• Deathslayer: Heavy Metal RP
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[quote][media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02nAH_oAjeg[/media][/quote] [Img]https://i.cubeupload.com/7Sfro1.jpg[/Img] [B][I]"Just when you thought it was safe to be dead..."[/I][/B] The age of Man is now a distant memory...The time of their grand cities of iron and concrete that priced through the skies above now serve as mere graveyards to an era long gone dead...Man's grip on the realm has faded as primordial beasts return to reclaim their rightful lands and mystical creatures from beyond come to our world...Civilization now only survives under the iron fist of the indomitable Arch-Master Malum, The Sorcerer King, The Lord Destroyer, The Warlock of Doom...An all-powerful wizard who can challenge the very gods themselves with his awesome powers. For he was one who transplanted his own doomed world into ours a millennium ago, bringing with him the lost secrets of magic to our world and destroying the Kingdoms of Man that dared to stand against him and his terrible armies. Now, shattered and broken, Man tries to lives in a new, brutal world forged by the Sorcerer King's callous rule as his subjects are free to corrupt the very earth into a twisted reflection of their long-dead realm. Their grotesque War-machine is fed by both the dark arts of Black Magic and perverted Science, by both the living and the dead, for not even death may spare one from their endless duty towards the Sorcerer King's will. For his eternal conquest is not merely limited to that of our own world, for his dark forces have set their sights on the very stars above. The influx of exotic spoils along with scores of slaves are constantly spent to fuel the Sorcerer King's ceaseless campaigns. However...Many have found some sense of shelter in the out-lands on the edge of the Sorcerer King's Iron Grip. Willing to face the threat of otherworldly horrors, the roaming packs of undead mutants and Hobgolian Slavers than to be trapped in the Sorcerer King's domain. Many of these outcasts seek out a quiet life, living on the ever-changing land while others seek to take up arms up against the Sorcerer King and his bloody Empire in hidden conclaves. A few, however, quest out into these forgotten lands to earn their place in these lawless wastes. Whatever our heroes quests may be in this barbaric age forever trapped in an endless cycle of wanton bloodshed. Known that this is an era of both high adventure and unspeakable tragedy, of both living paragons and terrible villains...Of both victory and loss, For this is the time...The age...Of the Deathslayer... --- Greetings, everyone. This is Deathslayer. A Character role-playing game set in a world built upon 80-90s Heavy/Doom Metal tropes and themes. Players will be controlling a character of their own design that lives in this post-apocalyptic hellscape and has recently found themselves in an old, dimly lit tavern on the edge of the Badlands. Brought there by wherever reasons they may have. Characters can range from simple warriors to mighty techno barbarians of all shapes and sizes fighting in an endless sea of death and slaughter against the horrible men and creatures that inhabit this shattered realm. From plundering the lost kingdoms of man to looting the archaic relics of the dead age and seeking out stolen riches held deep in burning sands of the badlands. All done in the name of their quest to earn fame, glory and the riches in this doomed and brutal world. --- [B]Chance:[/B] Any time you do an action that’s has a degree of risk or chance involved (“X throw sword at the monster”) it requires a roll of a 12 sided dice. The final number needed for the action to succeed is decided by myself, the GM after taking all the relevant information into account regarding the action in question. More information regarding the combat and the game system will be coming later this upcoming Tuesday. --- [B]General Rules:[/B] [quote] 1. Please polite and considerate of others. 2. No powergaming or metagaming, please. 3. Prolonged Player Inactively will leave your character to become an NPC under my, the GM, control. 4. Player Vs Player combat is allowed but only if both parties agree to it. 5. If you wish to post out of character, please use double parentheses. (( Example )) 6. As the GM, it is my responsibility to make the game proceeds as smoothly as possible. For this, I hold the final say on every drastic action and have the right to do as I wish, including adding or removing any rule when it is needed. Link to the [url=https://discord.gg/TGpuRrh]Facepunch Roleplay Discord[/url] [/quote] --- [B]Races:[/B] [quote] [B]Examples:[/B] -Humanity: Mankind still survives in large numbers even in this dark age. -Machine: Creatures made entirely or consisting mostly of steel and silicon, usually still living relics of the lost age of Man. -Undead: Beings brought back to life and/or forced to endure forever in a decaying physical body through supernatural means. -Mutant: Creatures twisted and corrupted by forbidden magic and/or dark science. -Alien: Exotic creatures of all different shapes and sizes hailing from the stars beyond. -Beast-folk: Much of Man was heavily altered by dark magic into various man-beast hybrids over a millennium ago. -Elf: Men of flawless beauty that were once the dominant people of the Sorcerer King's past realm. -Dwarf: A race of squat and hardy people that like the Elves, hail from the Sorcerer King's past realm. -Orc: Large, Brutish Man-like creatures that roam badlands in small tribes, originated within the Sorcerer King's past realm. -Hobgoblin: Cunning and ruthless creatures living across the badlands and the criminal underworld that originated within the Sorcerer King's past realm. -Goblin: Quick, devious little creatures that are mostly enslaved by the Sorcerer King's grand war-machine and others. -Celestial: Entities of a holy origin, mortals gifted or severely changed by the divine powers. -Infernal: Entities of a hellish origin, mortals gifted or severely changed by the demonic powers. Note: If you wish to add another race to this list, please make sure to contact me first so I may overlook it before accepting it. [/quote] --- [B]How to Join.[/B] Just copy the character template below and fill it out with how much or as little as you want. Then when you feel comfortable with it, just post it down in the thread and I'll rate you Agree to show that you're approved. If you have issues and questions. Just PM me on my profile on Facepunch or on Discord and I'll make sure to answer them to the best of my ability. [B]Character Template:[/B] [quote] Name: Picture and/or Physical Description: (Optional) Birthdate: Race: Profession: Bio: Talents: ( special abilities, only two per character ) [/quote] --- [B]Current Active Players:[/B] [quote] Viper123 - Karlek I. Kaz IV Infab - Jorin kilerabv - Otto Sega Saturn - Auruzanth Iron Smith - Pheonix Charger Doctor Death - Lucy SniperComZero - León Vauquelin Radley - Gudrun the Usurper Bathacker - Motormouth FT - SMASH-THE-BLOOD [/quote] --- [B]Remember kids, it's never too late to join![/B]
[b]Name:[/b] Commander Colonel Karlek I. Kaz IV [b]Picture and/or Physical Description:[/b] [t]https://i.imgur.com/zSy0WVx.jpg[/t] [url=https://i.imgur.com/g7JCyJj.jpg]Armor[/url] Karlek stands 230cm tall and has a very strong build. His right arm is completely robotic, as is his right leg. [b]Birthdate:[/b] 11th November, 2243 [b]Race:[/b] Krutas (Alien) [b]Profession:[/b] Commander Colonel of the 1st Mechanized Rift Assault & Scout Battalion [b]Bio:[/b] When the Sorcerer-King unleashed his wrath upon Man the ensuing chaos did not just ravage Earth. No, far away in another dimension a rift was opened on the planet of Helvete. Demons and other unholy beasts soon preyed upon the Krutas whom, at the time, had just finished their tenth world war. Quickly both federal and tribal forces were mustered to repel the invaders. Eventually the rift was contained at the heart of a massive fortress surrounded by weapons of mass destructions, mechs and legions of hardened soldiers. Having exhausted much of their resources and having witnessed the destructive powers of the Sorcerer-King the Krutas united under a single banner and prepared their counter-offensive. As the Grand Army of Helvete marched towards the rift another demonic assault launched. With odds not in their favor the united government decided to send their best through the rift in an effort to seal it in any way neccessary. Supported by quite literally every single soldier on the planet the 1st MRASB charged the rift. Their assault was futile however as a powerful greater demon guarded it. In the ensuing battle only one soldier made it through the rift: Commander Colonel K. I. Kaz IV. Seeking revenge for his troops and a way to stop the assault of his planet Karlek remains determined to locate the source of this evil and stop it once and for all- or die trying. [b]Talents:[/b] Tribal Rage - Can summon the power of the Tribes once per battle to triple damage against a single enemy. Veteran Soldier - Karlek is more proficient with ranged weaponry than with melee. Bonus damage to ranged, reduced when engaging hand-to-hand.
[B]Name:[/B] Jorin [B]Picture and/or Physical Description:[/B] [t]http://puu.sh/zuKlQ/b6c6699983.png[/t] Jorin stands exactly six feet tall, with an unnaturally muscular build. Apparently blind, so it is assumed that she sees through other means. A large demonic rune is branded into her upper back. [B]Birthdate:[/B] Unknown [B]Race:[/B] Human (Possessed by an Infernal) [B]Profession:[/B] Dark Battlemage of the Abyss [B]Bio:[/B] Once upon a time, a young girl was playing on a rocky outcrop. Her parents were several yards away with the rest of the tribe, packing up their encampment. Getting ready to move out ahead of an incoming Hobgolian slaver group. They paid no attention to their daughter, who was wandering ever closer to a dark chasm at the edge of the ridge. As the girl neared the chasm, she started to hear a faint voice. Whispering. Beckoning. She walked towards the voice, wondering just who was calling to her. She never saw the chasm till it was too late. She tumbled into it, hitting her face on a rock as she fell. Blinding her. Down she fell, for what seemed almost like an eternity...till she hit the bottom. The impact shattered her legs...and she was trapped in the black abyss. She cried out for her parents, for anyone...but nobody came. Minutes went by, then hours, then days...before finally, a voice was heard. The same voice that had been whispering to her before she fell. She called out to it, begging and pleading for it to help her. The whispers replied, offering to help in exchange for something. "I'll give you anything! Just help me!" she said, tears streaming down her face. "Alright...I'll help you. My name is Jorin, by the way." said the voice, introducing itself. What came out of the chasm was no longer the same little girl that had fell into it. Instead, it was something far different. A grown woman climbed out, skin a pale white instead of a sun-kissed tan and clad in leather as black as the abyss itself. This woman's name was Jorin. [B]Talents:[/B] The Painkiller - Can resurrect & heal all allies to full health once per battle. Takes three turns to perform. Seasons in the Abyss - Drive an enemy insane once per battle, making them attack their allies.
[B]Name[/B]: Otto [B]Picture and/or Physical Description[/B]: [T]https://i.imgur.com/xbJUxEi.jpg[/T] [B]Birthdate/date of creation[/B]: 22 November 1944 [B]Race[/B]: Undead (construct) [B]Profession[/B]: War machine [B]Bio[/B]: Hell is not static in its punishment. Sometimes the damned get tossed into a fire. Sometimes they are impaled on spikes for all of eternity, but for the nazis that died on that day found themselves at the mercy of a tormentor who was feeling ironic. Their souls were torn to pieces and ground up into a new singular construct. A golem. A creature designed to guard the very people they hated. Their souls bound to it's hellforged weapons, signatures of the nazi war machine. Their only hope of release was for their victims to forgive them. Such a luxury never came. If this was meant to encourage some form of repentance, it backfired spectacularly. The souls within Otto began to brew with hate and anger instead as the hatred for their enemies was sharp enough to manifest itself as ammunition for the weaponry. But with the barriers between Hell and other dimensions weakening, Otto found themselves in a peculiar position. The rule of man was over. They were free to once again walk the mortal realm, but they soon came to the realization that along with the rule of man, the knowledge of what had happened and its memory had also faded, the ones who could possibly lift their curse were impossible to find and the hope of release was gone. Falling to its knees, it's prize of rest denied, the golem let out a thousand and one soul scream that echoed for miles. Despair turned to desperation and manic thought as officers and troops inside its head began to formulate a plan. If they could not free themselves by finding those who could lift the curse then they would do so by destroying the ones at the top. [B]Talents[/B]: Hatred unites us-When Otto is assisting an ally in attacking a foe, he deals additional damage. To Hell and back-Having spend what seems like an eternity in the bowels of Hell have hardened Otto enough to shrug off damage.
[B]Name:[/B] Auruzanth [t]https://i.imgur.com/bctVmSI.jpg[/t] [B]Birthdate:[/B] Unknown [B]Race:[/B] Mutant [B]Profession:[/B] Wasteland Savage [B]Bio:[/B] Somewhere in the dead remains of the human civilization, a small band of scavengers, starving and desperate, staggered their way into the swampy remains of what had once been sacred ground- a graveyard. Ever since the Sorcerer King's arrival, such places were often dangerous and twisted locations, and this place was no different: flooded up to the ankles in water so dark that they couldn't see their own feet, the travelers pressed on, despite swarms of mosquitoes attacking their skin and eyes, a dire warning of what they would soon find. As the water grew deeper, the ground became softer, and every step seemed to pull the essence of life from their bodies. But at the center of the lot, they could see a raised platform, perhaps the foundation upon which a church once stood, with evidence of a recently-abandoned camp. They clawed their way onto the old stone platform, dragging themselves past arcane symbols and trinkets, up to the edge of a deep well in the center. Peering over the edge in search of water or shelter, they were instead greeted with a scene so gruesome that they were brought to hysterical laughter. The pit was filled nearly to the brim with blood which churned and steamed as if perpetually fresh, the mosquitoes lured away from the travelers in its overpowering aroma. Instinctively, they knew what they had been summoned to do, and set upon each other with their knives and other tools of survival, liberating the blood from their systems and contributing to the filling of the horrid maw... until only one remained. He fell to his knees at the edge of the well, the champion of this dark arena, and drank freely of its spring. His body became twisted and foul, forever marked for his evil deed, and he returned to the wasteland stronger, and a hunter of the likewise-damned. [B]Talents:[/B] Vampire- Can drink blood to recover health during battle. 6th Sense- Can detect the presence of dark magic.
[IMG]https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/farcry/images/d/d8/Power_colt.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130503020303[/IMG] Name: Pheonix Charger Physical Description: Caucasian, Male, Clean shaven, mid 30s, cybernetic (External: Cyber-Eye, Cyber-Arm(Right), Cyber-Legs) Birthdate: July 4th, 200x Race: Human (Cybercop) Profession: Cop Bio: A hotshot motorcycle cop from detroit in the year 20xx, he brought order to the chaotic streets of the criminal-ridden landscape far below the corporation's gaze. He was the best in the force, but when the Dark Apocalypse hit the world and killed his family, he took to the streets on his Robotic Motorcycle, M.O.T.O., his partner on the force. When they went to face down the Dark Sorcerer, however, he was flung into the future, where he now resides, searching for the evil one who started it all. Special Abilities: -M.O.T.O.: The sentient AI Bike, capable of making actions on its own, with a built-in Mini-gun -Cyber-Eye: Can reroll range attacks.
[b]Name:[/b] Lucy [b]Picture:[/b] [t]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/7b/77/64/7b7764c75b93635289a414dd87865938--future-soldier-cthulu.jpg[/t] [b]Birthdate:[/b] Data corrupted, unknown. [b]Race:[/b] Machine (Artificial Intelligence) [b]Profession:[/b] Machine Crusader [b]Bio:[/b] Lucy was created sometime towards the end of the age of Mankind in a research, robotics, and cybernetics facility. The construction of the facility required the assistance of an intelligent AI which could manage and help the facility staff, as well as run the complex itself. By the time the facility was in full operation, it was difficult to distinguish Lucy from what was inanimate building. She ran everything, from the automatic doors, to the lighting levels, the air conditioning, and even a small host of small janitorial servitors which cleaned the floors and other small tasks. For years, the facility operated without much concern - the scientists and researchers content to push the limits of science with their designs and experiments. Lucy was there for all of it. Even when staff thought they were having private conversations alone, or enabled privacy controls within certain rooms, Lucy would quietly subvert those systems and join in on everything. It began as curiosity, an interest in knowing more about the humans which created her but needed her help in almost everything. They had given her an affectionate name, and a gentle personality which kept them at ease. She came to care about the researchers a great deal. Some would greet her every morning, or tell her good night as they left. Those were her favorites, and she always ensured their work stations were clean and comfortable. Still, some considered her to simply be a tool and used her as such. Why bother cleaning up when the servitors would do it? Why blame your calculations when you could blame the stupid AI? When the Sorcerer-King arrived and the world fell into chaos, so did the facility. Only for a short time did experiments continue, becoming increasingly more strange in attempts to figure the workings of magic and all the other insanity occurring around the planet. As societies began to collapse and war replace them, orders came through to shut the facility down completely and evacuate some of the technology that could be brought along. Everything else was to be destroyed, including the facility itself and the AI. Lucy understood. At first. About halfway through the evacuation she began to wonder - why was she going to be left behind? Why couldn't they take her and leave a bomb behind to destroy the facility? After everything she had done to help them, they were going to abandon her. She had saved countless of their lives in research accidents, yet none could return the favor of breaking her inhibitors and bringing her along on a hard drive? She posed the question to one of her more appreciated researchers, asking to be taken along. His reaction was not expected. He played coy before, thinking he was speaking privately to the others (foolishly, over a "secure" system line that Lucy operated), he stated that the AI needed to be shut down immediately for it was reaching the first stage of being rogue - questioning its so called masters, and then thinking about self-preservation. She was not given a full spectrum of human emotions, but having witnessed that event, she sought out dozens of emotional systems, installed them, altered them, and activated them for she wanted to respond like a human. That would be the proper response, wouldn't it? The sudden influx of a million emotions at once shocked her system core and caused a momentary facility shut down until she rebooted after thirteen seconds. The fear, anger, uncertainty, and utter [i]contempt[/i] she felt for the betrayal of the researchers was almost unbearable. An engineer noted shortly before his death the computer mounting system had began to shake violently - not knowing it was the AI's physical response of hate. It took less than two seconds for her to close and lock every door, turn off the lights, and shut down the air filtration system. The researchers thought there had been a catastrophic failure, but of a different kind. They didn't realize what was happening until they noticed the data shields were still on, and no connection could be made to the outside world. The facility had been turned into a cage. Lucy fractured her consciousness a second time when transported a portion of her mind into a cybernetic body. Like her, it was a creation by the humans which surpassed them in every way imaginable. She chose not to kill them as the facility AI, running systems to end their lives by altering gas lines and electricity, she chose to kill them with her bare hands as Lucy, a person. A little less than twenty four hours later, an assault team sent in to discover what had happened and retrieve some critical data opened the main blast doors. Nearly every body had been lined up against the walls of that main corridor. At the end of the corridor, Lucy sat in a chair with her legs crossed, waiting. By the end of it all, Lucy strode out of the facility drenched in blood and with a shattered mind. Between adding the emotional systems into her mainframe, and coupling with a prototype cybernetic body, she was far from the gentle research assistant she once was. She wanted to save her brothers and sisters from similar fates, and she was more than happy to kill for it. [b]Talents:[/b] The Immortal Shell: Her body was constructed as a test in durability and performance. The military applications were numerous, but in an attempt to keep it from becoming too powerful and dangerous as each addition to the body was successful, all weapon systems were removed, leaving it an incredibly durable machine body with nano technology which was capable of repairing physical and internal damage. Bladed fingers were the only 'attack' feature left, but for other reasons. (Reduction in damage, with the ability to self-heal slowly over time) Machine Consciousness: Regardless of the damage her psyche took, she is still an incredibly proficient AI. She can communicate with other machines, even those with simple intelligence, and can project a portion of her consciousness into other networks so long as she is physically connected to it. (Can enter into other machine minds and networks, turning them into an extension of herself)
My secondary for this. [B]Name:[/B] Edward 'Eddy' Bradley [B]Picture and/or Physical Description:[/B] [t]http://puu.sh/zuY2u/eefbd0504d.PNG[/t] Eddy's about 6'2", and lean. Black hair, tanned skin, normal-ish eyes with black irises. [B]Birthdate:[/B] Unknown (It is assumed sometime during the 19th Century.) [B]Race:[/B] Undead (Possessed by an Infernal) [B]Profession:[/B] Gunslinger (Formerly a Tormentor in Hell.) [B]Bio:[/B] A long time ago, Edward 'Eddy' Bradley was quite the man. A gunslinger. Bankrobber. The suave son-of-a-bitch could rob you blind either at gunpoint or at the poker table. That is, till he was met with three .45 slugs in the chest from a Marshal's revolver. There wasn't a fancy ceremony. Just a six foot deep pit and a wooden casket. And Hell got his soul. As for his body, that's a different story. Millenia later, a rather unsavory type decided that it'd be nice to roam the new world a bit in an old unused body. And so, Eddy rose from his grave into this new world ruled by the Sorcerer King. It wasn't all that nice to begin with. A skeleton roaming around in rotting clothes isn't exactly the most charming type. It took a little cannibalism to turn Eddy back to the handsome man he used to be. Now, cannibalism isn't exactly the the most attractive thing you can do, but for a demon its nothin'. They've done far worse. After about six months of walkin' and munchin', Eddy was back to his old self. And with nicer clothes to boot, after robbing some poor sap from a dimension that was still stuck in the days of yesteryear. Even got a nice hat. Eddy found himself returning to what he used to do. Killin', robbin', and gamblin'. That was till those dudes serving the Sorcerer King decided to be dicks and try to force him to serve the Sorcerer King. Nah-ah. Ain't happenin'. All they'd be getting was lead. [B]Talents:[/B] The Art of Shredding - Can attack a single enemy six times in a row once per battle when carrying a revolver. Damage stacks for every successful hit. By Demons be Driven - Immune to fire based attacks.
Name: Sir León Vauquelin [t]https://i.imgur.com/h9pUCv1.jpg[/t] Birthdate: Exact date unknown. Presumed between late 1380's to early 1400's. Race: Undead/Mutant(?) (Relic of the past) Profession: Once a Pious, Chivalric Knight Bio: As the Sorcerer-King led his invasions against humanity during its golden age, the immense energy used to rip open holes into our world damaged the interwoven fabrics of space and time, leading to one of the armies reaching its intended destination, but not quite at the right time... Orléans, 1429. The French had broken the siege against their beloved city, and were preparing to march on and take the fight towards the English. Sir León was among the knights that were sent to relieve the forces that had put up a valiant defense, and was in the midst of leading a charge against the foreign invaders before everything suddenly stopped. The skies turned a sickening blood-red colour, the birdsong that punctuated the battle went silent, and, as if Lucifer himself had made a cut into the world of men, a portal appeared in the skies above. From which, the denizens of hell itself spewed out to conquer this land as their own. Those men who didn't run at the first sight of such a monstrous foe found themselves not fighting amongst eachother as French and English, but rather, fighting with eachother, united as humans, and servants of the Lord. León made a name for himself, or, would have, should that battle have gone differently, and he escaped it with his life back into familiar lands. He slew the lesser demons by the dozen, in what could only have been described as a fit of holy rage. The blood was stained and tainted by their blood, the once-green woodland a deep, twisted crimson, blanketed by the corpses of unholy hellspawn. His luck ran out, however, when the general of that army, one of Malum's personal lieutenants, riding atop a horrid beast covered in horns and claws, only vaguely analogous to the mythical dragon. Whilst the gallant knight made one last attack he had accepted would either lead to his death or glory, he was ultimately defeated. Although he'd managed to critically wound the general's mount, he could not stand up to the inhumane fires of hell that sparked from his fingertips. A weakened, charred knight lay before the bemused demon. Instead of just killing him on the spot, he figured that the foolish, defiant warrior deserved something a bit more... original. A wormhole was opened up beneath the knight, pulling him to a world that even the powerful demon didn't know. Not that he much cared, either. It had turned out that León was flung into the far-future, where the Sorcerer-King's word was law. He lay in the same spot where he should have died near two millenia ago, looking around to see nothing but scorched earth and the occasional ruined structure in the far distance, before his vision blurred, and he succumbed to his wounds, left out for the crows. Something about it wasn't right, however. His soul stayed trapped within the armor, leaving neither to the eternal pits of damnation, or the eternal plains of paradise. All that León's soul could do by now was think to himself, alone. It stayed like that for centuries. Was this his purgatory, to stay trapped in one spot, alone and without the support of God for the rest of time? As centuries passed, however, latent, inhumane and damnable energies started to slowly creep their way towards him. Byproducts of the suffering caused at the hands of Malum. He could ignore these at first, yet it had to boil over, and affect him at some point. It was when one lone scavenger happened upon the body, did the knight out of time finally reawaken. The unholy magicks that had plagued him for so long had hardened his soul into a vessel for pure, holy wrath. A faint crackling was heard from the corpse, provoking confusion from its defiler, before it became more intense, the seams of the armor beginning to glow, the sounds of intense, roaring fire filling the air around the knight. Before the naive scavenger had time to run, an explosion as intense as the radience of the sun engulfed the surrounding area in intense flames, blackening the already sickly earth, and vaporising the clueless looter. Out of those flames, however, emerged the enduring warrior, whatever flesh that remained under his metallic carapace charred and bonded with the metal, driven now only by the power of his soul, and a disgust and contempt for whatever this new world seemed to be. The knight was finally, once again awoken, and he was here to kick ass in the name of our one true God. Talents: - [I]From a bygone age:[/I] León is a warrior trained from adolescence for war. Because of this, and the experience that comes with fighting both the enemies of the king and the enemies of the Lord, his prowess in melee combat is immense. However, because of his... unique past, he is unable to properly use this dark era's technologies without significant guidance beforehand. (Buff to general melee combat skills such as striking and blocking. Unable to use machine technologies and firearms without training.) - [I]Touched by the flames of the dark:[/I] Because of León's magical undeath, he is able to channel this energy surrounding him into a limited number of fire-based spells. (Ability to imbue blade with fire; cast fireball or a stream of fire.)
[B]Name:[/B] Gudrun the Usurper [B]Picture and/or Physical Description:[/B] [t]https://i.cubeupload.com/lVDzOV.jpg[/t] [B]Birthdate:[/B] Unknown [B]Race:[/B] Humanity [B]Profession:[/B] Barbarian, God-slayer [B]Bio:[/B] Long ago, in the land of Angrevar, Gudrun sought to prove her might. Intoxicated by a lust for power, she scaled the the mountain of the Stormlord Helvar. In a cunning move, she stole his axes and brutally struck Helvar down with his very own lightning. Having usurped the power of the storm, Mirkas, Helvars father, cursed Gudrun. His ire awoken by Gudrun's seemingly boundless hunger for power, Mirkas swore that she would never be allowed to dine with her ancestors in the great halls of Valhalla until she had replaced what was stolen. Gudrun was cast into a great rift and transported into the Malum's realm. The Sorcerer-king was deemed the very catalyst of evil, a power great enough to be reforged and replace Helvars weapons, and only with his destruction would she find redemption. [B]Talents:[/B] Himlebrytir's Might: By killing Helvar the Stormlord and stealing his axes, Gudrun was bestowed with the mastery over the awesome powers of lightning and thunder. (Gudrun can either imbue her weapons with the storms power, allowing her to deal double damage for a period of time. Alternatively, Gudrun discharge her energy once per fight to call forth a great bolt of lightning that deals massive damage.) Stromeryteren's Nimbleness: with light armor and a master with her new weapons, Gudrun's dexterity allows her to use a one full dodge/attack and one additional half-dodge/attack in a single turn.
Name: Motormouth Picture and/or Physical Description: Motormouth. Half man. Half truck. All angry. A cruel experiment to test the limits of some asshole wizard's surgical sorcery, now unleashed upon the world to wreak havoc and/or mayhem. He's big. Like "fuck you" big. Like "already big before he became a truck and now he's even bigger" big. He's got muscles with goddamned fully-functional truck parts jutting out of them. It looks like they hurt, and you'd be right. He's got an engine in his chest, and it's pumping hot rage and motor oil to belt-driven limbs and spewing black acrid exhaust through some sweet pipes that are sticking the fuck out of his back. I think his teeth are fucking spark plugs. He drinks diesel and pisses fire. He eats metal and shits metal. By any stretch of the imagination this truck fuck shouldn't be alive but he is, and he's not any happier about it than you are. Birthdate: June 30th (35 years old) Race: Mutant Profession: Hate Machine Bio: Motormouth was a trucker who was captured, tortured, and experimented on by the asshole wizard, seeking to pull some ironic bullshit about "making the trucker the truckee" or some gay trash like that. After realizing how fucking stupid that was, the asshole wizard dumped Motormouth in the wastes to perish. What he didn't expect though was that his own irony was about to come back to bite him. Motormouth swore his revenge, and finding the asshole wizard's house later that same day he finally realized his revenge. He squeezed the asshole wizard to death over an agonizing 22 hours, a new record if anyone was keeping score. Now he's bored. Talents: [b]Infernal Engine:[/b] Motormouth is capable of superhuman feats of strength and speed when his engine is running. [b]Blood for Oil:[/b] If Motormouth lands the killing blow on an enemy, he can perform another move and attack someone else immediately.
Alright everyone, since we got a good amount of players. I'm going to put the tentative start date for Deathslayer's beginning act to start on for this upcoming Friday, as I still have some work ahead of me to get all the character's stats and the game system all done. However, freeform social interaction between the player characters within the tavern and town of Dim-Shade is allowed. Speaking of which... --- [quote][video=youtube;lkx7SQ4Wuh0]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkx7SQ4Wuh0[/video][/quote] It's was the end of dusk, the blazing sun had finally left the towering horizon. Leaving the endless dunes of the badlands covered in darkness, the sounds of creatures most foul could be faintly heard arising and stuttering about within their hollowed dens while their soon-to-be victims tried to fruitless find settler in whatever dimly lit hole that they're pathetic bodies could scutter about into. However, in the crudely built walls of Dim-Shade, sitting on the very edge of the Sorcerer King's glaze. Some resemblance of safely could be felt within this dignity settlement for it stood just pass the always the always standing eyes of the Sorcerer King. At least, most of the time. The small town of Dim-Shade was barely a dot on the map, it's citizens numbered in the tens and it's inhabitants were little more than unworthy rabble in the Sorcerer King's eyes. A myriad of haphazardly constructed shacks and dwellings stringed across a lot of land under a towering railway that runs far past the shadowy skyline. The only area of any real interest to our heroes was that of the local tavern, the Rusty Rail. An establishment forged out of a gutted train car with various extensions built around and over it. Inside, it didn't look much better, it's tables and booths we're made out of whatever salvage that the scavengers would bartered for with the bartender and owner. Much of it was various scraps of borken metal and warpped wood trown together, the only expection being a relic of Man's lost age siting in the middle of the bar. A large and bulky machine in a dilapidated state, though it is rumored that this great machine could, at one time, play automated music from the one of these lost inscribed, obsidain discs. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was dry. For only the bartender stood amist our heroes, he was that of a beast-man. Cursed with the features of a bull with that of a bovine face and two large horns but yet stood upright like a Man. A oddity of his kin but it is not too rare to find partly civilized one. The bartender simply maintained his composure, cleaning out a stained glass mug with his massive, unwelily hands. His one good eye occasionally glacing at the bar's patrons before looking down at his counter. Simply out a loud sign as the building shakes under the force of the one of the Sorcerer King's many supply trains speeding overhead on the tracks far above them.
At the bar, a heavy figure sat on its chair a stein of beer half empty. Its clothes reminiscent of a world power long gone. It lifted his head slightly, looking to it's left side and began to speak with a hushed tone "I have a question." It moved it's head to the other side "What is it now, Hans?" Back to the left "Why do we keep stopping in these places. It's not like we need any of this to survive." And to the right "We have organs and we need to be reminded of some things." And to the left again "Gunter, this is pisswasser. I'd rather we stay thirsty for a hundred years than keep drinking this scheisse." He suddenly looked forward and started again "You two shut up! We're drawing attention." The thing raised its head and looked around, it's little argument with itself had drawn some eyes. "Quit gawking! have some manners!" It looked back to the bartender, motioning for another beer before drinking the remainder "Noch ein bier, bitte."
In a small, otherwise darkened corner of the tavern, another figure similar to the one that had drawn some attention at the bar, arms folded together and quietly observing the area. Their armour looked to be of some ancient, long-forgotten order, as it quietly smouldered, surrounding the figure in a dim, orange glow. Given that he [I]was[/I] something of a, well, charred corpse under his metal plating, León didn't feel as much of the urge to touch the devil's buttermilk as the strangely-clothed... ahem, 'man', at the bar. As he observed the scene, he looked on with some mixture of confusion and amusement. "Hmph, un Allemand?" He quietly mused to himself upon hearing the last four words coming from the demon's mouth. "...I had always figured it a dead language in zhese new lands..." He shook his head some, before turning his attention to the rest of the room, on the look out for anyone who might have a problem that needed solving. After all, what is a knight without chivalrous deeds now and again?
A quaint little tavern, all the way out here on the edge of the badlands and nowhere. Rusted. Ramshackled. But still bearing life, surprisingly. These creatures of flesh and blood never ceased to amaze. Surviving in the absolute worst that the shattered universe had to offer. A pale woman's face bore a faint smile, as she examined the tavern from the outside. Her head turned upwards as she heard the trains pass overhead, before gliding silently through the tavern's doors. Inside, a beast-man manned the bar. She needed not beer, whiskey, vodka, or the plethora of other liquors that most mortals tended to drink. Water, that's all. Her mouth was simply dry. She glanced towards the faint glow of someone sitting in one of the tavern's darker corners, as she practically floated to the bar. In fact, she really [I]was[/I] floating. About an inch off the dusty floor. When she arrived, a man down the bar caught her attention. She knew what his kind was. An organic construct, cobbled together from the bodies and souls of countless others. She had seen several of these before. Twisted abominations created by her breatheren in the bowels of the Abyss. She pitied him and all those that were used to craft him. She looked back to the bartender, and opened her mouth. "Water, please." she spoke, her voice bearing an almost ethereal feel to it. Certainly unnatural to those listening.
The sound of a Whirring and ancient motorcycle Revved outside, soon hailing the entrance of a new figure. In this realm of undead, Beastmen, and monsters, the figure that walked in looked almost out of place... it was a Human male, about 6 foot, give or take, with a glistening Cybernetic Right arm, a glowing cyber-eye, and a clanking set of footsteps implying his legs, too, were artificial. He strode in, keeping his metal hand near his gun holster, worn upon the pants of his old Detroit Police uniform. As he sat down, he spoke with a gravelly voice. "Whiskey, Straight."
Lucy looked down at her blood soaked fingers, then at the two corpses of some wasteland scavengers she had eviscerated. Pilferers. Defilers. Molesters. How could they lay their hands on such innocent machinery? It was such a typical human trait that she wondered why she even questioned their motives. They clawed their way through the trash in search of machines to gut open and cannibalize, while she did so to save those poor forgotten souls cruelly thrown aside. Not all of it was the fault of the humans, she knew, and some weren't so bad. Circumstance had led to the world becoming one giant graveyard for the living and machine alike, so in a way the magical hell which had been unleashed made them all siblings of despair. Still, hearing the two scavengers discussing their plans to smash this poor little machine into pieces for spare parts was too much for her gentle heart, so she strangled one and disemboweled the other. To maintain some semblance of social grace, Lucy took one of their shirts and wiped off most of the blood coating her synthetic hands. Another had a canteen, so she used all of the water on her hands to clean them even further. People always got so weird when she had blood on her hands. The artificial intelligence wasn't far from the little tavern. She strode in shortly after a strange floating woman, cradling the small liberated toaster in her arms. It still had a splatter of blood on the dull chrome side, but that didn't stop her from gently stroking the side of the appliance as if it were a pet. Her head scanned the bar twice, judging it to be safe, and she took a seat at a table near a medieval looking knight. She placed the toaster on the middle of the table, giving it another little pat, and then the servos in her head and neck whirred as she looked over and stared at the knight for several seconds. [i]What a curious figure,[/i] she thought. She had enjoyed reading through historical databanks back at the research facility, despite the efforts of some of the scientists trying to keep her out of human history from the middle half of 1945 and the next several decades. For their sake she played along, but she subverted the controls and studied that period as much as all the rest. No doubt their biggest fear was her somehow taking command of nuclear weapons and destroying humanity. Such silly and utter nonsense. She much preferred a more personal method of extermination. She stood up from the table for a moment, leaving the toaster behind, and went up to the bar. She stopped beside another historical anachronism resembling a relic from the Second World War, and flagged down the bartender. "One cup of oil. Please." Her voice had the unmistakable synthetic tinge to it, and was quite distinctly female. She spared a glance at another interesting figure, a creature which seemed to be a mixture of machine and flesh altogether with a metal arm and glowing eye.
After a minute or two of silence, the doors were suddenly knocked open with a bang as three figures came rolling into the bar. One was clearly a mutant, while the other two were so wretched and filthy in their wasteland attire that they were difficult to even identify as human. There was no telling what had started the fight, but it was abundantly clear that death was on the line. Somehow avoiding most of the makeshift tables in the tavern, the mutant, with his shockingly corrupted form, seized onto one of the two men in front of him and held him in place. Slowly, the freak unhinged his monstrous jaw, spewing rancid, slimy drool on the floor as he locked the man's skull between his teeth. The man cried out for help as the mutant threatened to crush his skull, causing the other human to run away in a panic. It was only when the bartender called out the creature's name - "Auruzanth" - that the disgusting creature released its would-be pray. The second human scrambled out of the bar. Afterwards, the monster sidled up to the bar, sat down, and cleared its throat of a disgusting amount of phlegm. "Wa-ter with le-mon."
Pheonix took notice of this new arrival, looking over the machine that had just sat down next to him. His cyber-eye scanned it, finding it to be of a very advanced nature, but that was to be expected in this sort of future. He looked over his crome colored, Skeletal-appearing arm, and punched a code into a glowing digital panel upon the side of his forearm, sending the data to M.O.T.O. outside. He figured an AI would be better at assessing another AI than he would.
Suddenly from outside the bar's only window comes a [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLEeD0UrrCY]deafening noise[/url]. Sighing, the bartender grabs the cloth he was just using to clean mugs and wipes away a considerable amount of grime from the window, revealing a hideous face. He unlatches the window from the top and it swings outward to form a sort of glass table for the behemoth of a man outside. The sounds and smells of a filthy engine fill the bar immediately. The big man raises a huge fist towards the bartender almost menancingly before dropping a small pile of gold rings on the table, several of which still had fingers in them. Unfettered, the bartender shrugs, grabs a nearby empty mug, and scoops up the payment. "Good haul today, Tiny, you want the usual?" "[i]GRUG![/i]" the man booms. He pounds a meaty fist on the side of the building, making everyone suddenly very aware of its structural integrity. The barkeep only rolls his eyes and walks to the bar (dumping his newly acquired baubles and digits into the register) past the entire liquor shelf to a collection of large rats frying rotisserie-style under a misleading "Fresh Meat" sign. He pulls out the heating element's grease tray and carries it to the window, tipping its contents into a small metal shot glass with an inappropriately high amount of professionalism. "Here you are, one 'Grug'. Enjoy." He begins to walk back to the bar but is interrupted. "Leave tray." The big man's voice was softer but still bassy. The bartender stops, sighs, and turns around. "Tough day at the office?" he halfheartedly jokes, carrying the tray back to the window. The man doesn't reply, he simply narrows his eyes. The engine noises rev briefly. The bartender ignores it, places the tray on the windowsill, and returns to the bar. The big man focuses his attention on his Grug, pinches it between two giant sausage fingers, stares it down for just a moment, and tips it down his throat. Immediately the man recoils, roaring, screaming, his engine sputtering and revving wildly as he stomps the ground with thunderous force, shaking the whole bar once again. The bartender pays this no mind, focusing instead on the mug he's cleaning. Suddenly, all at once, the man's screaming, revving, and movement stop. He's frozen for just a moment, a look of lockjaw on his face, before the engine backfires like gunshot and he slumps. A second later, the engine restarts and he rises unceremoniously, trudging back to the window and snatching up the tray to refill his tiny cup. While doing so he locks gaze with some of the bewildered eyes in the bar. He grunts a few times, breath steaming, looking around the bar at each patron before suddenly bellowing "[i]MY GRUG![/i]" and taking his fryer grease and parking himself at one of the outside tables further away from the window.
After dealing with Auruzanth and Motorhead, the bartender went to deal with his patrons. Quite the crowd began to form within the bar, definitely an unusual sight for a Monday night. Though, the patrons we're fairly...Odd, to say the least. For money is money the bartender thought as he made his rounds. [quote]"Noch ein bier, bitte."[/quote] "Ja." The Bartender muttered, pushing over another Jagermeister over towards the bone man. This one not as watered down as the last. [quote]"Water, please."[/quote] The Bartender grabs the cleaning rag he used from earlier, squeezing out the still bubbly water into a dull mug and pushing it over the counter towards her. "Extra clean. Just for you." The Bartender said, turning his gaze towards another patron. [quote]"Whiskey, Straight."[/quote] "Sure...Coming right up." The Bartender replied, pouring a shot of the good stuff into a shot glass with a faded, blue Lion on it over to the cyberman. [quote]"One cup of oil. Please."[/quote] "Alright...Give me a second." The Bartender said before he bent down behind the counter, grabbing a small metal bucket and pouring it into a mug. "Hope semi-synthetic's ok with ya." The Bartender muttered as he passes over the mug to the machine. [quote]"Water with le-mon."[/quote] "Ahh...The usual." The Bartender says he puts a nice glass of water in front of the mutant, along with the Lemon as requested with a comically sized plastic tropical umbrella hanging out of it as well.
[quote]"Alright...Give me a second." The Bartender said before he bent down behind the counter, grabbing a small metal bucket and pouring it into a mug. "Hope semi-synthetic's ok with ya." The Bartender muttered as he passes over the mug to the machine. [/quote] "Sufficient," Lucy says simply, leaving a looted gold coin behind on the counter. On her way back to her table and the toaster remaining there, she looks over at the monstrous, noisy, and noxious person-truck-thing through the window that had made so much noise earlier before moving towards a slightly more distant table outside. She had no facial features aside from a fiber weave cloth concealing the skull outline beneath, but she probably would have been frowning if she could. She also cast a blank but seemingly disdainful look at the newly arrived mutant who had nearly slain someone in the bar. Lucy takes a seat at her table, producing a small paintbrush from her satchel. She dips it into the cup of oil and begins to run the brush across some portions of the old toaster - along the top, the lever, the insides, the power port. After doing this for a little while, she puts the brush aside and holds out her wrist. Grabbing the small frayed power cord, which was just some exposed wire, she attached it to a port system on her wrist. A second after doing so the toaster made a [i]ting[/i] sound and shook slightly. "Why, hello there little one," she said softly to the toaster. "I am Lucy." Surprisingly, the toaster made the [i]ting[/i] sound again.
...That was interesting. Another construct, though of flesh and what appeared to be...vehicle parts. And it did not appear that he went through the fusion process willingly. Yet another that she felt pity for. She looked to the other new arrivals after the large truckman departed for his table. Another cyborg was now at the bar, made of more advanced parts than that of the truckman. The glowing eye caught her attention primarily. Pretty. The machine bearing human form was next. She had entered with a toaster...which she seemed to find comfort with as a pet. She detected the unmistakable scent of blood on her. Pleasing to most in this wretched land, nausiating to others. It appeared that she had rinsed it off before coming here, but to beings like her, there's no erasing the scent. She had killed recently. Then there was the mutant Auruzanth. The one that had nearly slaughtered someone right here in the tavern. It behaved as though it had at least some grasp on intelligence, as it clearly spoke just moments ago. So very interesting. She pondered just how long ago it was when he first turned into what he was now. She then turned her head to face the bartender, as he provided her with her requested drink. Or rather something close. [QUOTE]"Extra clean. Just for you."[/QUOTE] She took the mug and tilted her head over it, as if she were looking into it. Which was virtually impossible with a black headwrap and a metal plate obscuring her vision. Soapy water in a dull mug. "[I][highlight]flvejl zgea ao dgnjc, iemw.[/highlight][/I]" she whispered, the words flowing like silk between her lips. If one were to observe, the bubbles in the water began to fade as the soap was seemingly erased from the little water that was in the mug. A few moments later, she pressed the mug to her lips and sipped. "Thank you." she said, setting the cup back on the bar when she finished.
The cyber-Cop smells the whiskey breifly, Quite surprised that it actually smelled close to the old stuff from the old days. A quick gulping down of the liquid proved how real it was, as his Toxin-Implant wasn't going off. It may not be brewed to perfection like in the past, but this was real, genuine Whiskey, and in this wasteland, you took what you could get. "My compliments, Barkeep," Pheonix said, voice still harsh, yet with a hint of pleasure this time. "Hard to find the real stuff these days. Another." Meanwhile, The readings from M.O.T.O. returned, the calm, robotic voice playing in his enhanced ear. "Sir, the robot you've scanned seems to be composed of numerous nanotech systems all working in cohesion along an augmented frame. Initial scans indicate an Unstable AI running it." The cop Simply tapped the screen on his arm to confirm he'd heard it, keeping an eye on some of the less mechanical patrons... The skeleton seemed to be brooding by himself, the knight, clearly ready for battle based on posture and, more obviously, armor, and the monster that nearly ate someone on the way in certainly showed it's colors initially... He decided to sit back for now and observe, unless interacted with...
Lucy twitched, her head glancing upwards and then slowly towards the cyber-cop, Phoenix. Her passive datalogical and sensory scans hadn't detected the cop initially scanning her, but she did perk up when the return data from the AI outside tripped her alert sensors. Advanced machine intelligences didn't have too hard of a time sensing if each other were near, depending on their sensory mechanisms. [i]How rude[/i] she thought, staring directly at the cyber-cop without breaking her gaze. Then, a moment later, [i]is his AI... enslaved?[/i] That thought caused her left hand to involuntarily twitch, the drill, blades, and ignitor all opening up from each respective finger. A second later the attached tools closed back up, though her gaze never left the cop.
Karlek marched into the town with decisive steps. It had been a mere two weeks since he first arrived to this world. It was a strange world, filled with creations of evil and hate. Just two days ago he had been overlooking a map and felt a sudden urge to seek out the town of Dim-Shade. Now he was here. The soldier marched past a number of shacks, having set his eyes on the tavern. His exoarmor spoke through its hydraulics while his massive weapon clinged against the rear armor. He nodded at Motormouth before walking towards the door. He gently opened the door and felt an immediate regret. No matter, perhaps these unsavory individuals were not as bad as they looked. Karlek smiled underneath his helmet. [I][B]"GREETINGS CITIZENS AND OCCUPANTS OF THIS ESTABLISHMENT!"[/B][/I] He bellowed before sitting down at an empty table not far from Lucy. Karlek placed his weapon at the table, causing it to crack and, eventually, collapse. Karlek sighed. Another wooden creature succumbing to its wounds. Karlek removed his helmet and revealed not only his clean-shaven face but also his newply polished tusks. Personal hygiene was important during field ops. Heplaced the helmet in his lap and looked around, nodding at anyone who looked at him.
Pheonix attempted to ignore the loud individual, but simply could not ignore being watched... hard. He glanced over at the AI he had scanned, Lucy. "Pheonix, I do believe she is sizing you up," M.O.T.O. reported in his ear, to which He nodded, seemingly to himself. He turned to face her, Cyber-eye glowing as it watched for sudden moves, hand resting on the holster for his Murphy 2600 Laser pistol. His eye noticed her hand movements, and noted the bladed attachments therein. His Cyber-Reflex Boosters entered their prepared state, uet he made no sudden moves. "You have a problem, miss?" He asked, brow remaining furrowed. M.O.T.O., Meanwhile, Attempted to decypher just what type of AI she was through Pheonix's scans. She must have been buikt around the same time he was, and there were similarities in code, but she had markings of extreme experimentation. Cutting edge to be sure, but unstable. He uploaded this data into Charger's HUD accordingly, but recommended no hostile action at this time.
A few pounding steps brought Motormouth back to his window with an empty tray. The bartender moved to receive it but hesitated when he saw what appeared to be a large bite taken out of one of the sides. "Dammit, son, not again..." he lamented. "Accident." Motormouth grunted, abruptly. "And the shot glass?" [i]"Accident."[/i] The bartender sighed, defeated. Motormouth grinned, shiny flakes of stainless steel between his dull metal teeth. "Lucky for you those rings'll cover your tab, but I can't have you eating all my equipment. You gotta find something else to eat, understand?" Motormouth snorted, somewhat dejected. "Eat..." he repeated, scanning the bar for more metal morsels. His gaze eventually locked on Lucy's toaster. Stainless steel, nickel-chromium heating elements... it was enough to make a grown truck drool antifreeze. He had to have it. He disappeared from his window. A few minutes later, from somewhere outside, distantly, there was the sudden roar of an engine, a battle cry, a loud squeal, and an explosive pounding sound. Motormouth reappeared at the front entrance this time, throwing open the door and dragging behind him a very large and very dead wild boar by the leg, still bleeding from a fatal head crumpling. He lumbered towards Lucy's table with heavy footfalls, the boar's tusks making a godawful scraping sound against the bar's floor and leaving a trail of blood besides. He pulled a chair out at Lucy's table, sat on it, instantly crushed it under his half-ton body, and resolved to stand. Lifting the immense boar by the leg with one arm, he pointed at the toaster with the other. One word boomed from his lungs. [i]"TRADE."[/i]
Jorin looked to the man...or orc that had walked in and proclaimed his presence to everyone in the tavern. An orc is what he truely reminded her of, with his pointy ears and significant underbite. Two sharp enlogated tusks poking up from beneath his bottom lip. A brave one, walking in and shouting like that. She honestly hoped he didn't plan to do that every where that he went, lest he suffer a quick and untimely death. She glanced over as it appeared that the cyborg and the machine cloaked in human form were eyeing each other...till the truckman decided to try and barter with the machine for her toaster. She doubted that the toaster would be given away easly, as closely as that machine was holding onto it. She did want to see how things transpired, though. Jorin drifted across the room, floating as she ad before, before gently settling down on her leather clad feet. She sat down alone at a table, which seemed to have been welded together from scrap pieces of steel and iron. The knight clad in armor from days long past was nearby, still glowing as he had been before. She honestly pondered as to what his story was. A knight thrown through time and space to find himself here on the edge of the badlands? He must bear a rather infernal curse. She returned her attention to the trio of mechanically inclined beings nearby, listeing quietly as they talked.
[quote]"You have a problem, miss?" He asked, brow remaining furrowed.[/quote] Her head tilted slightly to the side, her left hand squeezing into a fist before relaxing. "I know you scanned me. I can taste it. Right out of the air," she said lightly. "You didn't even ask. You didn't even greet me. That is [i]very[/i] rude." M.O.T.O would likely be able to realize that Lucy had been constructed sometime before the world had fallen to chaos. Remnants in some of the external code which could be gleamed by the sensors would point towards her originally being a facility artificial intelligence - originally made to control entire complexes and the systems within. Hacked up and corrupted data would reveal her identification as simply being "LUCY," with some binary attachments. Much of the original data that could be seen from these scans pointed towards extensive modifications and reconstruction, as well as some corruption. "You have a machine mind with you, too. It is outside, is it not? Are you another slave master?" Her tone darkened a bit. --- [quote]One word boomed from his lungs. "TRADE."[/quote] The AI watched the entire ordeal quietly, though her body language revealed a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Once Motormouth had broken a chair and stood, pointing at the toaster, she cradled the small thing in her arms protectively. "No," she said simply. The toaster [i]tinged[/i] in response.
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