Today was the day. Today the Judgement would come. But, before then, Sid figured he could convert a few lost souls, just to up the numbers in the World of the Emerald Lord. He stood on the balcony of a bombed out building, his home. For now, at least. He looked out over the ruins of the city. Once a shining achievement of Mankind's hubris, it has been decimated, on the command of the Emerald One himself, as punishment for their transgressions. He left those faithful, but most had lost their ways. It was up to the remaining faithful to take them back.
Or, at least, that is what he was led to believe.
He grabbed his bag, jumped on his ATV, and began patrolling the ruins of the City for anyone not yet saved by the Emerald One.
I really like the band N-Sync. My favorite member is Harpo. I think there's a Harpo. If not there should be. I will write their next hit, maybe 'A boom-boom chiky chiky boom-boom a boom-boom chiky chaka chaka cho cho.'
Anyway.
"Rose? ...Rose?"
She turned, her hair a curtain of red that soared over one shoulder. Her lively eyes set upon the short man who stood behind her- almost a head shorter, in fact.
"We're fine here. Please...?"
Her smooth lips curved downward slightly, tugged by an annoyed twitch. "I'm sorry, Robert."
Rotating for her back to face the man, she took a step forward and fell from the building.
Four stories was little problem; the lower halves of her legs, formed of slender steel and hidden beneath a thin pair of skin-tight sweatpants, absorbed the shock with ease, though she fell to one knee from the momentum. Gathering her breath again, Rose stood, reaching into the bag strapped from her shoulder to the opposing hip.
She pulled out an eerie device, of what looked like half a white and glossy helmet. Attaching it to the back of her head, plates slid outward from the inside of the helmet, stretching with clinking noises to mask her face, leaving a dark tinted window for her to see through. A holographic screen appeared on the inside, displaying a menu screen.
"Welcome," chirped a male voice into her ear piece within the helmet.
"Unlock the bike, please, MITCH."
"My pleasure."
A few feet away, beneath a black tarp, an engine roared to life and a light blared brightly from beneath. She tugged it away and tossed the tarp aside, revealing a startlingly sleek motorcycle. Without hesitation, Rose leaped onto the bike and shot off into the street, as sunlight struggled to greet her through the many towering and crooked skyscrapers.
I just reread the Blue Eyes bit. They're not really... stupid, are they? I mean, I don't think there's an allele for stupidity...?
Mark's eyes widened when he saw The City in all its glory. That's bigger than I thought, he reflected. This will be difficult..
He didn't fret, but floored it and sped towards the gaping maw of the monster that was The City, turning up a huge cloud of dust in his wake.
Do we have to have the Steam engine thing? If not, I'd like my 8-Wheeler to be a gas-guzzler.
Sid reached the outskirts of the city. He looked out, and saw a massive truck careening toward the City, kicking up a large dust bowl in his wake.
'Hmm, a heathen? Or a believer? Well only one way to find out.'
He began speeding toward the entrance to the City, hoping to intercept the truck as it approached. He drove out in front of it, and waited for the driver to stop.
I really like the band N-Sync. My favorite member is Harpo. I think there's a Harpo. If not there should be. I will write their next hit, maybe 'A boom-boom chiky chiky boom-boom a boom-boom chiky chaka chaka cho cho.'
Anyway.
"Rose? ...Rose?"
She turned, her hair a curtain of red that soared over one shoulder. Her lively eyes set upon the short man who stood behind her- almost a head shorter, in fact.
"We're fine here. Please...?"
Her smooth lips curved downward slightly, tugged by an annoyed twitch. "I'm sorry, Robert."
Rotating for her back to face the man, she took a step forward and fell from the building.
Four stories was little problem; the lower halves of her legs, formed of slender steel and hidden beneath a thin pair of skin-tight sweatpants, absorbed the shock with ease, though she fell to one knee from the momentum. Gathering her breath again, Rose stood, reaching into the bag strapped from her shoulder to the opposing hip.
She pulled out an eerie device, of what looked like half a white and glossy helmet. Attaching it to the back of her head, plates slid outward from the inside of the helmet, stretching with clinking noises to mask her face, leaving a dark tinted window for her to see through. A holographic screen appeared on the inside, displaying a menu screen.
"Welcome," chirped a male voice into her ear piece within the helmet.
"Unlock the bike, please, MITCH."
"My pleasure."
A few feet away, beneath a black tarp, an engine roared to life and a light blared brightly from beneath. She tugged it away and tossed the tarp aside, revealing a startlingly sleek motorcycle. Without hesitation, Rose leaped onto the bike and shot off into the street, as sunlight struggled to greet her through the many towering and crooked skyscrapers.
I just reread the Blue Eyes bit. They're not really... stupid, are they? I mean, I don't think there's an allele for stupidity...?
When Mark drew closer to the City, he spotted a large vehicle about half a mile in front of him. A man stood on it, waving.
He looked at his speedometer and smiled. "He must be daft, parking in front of me like that."
So he slowed down, going through the motions of coming to a halt, dreading having to work the speed up again, what with the fuel economy these days...
I'm gonna go to sleep, so this story arch is dead at least until 10:00 GMT
I'd like to edit my char sheet so Farley is just stupid.
XD
Jk, he's not really deformed, just ugly. And big. And stupid.
>.>
The heavy drone of a twelve cylinder Apoc half-steam engine clashed with the grating, sandy noise of thousands of grains of dirt being crushed and flung to the side as the thick, burnt rubber trudged through it's endless cycle of gripping the hot pavement. The pistons churned and the exhaust sputtered, the axles creaking with every crack, rock, and nameless piece of animal flesh that passed beneath the roaring steel. The beast dipped into a trough, the low moan of the belts slowing to a whine, mounted the other side, the whine reverberating back into a roar as the colossal vehicle continued down the road, unhindered by anything in it's path.
Above all this, the savage guitar strings and bellowing drums of Manowar sounded loudly through the long-broken windows, echoing across the landscape. With every pause and boom the joints of the truck would cringe in joy, creaking their ecstasy through every hinge, and the sweat of the captain's face would drip down to his mouth as his lips curled into an ageless grimace of grinning rage and defiance. The tools and weapons of war rattled and clanged behind him as his hands gripped the steering wheel, lurching this way and that, feeling the dirt and grime slide beneath the tires with every turn.
Farley was a man of simple pleasures. Two of those being his truck, and hard rock. It didn't really matter what hard rock, he could never remember anyway. As long as it had what he liked, he listened to it. The triple set of sub-woofers angled haphazardly throughout his cab made the best out of any song.
As the finishing cords of "God's of War" reverberated throughout his head and everywhere else within a half-mile radius, he spied his site, and jammed on the brakes, swiveling the wheel to the side and skidding onto the dirt rack. A dust cloud kicked up behind him, traveling down the road a ways as his beast continued up the hill towards an old electrical plant.
The power plant had been on his list for a while now, but he been busy checking out sites closer to home. Those were the rules, that was how it was done. Scavengers started out at the base and worked outwards, gathering from places near home first. It was an amazingly genius system, he thought.
The truck didn't bother with fences, simply running through the weak chain-link thing that ran around the compound. It pulled up to the entrance and stopped, let the song finish, and then shut off abruptly with a low rumble. Farley opened the door and stepped out, wielding a sawed-off shotgun in one hand, and resting a large sack over one shoulder. Inside buildings wasn't really the place for Bessy, as she was a bit ungainly.
After a grunt and a spit, he began the trudge toward the main door, the sand and grit grinding underneath his heavy combat boots. There was bound to be something useful here. He liked the smell of this place.
The truck slowly came to a stop near Sid and his ATV. He removed the Sod-off from his bag, holding it in one hand behind his back, just in case. He approached the truck, eying the man behind the wheel. A large man, wearing a black long coat. He seemed to be very surely, and wore no marking of a Child of the Emerald One. He looked like a bandit. Red Eagle, most likely.
"Heathen, if you do not wish to be struck down when the Judgment starts, you had better let me save your soul. Otherwise, you shall be cast down, and suffer the Agonies of your miserable life."
Walked down the Streat his rifle slung over his shoulder he saw someone talking about heathens and decided to just ignore him he was tired of the nut cases trying To make there case.
He climbed up the hill and entered trough the back door of the power plant unslinging his rifle incase any one was in here that was hostile
Mark saw the man, he was clearly a G.E. Fucking tossers. The G.E. Spoke to Mark. Heathen, eh?
He made sure his deagles were in their respective holsters, snapped off his seatbelt and opened the massive door of his massive truck.
"And how would you go about saving my soul, Green Emerald?" He spoke with a huge grin, the sarcasm almost palpable. "Your god is almost nonexistant, save for a scrap in your silly little hearts." He felt anger heating up in his veins. It wouldn't take much for him to snap this tosser's head off.
But he needed information, and this G.E. might just be able to provide it.
"Well, my little friend here might be able to convince you, Mr. Bandit Man."
As he spoke, he removed the Sod-off from behind his back, revealing it to the large man. The gun was filled with two doses of faith that could easily be injected into the man. The faith will show him when he dies that the Emerald One is not only real, but will punish him for every sin in his little heart.
"So, can I mark you down as a believer, or am I going to have to show you the Emerald One himself, and have him do it?"
Unfortunately, I will not be able to follow up on this for the time being. Getting forced off by a brother is a *****, eh?
Am I too late?
So... first thing first, I am an armature at this so don't be too harsh OK? But also point out mistakes I do. Just don't curse
Name: Halt "The Pyro" Gunth
Age: 24
Side: The Green Jewels
Back story: From the age of 2 he was raised by the Green Jewels. And at a early age he found out that he had a fascination for fire. For his 8 year old birthday he got a Zippo and there was no turning back after that. He was always blowing stuff up and making a nuisance of himself. But as he grew up he came one of the most dedicated followers of the Emerald god.
Vehicle: A blue motorcycle that has a 5 feet steel spike attached at front.
Appearance: Red unruly hair that Halt uses motor oil to slick back.
Strong but not muscular, has a nice beer belly. Rough hands from handling fire since he was a kid.
He always wears a combat outfit and leather gloves. On his belt is his trusted Marine Raider Bowie Knife.
Backpack: Like the pyrofreak he is, he always has 2 Zippos on him and all the accessories you need to keep it going. Molotov-cocktails, a flame-thrower and a bottle of the good old "cure it all", whisky
And for those times when fire just doesn't seem to do the job, a simple Jericho 941 F 9mm.
Quote: "You need fire? I've got fire!"
After making his way trough the Small electrical power plant Finding nothing more than a few bottles of water and some papers he walked out the front door and saw Some one point a gun on some one else he quickly pulled his rifle up
Mark was startled by the other man raising a sawn-off-double-barrelled shotgun, but not surprised.
He wan't going to give an inch to this religious extremist freak. He raised his hands.
"I'm not here to cause harm, my brother, only to exchange information and, possibly, supplies." Religious bastard. "You know, we have a saying back in Ireland. 'A man without alcohol is a man without reason.' So how about I give you a drink off of some quality vee-ess-oh-pee?" If he wouldn't accept this he'd be off his gamgee. "A good drink to cool our tongues, eh?"
speaking alowed he saw the two men turn towards him it was a couple of the inbreds and the started to aim as jason quickly poped 3 shots off one in the head of one adn two in the chest of the other
"damn that was close " he slung his rifle over his back and continued walking down the street
thinking
'you know why are we still fighting? he looked at his arm its had A read bandana on it from when he joined the red egeals for Support after the war started one thing could be said about this man he was a survivor
he continued walking down the streets looking for a place to serch
The streets were largely abandoned as Rose weaved and sped, the motorbike roaring and growling happily beneath her. Any people in the city were most likely hiding within their homes and the towering buildings, fearing another wave of radiation. The thought of death by radiation failed to scare Rose, away, though; she preferred not to look into what such an experience would feel like, and would leave it up to surprise to dictate whether she ought to be afraid.
Almost flat against the bike, Rose turned another corner onto one of the more lengthy streets. Far down the road, two men stood- one by the helm of a massive truck, the other aiming a gun, his back to Rose. Tapping a button near her right thumb, the motorcycle's voice suddenly hushed, now barely a rumble. She continued forward, pressing her left knee into the motorcycle, hitting a compartment that slid outward slightly to present to her a small handgun with a lengthy barrel. Just in case.
"MITCH? Security settings, please."
"Of course."
On a small display screen on the bike, a full circle appeared. With a few intersections left between her and the other two men, she turned down another street.
Not my problem.
The electrical plant was what she had come here for. Parking the motorcycle near an outside air conditioning system, she slid off the helmet, reduced it to its compact size once more, and stuffed it in her bag. She grabbed the gun from the bike, and slid it inside her back bag as well.
Good thing I did some maintenance on the legs last night, she thought with a small smile, feeling her Memory Legs loosen from the ride and growing more responsive now that she was standing. With a running start, she leaped up the air conditioning boxes, got a springing jump from the aid of her mechanical legs, and pulled herself up to one roofed section of the plant before a row of windows.
A flash of movement caught her eye. A large, bulking man entering the plant, leaving behind a massive truck blaring obnoxious music. What the hell is he doing here? ...I was told this place was abandoned. Scowling slightly, Rose bent over, pulling up her right pants sleeve to reveal a white robotic leg, clearly shaped to imitate one of a human's. Brushing a finger over one of the faint touch-sensitive buttons, both her legs clicked and made a whoosh sort of noise as they sucked in air. Light, and with enough padding on her soles, she opened one of the windows and leaped down onto a catwalk without a sound, reaching for her pistol.
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