it was unlikely he'd get them to wander around outside the town gates. More plausible was that they'd hide out together in a low key place, and construct a passable alibi to pass along to their superiors the next day. But they wouldn't be telling the baron. As his arm was crushed, he screamed so loudly, but it wasn't until most of his ribs had been broken by The Brute's giant hand that he really shred that last bit of dignity, of humanity. He was just a wounded animal, trying to survive. He actually tried to bite the Brute's digits as they wrapped around his skull, howled like the puppy he was as the last hopes at remaining among the living vanished from him. Finally the howling was replaced with the crack of the skull, and suddenly it all caved in on him, the only sound coming from him the muffled sounds of a death rattle emanating from his throat. There were a fair bit of guards on the other side of the door now, realizing too late that it was indeed folly to let the large man wielding a battle axe in to see their employer. But what to do for an escape? Would he kill them all? Or could he find another way?

Approved. Nice to have another villain. i was afraid The Brute would be it for a while.

Actually, I picked the tavern setting specifically because it was cliché, I took your averageRP beginnning, and meant to turn it on it's head and deliver the unexpected by way of Shu's death. Fuck, I'm drunk.

Heh, Kanami, you seem awfully acrimonious, but you know how to turn a phrase. I can see why you're the one Kai asked to tear my fledgling little RP to the ground. Bu they, if you're going to have a sharp tongue, it may as well be silver.

Sorry, but like all the best towns that burnt down, Oakheim is going to have to burn down.

Nah, that's not a thing I'm gonna do. At least not outright. I will say Oakheim is gonna burn in the near future, and Shu's plot relevance hasn't finished, even if he has expired.

The RP is less than 20 posts in, you guys are assuming I'm walking into this with no forethought at all. I've been to internet RPing before, Billy.

HEY MAN YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND CAUSE YOU'RE NOT IN IT. IT WASN'T MEANT FOR YOU. IT WORKS FOR ME AND THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH. ...I'm drawing a blank here, did I miss any?

Keep it constructive, please. Or don't, w/e. It's the internet, after all.

Stark "...You're kind of an odd duck, Fargo, you know that?" Stark said, as he finally made it to his seat well after the kid. Not asking how he already had a drink in hand. Fargo hadn't been outside any longer then a second longer'n Fargo and...Oh well, maybe the kid really was magic. Fargo stepped over a fallen lusch mumbling something or other at him, and grabbed a seat with an empty glass already in front of it. It was someone else's seat, maybe the lusch's, maybe not. No one would pick a fight with the town guard over it though, and no one knew he wasn't the town guard any more. "Double of the house special, please." The barman just grunted and poured Stark some of the same crap he always poured. He certainly wasn't in business for the chance to mingle. Stark was thinking about the days events, but that all halted. What...What were those? Those three bottles....how? He could see the one balancing on the knot of wood, sure, but there was another one balancing on top of that! And a third was upside down beside the first two! That was amazing! Stark had tried once before to balance a beer on that knot, but even sober he could get it done, and by the end of the night, he'd spilled about twice as much beer as he drank. Gone home half as drunk and more broke then usual. So how did these ones get here? They'd been there since Stark got in, which was amazing in and of itself, cause he figured any breeze would be able to knock down that precarious setup pretty handily. Stark turned to the barman, and almost started to ask when he was cut off by the answer. "It was the jester. Shu. Did it before he sat down earlier today. Last thing he did except for juggling gurgling blood and croaking. Surprised they're still there, not just cause no one stle em, but cause the force o' that ttable goin' inta the wall knocked half o' my decent shit off the shelves, and those stayed up." Stark was downright dumbfounded. That was so cool. That was the kind of guy that should be part of some mystical questing party or something. Or he could do birthdays! The lusch seemed to be enjoying it too, from the ground... "Jeph?"

Both sides of this argument are using extremes to try and prove points. Try moving a little closer to a middle ground guys. You don't have to reach an agreement, but stop giving wacky examples.

He's a big smelly jerkface who taxes people lots, that's what I got from Lunar. Building on that, he has a manse, and hires the city guard out himself. That one's from me. So, anything else will come out in the wash, I expect.

Also, you use the M16? Ewww. AK all the way.

Should I take offense because I'm a Canadian or because I'm a cybernetic being?

Beating pub teams isn't exactly an accomplishment.

Heh, I'm totally referencing both those in my RP now.

The Brute He regained his composure quickly at the sight of the juggler split in twain. It was assuredly an uncommon occurrence, but not one that concerned him. He had been tasked with finding an object, and he was reasonably it wasn't in the pockets of the dead entertainer. It was supposed to be up at the manse estate, after all. He was just taking a small reprieve after a long travel here, giving in to his base desire to imbibe the local ambrosia. Though it could hardly be called that, after ingestion highly suggested it was little more then barley mixed with grain alcohol. These small towns didn't know a thing about refining and brewing, it seemed. Since most of the convoys had been incapacitated either by way of savagery or fear thereof. It was a shame how unlikely it would be to enjoy the taste on one's way to inebriation. Still, much like the locals, he assumed, the pathway there wasn't so terribly important, as long as the destination was the same. All the same, however, the sight of the halving of that street performer not only made the reputation of the establishment even more questionable, it also would attract unwanted attention to him, and he already possessed the keen ability to stand out in a crowd, so he thought better of it then to stay and sample the peanuts to see if they added anything to that swill. Best to depart and finish his business here, lest he get caught in the crossfire of the others. They tended to be less civilized about things. The time to act was while the information was still new, still at only his disposal. So he headed over to the local manse. The guard station was right at the gates. Very clearly the security of this community was provided for by their feudalistic leader. Or at least, the image of it was. From what he had seen so far. The protectorate had served only to collect money from any wrong-doers, and enforce the taxation of the hard working citizens. The "guard" was more of an offense to the people then a defense. It would have been an outrage, but it served his purpouses, and today, that was sufficient enough. A quick thirty pieces of silver later, and Brady had walked directly past the guard station, he had even been saluted. An amusing thought, to be allowed access into such a heavily guarded place with such a small bribe, and for the rest of the security staff to just assume he was here legitimately or by means of bribery, and that either were perfectly acceptable. The world was in such a state that sticking out your neck had too high a likelihood of ending in decapitation, and no one felt like enjoying the summer breeze on their jugulars. It should be somewhere here... Stark Stark watched as Fargo rifled through the pockets of the unconscious men, not even stopping far the one that was still somewhat awake, just dazed. Stark would have asked for some of the cash, but Fargo probably needed it a lot more than him. Alternatively, he could just beat the shit out of Fargo, take all the cash, and go get shitfaced. But nah, he just saved the guy, no sense beating the crap out of four people and taking their money. It might look like he was some extremely violent thief, and he'd rather be an extremely violent asshole any day. "I'm sure you're something fierce until you need to be." Stark grinned at the failed attempts at wind manipulation. Not that he could do anything like that, just that it was always funny to watch people make idiots of themselves. It's why he went to the pub in the first place. Shit, he could use a drink... Well, he knew swearing off the pub wouldn't last long. "Come on, let's go have a drink on them, it's better then standing around here counting our pubes all day."

Approved. Farm well, farmer.