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The Magic Hunters of Valderia

Valderia

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a part of The Magic Hunters of Valderia, by Sir Fluffington.

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Sir Fluffington holds sovereignty over Valderia, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Default Location for The Magic Hunters of Valderia
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Valderia

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Minimap

Valderia is a part of The Magic Hunters of Valderia.

19 Characters Here

Hugo Tyrus [45] Hunts Master and Psion
Thomas Aefenleoht [45] "Would you like to see the ultimate Fan Service?"
Spotface [35] Who, me? No, you want that distraction over there...
Valar Karackson [29] What's in it for me?
Lucious Marder [28] "Checkmate"
Kai Ember [23] "Don't think I won't punch you!"
Maleki [22] "Life is not a blessing, life is pain"
Seraphina Celosia [22] "When our time is up, and we finally have to reflect on the way we lived our lives...I'd like to say I helped to save others'"
Adris Dasul [21] "If I'm questioning you, that means you're in trouble"

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht
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June 21--10:47 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire


Part laughing, part shrieking like a devil, the cultist in dark robes slashed at the puppet in front of him, which braved each thrust and slice and counterattacked with each opening. Not far behind, Thomas was moving his hands erratically, commanding his other puppets against the cultists who were getting too close for comfort. But though he could probably defeat each cultist, with sheer numbers if not power alone, the cultists were forcing his puppets to go into one-on-one combat, and they were getting slowly overwhelmed.

Jabbing his hand forward, Thomas commanded one of the puppets to counterattack, and it immediately complied, stabbing at the cultist while propelled by its momentum. The cultist growled as the tip struck his arm, but recovered quickly and made another attack, grabbing onto the puppet.

"Get off!" Thomas roared fiercely, and pointed at another one of the puppets, who brought its sword down upon the cultist, but not before he had ripped off the arm of the spear-wielding puppet. "Tch..." Honestly, to Thomas, seeing his puppets getting destroyed was actually rather painful. He had worked hard to build them, after all.

He was so busy directing the two puppets to finish off that cultist, that he had not remembered that the puppet which he had sent to the rescue had been fighting another cultist...until he heard the battle cry, and realized his mistake with horror. Quickly, he leapt to the side, but the cultist spun around as soon as he landed and kicked, sweeping Thomas off his feet. Scrambling up, the puppeteer hastily summoned the two puppets who had won against their opponent, and sent them to strike the cultist, but he was able to dodge both their attacks. The blade was flashing closer to him...

But it had not reached his chest before a fist of rock suddenly slammed the robed figure away, causing him to crash into one of his comrades. A golem of elaborately-carved burgundy stone landed next to him, before leaping at the cultists to attack once again. A moment later, the puppeteer was being helped to his feet by Michael. "Your fans are safe; don't worry," the pink-haired boy reassured his brother. "I came back because I thought you would need help."

"Glad you could do it," Thomas replied, pointing at the puppets and commanding them to resume their attacks. "But, these guys...I don't know if we can defeat them at our level." Clenching his teeth in frustration, he rubbed a hand over a place on his arm where one cultist he had previously fought had landed a hit. "We're going to have to use our augmentations, aren't we?"

"Yes. There's no other way," Michael replied, holding his wrist with the bracelet into the air. The pink gem flashed, and his left eye turned orange once again, while Thomas raised his own bracelet, and his left eye changed to dark violet. And the puppets and rock golem, as if on cue, began to strike with greater speed and force against the cultists, finally managing to obtain an upper hand.

Although, it could be noted that red strings were appearing in the air, connected to the joints of Thomas' puppets and seeming to just fly aimlessly into the sky as they faded from view.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Val
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#, as written by Subtle
The puppet show was about to start, when Spotface felt a wave of cold air ripple through his beard and rags. A rush of chatter followed the cold, along with a few shouts. The stuffy discomfort he'd felt moments ago long forgotten, he stood frozen in place as sharp chills ran quick down his spine. Oh gods, something is wrong.. Something is really wrong. Looking over at the commotion by the Senate building, the his stomach turned as the magnitude of the situation dawned on him. People scattered in every direction as black forms fell upon them, with gore and cries of terror erupting everywhere at once. Every fiber of his tiny frame screamed for him to run, and yet, he remained rooted to his spot, staring on into the swirling, screaming mass in front of him. Spotface saw the leg coming, but it wasn't until the fleeing merchant sent him flying that he regained his senses.

He picked himself up, pulled out his grapple shots, and prepared to aim for the nearest roof, when he saw a cultist dashing straight at him with a manic gleam in his eye. Spotface faltered, shooting one of the grappling shots straight into a nearby cart. He barely had time to curse his bad luck before the cultist was on him, gibbering gleefully and slashing wildly with a wicked-looking butcher's knife. Spotface skittered away from the first few chops, and with a zip and a thump he flew into the cart by retracting the grappling shot. The cart was thrown back with the force of it, too, sending Spotface tumbling into it. After wrenching at the hook, to his mounting horror, he found it was stuck fast in the side. No way this cart is coming with me on a roof... Seeing the cultist was not far behind, he lined up his second shot at a spot across the square. As soon as the shot had landed--in a lamppost near the center, it turned out--he and the cart were zipping away.

The cart bounced and clattered at first, barely staying on its wheels and bowling over a few people--from what he could see, two cultists and... their meal... yuck--as it went crashing and skidding through the square. As it rattled along, though, Spotface was able to wrestle control over it. Leaning this way and that, he crashed headlong through a few cultists and narrowly dodged 'round what looked like a badger-man before reaching the lamppost. At some point, the beard must have flown off, but that didn't really concern Spotface much right then. Never liked that thing anyway.. Looking around, he saw that his stunt with the cart had attracted the attentions of a number of cultists, who were making their way to him quicker than he'd have liked. Now that he had a handle of how to steer the cart, though, he realized that there was no way these blood-crazed lunatics could catch up with him, if he played things careful. Seeing some wounded civilians trapped in a corner, he was decided in seconds. How many civilians could he whisk away with this cart? How many cultists could he hit and run? His terror melted away, and he strapped on his goggles with a growing grin. Spotface had a game to play, and all was right with the world again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valar Karackson Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Morgan Taylor Character Portrait: Lysandra Tyaelly
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#, as written by Byte
Things had gone from a mediocre day in the city, to an apocalyptic dilemma in a matter of seconds. Lysandra had barely managed to read through the contract she was handed before a cold, eerie wind sent a shiver up her spine that was shortly followed by a display of sinister magic that struck down from the black clouds above the city.

“I do hate days like these.” Lysandra murmured with a clear frown directed at the troubles ahead. “I'm guessing this isn't part of the parade?” She asked nobody in particular, a hand already clenched around the belt strapped to the navigator's rifle.

Morgan unslung her assault rifle and took stock of the battlefield. These cultists were still some distance away, but they were getting closer. The engineer was about to provide some fire support for the melee fighters when a Nord started bellowing orders at the duo as if he owned the place. Said Nord promptly ran off and almost got himself killed. By a single cultist, no less.

"Dunno about you, but I ain't gonna put my faith in that guy," she said to Lysandra. "We'd be better off sticking together and giving the lads a bit of help from here."

"Aye, ma'am." Lysandra replied jokingly as she took stance next to Morgan, unslinging her rifle from her back. "I don't like being given orders, anyway." The navigator lined up the scope with her eyes in preperation for the oncoming march of cultists. While Lysandra preferred her katana in these chaotic situations, she wasn't willing to charge blindly into a group of magic users lest she get blown to bits by a surprise fireball up the strap.

Firing short, controlled bursts into the howling mob before them, Morgan managed to kill a good number of cultists. Those that fell, whether dead or merely wounded, were trampled underneath the rest. Neither of the two had fought anything like this before, but they did what they could to help the others from afar and provide covering fire for civilians that were fleeing for their very lives.

As the battle raged on, a small group of cultists had somehow made it past the melee and were almost upon Morgan and Lysandra. However, in the nick of time, a goblin riding a runaway cart zoomed past, mowing down the would-be attackers. The engineer shouted her thanks to the little greenskin before scanning the surroundings once more.

"We should start falling back about now, get someplace safer than here," said Morgan.

The navigator allowed her rifle to lower down, her body turning to face Morgan, briefly. "Agreed. We better get to higher, or at the very least more secure grounds."

"Does anyone know of such a place?" Lysandra asked, once more raising the scope of her rifle to her eyes and carefully picking off the never-ending onslaught of crazed cultists one by one.

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Character Portrait: Kai Ember
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Kai had barely scribbled her name down on the contract when it happened. At first, she couldn’t see what was going on. All she could see was a purple glow through the crowd. Then all hell broke loose.
First came the screams, the terrified sounds of fleeing civilians. Then shortly later, the sounds of battle. It was all a blur as a few brave souls and many of the group around the table began to combat the grotesque cultists. The contract slipped from her fingers as Kai ran out into the square, trying to assess the situation through the chaos.
Kai heard the hiss of breath behind her and her body reacted before she could even process who it might me. She whirled around and crouched into a fighting stance. It was a cultist, holding a crooked blade that made her spine tingle. Adrenaline pumped into her bloodstream.
The cultist lunged at her, hissing and whirling his blade. Kai allowed her instinct to take over. She stepped to the side, dodging the blade, while simultaneously grasping his wrist with a vicious twist. She used his forward momentum to drive her knee into his gut before he could react, executed a perfect arm bar and drove him to the ground. In one smooth motion she twisted his blade from his fingers and drove it into his throat with all the strength she could muster.
Before she could even take another breath, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder grab her and hurl her to the ground like a ragdoll. Her breath escaped from her lungs forcefully. She looked up. Another cultist, except this one was bigger. And he was a magic wielder. He raised his hand, and Kai just barely rolled out of the way just as a fireball exploded where her face had been. She rolled quickly to her feet, still gasping for breath, and dodged another fireball. This was bad. She couldn't get close. All she could do was dodge.
Thick sweat dripped off her body. She new she couldn't keep this up much longer. Kai wasn't one to back down from a fight, but she also wasn't a big fan of dying.

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Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Valar Karackson
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#, as written by Legate
Well his marksmen had split up and the group was scattered all over the city, each fighting individual battles. Despite all that they were holding their own, well mostly. Finally having made his way to the rooftops he could see most of the individual battles. He had covered the Orc for a while but she appeared to be doing just fine by herself so he had moved on to trying to cover civilians. It was hard work though from up high and he had to be quick a couple times, he was trying to direct them to the square. However it was proving impossible from the rooftop. "Aww bloody hells" He descended down to street level slinging his rifle across his back as he did so. It would be the knife and pistol for the close work.

He slipped by several groups of cultists hiding behind stalls and under carts. Just as he was coming to a T-intersection he saw a group o cultists running down a mother and two children. Whelp, no time to be dainty, he needed to go in mob handed. He built up to a sprint running at where the cultists would be and threw himself through the air bringing down all 4 cultists. The next few seconds were a havoc of pain(some of it his), blood (the same), and ultimately death (not his). His head hurt from breaking a cultists nose and the wound in his shoulder was seeping some but all in all, he actually seemed to be alright.

He herded them back to the square and then ran off looking for more. He moved slowly now, rifle out, checking his corners as he crossed in case of ambush. Walking in a low crouch he swept his rifle side to side scanning the now seemingly empty streets. All of a sudden rounding a corner he saw a magic wielder tossing fireballs at a girl, she was doing an effective job of dodging but was beginning to tire. Valar, still moving forward in the low crouch, squeezed off a couple shots. To his shock and dismay they ricocheted of some form of magical protection. However it had the desired effect of catching the cultists attention causing his next spell to fizzle. However Valar quickly got more than he bargained for as the cultist then tossed a fireball his way.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul
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June 21--10:50 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire


The red strings in the air let out sharp noises as the puppets struck at the cultists, whose robes were soaked in the blood of their victims. "Come on! Keep pushing!" Thomas shouted, hands continuing to wave. "Don't let them get through!" His violet left eye was flashing with the magic augmentation, and the puppets were able to dodge the attacks and strike back more easily.

Two puppets flew back as Michael's rock golem punched at one of the cultists, who quickly dodged and got ready to counterattack--but Michael's hand thrust upwards, and the earth beneath the cultist responded, skewering the area where the cultist would have been had he not dodged again. By this time, however, it was impossible for him to dodge so many things at once, and the puppets surged back, driving both their weapons into him. "Another one down," Thomas murmured, raising his bracelet--

--but he had spoken far too soon, for the cultist suddenly let out a cackle and abruptly stood up, with the weapons still inside him. Terrified, the brothers quickly called their minions back, but too late--the blood all around the cultist, whether it was his or not, suddenly flashed bright red, and iron spears burst all around him, stabbing through the rock golem and destroying it, as well as the two puppets. With a murderous look, the cultist raised his twin sai and leaped towards the brothers.

After recovering a bit from his initial shock, Michael vaulted backwards and caused the stones in front of them to rise, impeding the cultist's movement enough for Thomas to command what was left of the two destroyed puppets and hurl them at the cultist, while triggering the magic inside them to explode. With a violet flash, the cultist's body was no more.

"Tch, we could have absorbed the magic in that guy's body if he had been left intact," Thomas muttered angrily. "And, time for the rest of you bastards..." Glaring at the three remaining cultists, he raised a hand, and the puppets brandished their weapons, seeming to burn brighter with violet...and at the same time, they seemed to look more malevolent and frightening. "You cost me two of my puppets, you know. I hope you're prepared to take on my true Fan Service!"

Michael, meanwhile, was preparing to summon another rock golem, when a bullet suddenly whizzed past his head and into one of the cultist's chests (unfortunately, said cultist did not die, and instead began to cackle and go on an insane rampage). Looking up to see where the bullet had come from, he noticed a black-haired man on a rooftop firing guns at the cultists...but his aim really was terrible, Michael thought, as he saw the bullets fire into the stones that made up the street, rather than the cultists.

Looking a bit further, he saw the man seemed rather exhausted...and there were cultists approaching the building he was standing upon. Oh, no. Raising a hand, Michael pointed at the ground directly in front of him, and another golem--of a different shape, and green-gray stone this time--burst from the rocks, immediately charging at the cultists and raising a fist. It punched the ground, sending a shockwave through the earth that delayed the cultists long enough for Michael and his golem to catch up. Hopefully it didn't knock the black-haired man with the guns off the rooftop, though.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve
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“I kind of regret buying this now.” Was what he thought, as Gainsboro came to the back page of the newspaper he had so casually been reading. It didn’t contain much interesting news aside from one particular article. It was about about a man who refused to come out of his neighbour’s dog kennel. At first the owner was under the impression that the man had gotten himself stuck in there for some reason, but it wasn’t until the neighbour refused not only his help, but also refused to get out, that the owner called the local law enforcers to have the neighbour removed from his kennel. It was afterwards that they found out the dog kennel was exponentially bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

Gainsboro rummaged through his slingbag, looking for a pen. When he found it, he flipped his newspaper around and started to do a crossword puzzle. If one were to ask if he enjoyed doing them, he’d answer with “no” every time. However, he thought he’d at least be able to pass time while doing them, since he hated doing nothing more than anything. As Gainsboro got halfway through his puzzle, he noted that a young man in garish clothes and pink hair, similar to the performer on stage, had seated himself next to him. Neither of the two made an effort to communicate to the other, merely waiting for either one to start a conversation. It made Gainsboro feel somewhat on edge. Eventually he got enough of it and he was about to ask the fellow for a thirteen letter word that meant miscellaneous articles. He knew it was the word “paraphernalia”, but he wanted to ask the man beside him just to break the ice.

A sudden blast of air jerked the newspaper out of his left hand and blew it right into his faceplate. The mildly humorous sight of it would have made a great way to start a conversation, but not in this situation. Not under the oppressive, and grim atmosphere that even penetrated his frame to the core. No, such a malicious aura demanded the attention of all, and one could not help but oblige. Throwing the newspaper that obstructed his sight into the wind, he directed his attention towards the conspicuous group occupying the centre of the plaza. the figure in the middle, the one he’d personally refer to as “Head Honcho”, gave a simple but resolute, order: “Kill them.” And as if to add to that he said: “Kill them all, kill them in the name of the devourer.”

It was as if he had found himself amidst pandemonium; the screams of the innocent and of their assailants. Gainsboro wasted no time and dug a box full of bullets out of his bag, and dumped them into his left pocket. Taking his revolver out of his holster, he cocked back the hammer and marched towards a sizeable group of madmen, about 12 large. In the mere moments it took Gainsboro to prepare and approach them, they had already slaughtered and feasted upon their victims. Disgusted, he aimed his revolver at the savages and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the nearest savage, whom subsequently collapsed onto the floor, most likely dead. Four more shots were fired, and an equal amount of cultists dropped. Unloading the empty shells, he rapidly loaded five new bullets into the cylinder. Even though Gainsboro had expected the group to rush him as he reloaded, he however, was surprised they did it while he was still reloading. And they did it seemingly without fear or hesitation. It didn’t matter though, he wasn’t frightened either. He felt completely safe in his mechanical frame.

He grasped the hilt of his second leftmost sword in anticipation to the brute who rushed him, and shot down the two who were behind him. The brute in front had finally closed the distance and attempted a wild overhead slash. It was then that Gainsboro, drew his sword, and with an arc, cleaved through his assailants sword arm and neck like butter, decapitating them.
As the body dropped to the ground, the four that remained continued their rush towards him.
Gainsboro deflected a sword with his own, while trying to shoot a particularly nasty cultist wielding a hammer. The first shot missed it’s target, as the last two cultists tried to body check him to the ground, but he absorbed the blow well due to his weight, and managed to hit the hammer wielding cultist with the second shot, downing him.

Quickly taking a few steps back, He holstered his gun, and smacked the sword of the leftmost brute out of his hand. The other two didn’t sit still and swung at Gainsboro again, one which was quickly blocked with his wrist guard and the last impacted onto his forearm, leaving a minor indentation. Kicking back the cultist that marred his forearm, He rammed the second one away and plunged his sword into the cultist he had disarmed. Kicking him of his sword, he quickly slashed behind him, cleaving a cultist from the shoulder down to his collarbone. Gainsboro tried to pull out his sword, but was interrupted by a sword thrust at his left flank, which didn’t puncture, grazing the steel, and cutting through the fabric of his coat. Angered by this, he grasped the man’s head with his right hand, and gave him a solid punch with his left, knocking him down, but not unconscious. As he tried to stand back up, Gainsboro already loomed over him. He stomped down on his head numerous times, until his head no longer resembled one.

With his assailants dead, he retrieved his sword and reloaded his revolver. He had no time to reflect on his rendezvous with the cultists however, as he heard gunshots going off behind him. Turning towards the sound, Gainsboro saw a in the distance, man standing on top of a roof. He discharged his gun into a crowd of cultists, before promptly collapsing. Some shots hit their intended target, however, many went wide. Witnessing that, and the large group of cultists drawing closer to the man, he felt he needed to help him. He however thought it wouldn’t be wise to fight that group- one which was far larger than the previous he had fought- alone. That, and he didn’t know the condition the collapsed man was in. He then decided he’d use his trump card to hinder the cultists, grab the man and get them to a safe distance from them.

Gainsboro had quite the distance to run. The slits in his faceplate lit up a violent red, as he directed a stronger current through his legs and, sped off towards the group, kicking up broken tiles with every step. As he got close enough, Gainsboro skidded to a rumbling halt, sliding in front of the group. With a twist of the body and flourish, he crossed his hands in front of him like a fan. He shot an electrical bolt, emitting an actinic glow, from each finger. Before the bolts could hit, he crossed his hands again, shooting another actinic barrage. The bolts impacted into numerous places, near instantly paralysing whatever body part it hit, and caused all of the cultists in that group to fall down.

Gainsboro never expected this to work as well as it did just now, and was still wondering why everything shuddered so much. It was then that he noticed the earthen construct a few meters behind the cultists, whose fist was planted into the ground, as if he had just struck it.

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Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Valar Karackson Character Portrait: Lucious Marder
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Lucious’ pleasant stretch of daydreaming was jolted from him when he heard a gunshot ring out. That sounded really close… he thought. Too close… Lucious got up from his position and began to walk towards where the gunshot had originated from.

As he rounded a corner, he saw a mage cultist in a quarrel with the nord and the Tekker girl. The Tekker girl appeared unarmed, and the mage was in the middle of flinging a fireball at the nord. Luckily, the cultist was unaware of Lucious’ presence.

First things first he thought sending a gust of powerful wind to intercept the cultist’s fireball. The wind blew the fireball off course and it smashed into the side of a building instead, sending it aflame. oops

As the cultist turned to face him, Lucious could make out the outlines of some sort of magical shield that the mage was using. It seemed to him that the barrier was actually a tornado of sorts surrounding the cultist. It could effectively fling away any bullets and any fireballs he could fling in it’s direction.

Luckily, the solution to this was simple. A tornado is formed by the tangling of hot and cold air, if someone were to tip the balance of the two types of air, the tornado would cease to exist. Wind it is then Lucious thought.

The cultist sent a flurry of fireballs in Lucious’ direction, which he deflected by raising a powerful gust of wind in front of himself. Lucious thought this out this time, and the fireballs rocketed into the air. This is it Lucious formed a cold compressed air pocket with his hands, which he released in the direction of the cultist.

The compressed air sped towards the cultist, who in turn tried to strengthen his “shield” by concentrating on feeding it the air that it needed. Luckily, it wasn’t enough and the cold air punched right into the tornado, tipping the balance. Some of the cold air even made it to the cultist, who was knocked down.

Now, if that nord has any sense, he’ll take the chance to shoot. But just in case, the half elf’s hands found the familiar geography of his Deringer dual barrel pistol. The cultist was outside of it’s effective range, but a little wind manipulation could fix that. He cocked the hammer and waited impatiently for the nord to react.

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Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Valar Karackson Character Portrait: Lucious Marder
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#, as written by Legate
As the fireball came flying at him Valar threw himself flat only to see the fireball deflect and smash in to a house. He rolled as a flaming timber came smashing down where his head was getting to his feed he saw the cultists shield dissipate. He seemed to be looking around for the source of his troubles, Valar drew his Obrezst pistol. Basically a sawn off rifle it was a giant, ugly, large caliber pistol. Walking forward in his shooters crouch he shot. One, Two, Three, Four times as the mans body still standing jerked and twitched. He looked for his rifle found it and jogged over to the girl who had been fighting this man.

"You, ok?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fea Rainglore Character Portrait: Seraphina Celosia Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Maleki Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: Valar Karackson Character Portrait: Elant Weisand Character Portrait: Lucious Marder Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve Character Portrait: Morgan Taylor Character Portrait: Val Character Portrait: Lysandra Tyaelly Character Portrait: Alumaruk Ugak
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Fear, blood, flesh, and chaos. Truly this effigy and orgy of violence should appease her. The three cultists relished themselves in the moment as they approached the closing gates. The guardsmen unleashed a hail of gunfire to slow their advance as they desperately moved to close the massive gates. With a loud clang the gates were sealed and the remaining guards men beckoned their comrades on the top of the gates to let down the escape lines. Panic quickly turned to desperation as the three cultist showed no signs of stopping, even though they should have been very dead. The center cultists smiled and stopped his brethren, “Leave these pathetic mortals to me.” The other two stepped back and smiled as they watched the blubbering guards screamed for their comrades to save them.

The cultist’s eyes began glowing a deep red as the flesh under his skin began squirming. The pain from his bones realigning themselves was gut wrenching and he could feel the skin strain to contain the rapidly growing muscle. The cultist unleashed an ear piercing cry which was drowned out by rising blood as the skin burst open to make way for his new and terrifying body. He was now a large and bulky testament to limitless strength and raw flesh with arms that were twice their original size. The guards trembled in terror as the crimson mass charged through their new hail of bullets unscathed. The hulking beast tore them apart as if they were made of soggy tissues and disposed of their mutilated bodies in his gaping mouth.

The behemoth wiped the blood from his mouth and turned to face the massive steel crucifix that occupied the center of the city, “Do you think there is more flesh to consume near the ground zero?” “Of course, now lets get there before the others eat more than their own share.”

They were oh so close, but the pack must have caught their scent. Just one more block to the crucifix and to the rendezvous point. Brutus shoved the shotgun into the cultist's mouth and unloaded both rounds. The cultist's head exploded, releasing a torrent of blood and brains. Brutus reached into the opened head cavity and ripped out a strange throbbing organ. Brutus stared at it for a short while and crushed it in his hand. The body of the cultist suddenly burst into harmless green fire and all remnants of the cultist vanished without a trace. Brutus smirked and turned turned to his personal kill team, "Make sure you destroy their synapse or they won’t stay dead for long.”

Brutus ejected the two shell as he walked up to the cold and bloody steel crucifix that towered above him. “It’s a damn shame, he was the better man. He deserved better than this.” One of the remaining veteran hunters ran up to him, “Sir the city has been sealed and word is that the purge squads are already on their way.” Brutus scowled as he reloaded,

“Well is the train company holding true to their word?” The veteran nodded, “The Eleven O’clock will be fifteen minutes late, but it will it still arrive. They said that the longer we can hold the station the longer the train will wait. But chairman, are you sure about the deal with the governor, he could use go back on his word and prevent the train from leaving the city.” Brutus smiled, “I doubt he will, after all he will want us alive to fulfill our end of the bargain. Where’s Tellus? We need to hook up to the city broadcasting system.” The veteran hung his head, “He’s dead, got nailed by a bone spike.” Brutus’s eyes widened, “They’re already shifting? Well god damn, they’re getting better at mutating themselves. Well is the radio still intact?”

The veteran nodded and handed Brutus the microphone, “Tellus hooked it all up before he bled out, he said that we needed to get the message out.” Brutus sighed, “Let’s not let his death be in vain,” Brutus turned to face the remaining Hunters with him, “Remember guys the survivors won’t be the only ones hearing it, so lets be prepared for the worst.” Brutus raised the microphone to his mouth and waited for the operator to give him the go ahead, “Attention all living members of the intelligent races,” Brutus paused to listen his voice being echoed and projected by the city.

“Due to the presence of a dark cult the city has been sealed off and placed under quarantine. All gates have been sealed and a magical barrier has been placed around the city preventing any other means of conventional escape. That being said there will be an escape vessel arriving at the central train station within thirty minutes. Due to the violent nature of the cult the train will not be able to stay for very long, that is why we recommend that all survivors make their way to the central station as quickly as possible. To all hunters and contractees, protocol twenty-four has been invoked and the Solarians will be handling the extermination. Utmost caution is recommended against all cultists and it is best to avoid to engagement. And remember, it isn’t dead if the body is still there.”

Hugo quickly gathered his things and hung the heating mechanism on his waist. Felix hopped off Morgan’s shoulder and stared at Hugo, “So what’s the plan?” Hugo inserted a mana canister into the the heater and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. “The main goal is to get out of the city and not die.”

Hugo pulled out his grenade pistol and picked up one of the supposed corpse. Hugo shoved the pistol into the mouth of the cultist and fired, completely destroying the head. The body soon dissolved into a green flame and Hugo put his away the pistol,

“Hope you folks were paying attention, cause shit just got real. For those who aren't familiar with the concept of quarantine and or the significance of protocol twenty-four allow me to explain. It means that the whole of the designated area will be sealed off and due to protocol twenty-four, the entire hazard area will be deemed a dead zone and all living organisms within the dead zone will be made dead.”

“Usually the GMHO takes care of the extermination, but unluckily for us the Solarians are taking charge. Which means we have to get the hell out of this city. Of course you can test your luck and stay. But in the end you will have make a choice. Do want to be eaten alive or do you want to be incinerated. But hey if dying a horrible death is really your thing then fine by me, I ain’t gonna judge. But for those of you who want to live I recommend that you listen to my every direction. The central train station is about ten blocks from where we stand, we will be able to get there before the train arrives if we don’t attract too much attention. It’s best to leave now this area now while the cultists divert their attention. Gather your things and make sure we’re not leaving anyone behind, after all there is safety in numbers.”

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve
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June 21--10:52 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire


“Attention, all living members of the intelligent races!" In the midst of the heated fighting, Thomas diverted just a small amount of his attention to hear the message. "Due to the presence of a dark cult, the city has been sealed off and placed under quarantine. All gates have been sealed, and a magical barrier has been placed around the city, preventing any other means of conventional escape. That being said, there will be an escape vessel arriving at the central train station within thirty minutes. Due to the violent nature of the cult, the train will not be able to stay for very long; therefore, we recommend that all survivors make their way to the central station as quickly as possible."

The puppeteer was about to just make a mental note to get to the station as quickly as possible and return to battle, but then another part of the message came: "To all hunters and contractees, protocol twenty-four has been invoked and the Solarians will be handling the extermination. Utmost caution is recommended against all cultists, and it is best to avoid to engagement. And remember, it isn't dead if the body is still there.”

Thomas froze. Immediately, his eyes darted back to the streets that he and Michael had cleared of cultists. They were now empty. The cultists had went off to find more targets! "Shit," Thomas growled, before glancing back at the cultists he was fighting--and stepped back in horror, for they were starting to mutate, and doubled their size and muscle build in a grotesque fashion. Now, they were towering over Thomas!

Out of options at the moment, the puppeteer turned on his heel and ran away, his puppets following him while flying backwards to defend him. The least he could do was check back on where his fans had gone.

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

At the same time, Michael was still running towards the cultists approaching the building upon which the exhausted man with the guns was standing, when arcs of lightning burst through the crowd and downed the entire hoard. Looking up in surprise, Michael saw the robot which he had been sitting next to before the chaos happened towering above them.

First, though, the cultists had to be dealt with. Calling the greenish-gray golem closer, Michael commanded him to smash through the cultists' bodies while they were paralyzed, and he himself began lifting the stones around them and pelting the cultists with them. In a short time--the robot may or may not have been involved in killing them, but Michael hadn't had any attention to spare--the hoard was slain. "We survived it," Michael sighed, mopping his forehead.

He was about to try speaking to the robot, when suddenly, the broadcast played throughout the city. "Wait...we didn't actually-?!" As Michael was saying this, the cultists were standing up all around them with malevolent grins, and brandished their weapons with even greater fervor. And this time, he and the robot were caught in the middle of the storm, so they were in a much worse position than before. Worse, some cultists were entering the building, licking their lips hungrily...

Michael himself was gazing at the building, wondering if he could scale it properly. But it's so tall...it's not likely I'll be able to get there before the cultists do. However, he had to try to reach the man with the guns. "Listen!" he told the robot. "I'm going up there to try and save the man up there. Please, hold your own here, or get to safety; this golem shall help you."

With those words said, he took one step forward and caused the stones under his feet to abruptly shoot upwards, like a compressed spring, launching himself at the face of the building. Carefully timing, he grasped one of the stones that made up the building and manipulated it to elongate outwards, giving himself enough of a handhold to keep climbing.

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Character Portrait: Alumaruk Ugak
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During battle, time moves strangely. Alumaruk knew that only scant minutes had passed, however, she felt as if she’d been fighting for hours. As she twisted in battle, she caught sight of fellow magic hunters in the chaos. They brimmed with magic or glittered with deadly weapons. She had joined a skilled set of individuals. Even the smallest of them found a way to sow chaos among the cannibal butchers.

The orc cleared the area around her with a sweep of her sword, cutting down another butcher. She quickly snatched up her staff and took a few steps back, slipping on the gore slick pavement. Butchers were no longer rushing toward her. The battle had separated into smaller areas of combat, many of them led by the other members of the team. Alum planted her staff and leaned against it. She struggled to catch a proper breath in her sore lungs.

The booming voice of the announcement shocked Alum. When she realized the depth of the dark magic that twisted the butchers’ bodies, vomit climbed into her throat. She could taste it again, the coarse corruption from earlier. The mound of bodies just before her feet twitched with life. Alumaruk stepped back. The powerful orc in her commanded she stay and fight, but instinct drove her at a quick backpedal pace.

Butchers burst into life, rising from the stones and shivering with power. Their bodies curled inside out, muscle and bone combining in a dance macabre that grew them to immense sizes. Alumaruk found herself looking up at the enemy.

A wall of sheer power and flesh rose before her, countless combinations of corpses screamed fury in her face.

Alum looked over her shoulder and saw the other magic hunters following the instructions of the voice. Escape the city from the only way out. Nothing could be done here.

Alumaruk sheathed her sword. The spirit energy inside her dimmed to a faint glow. The voices of her own consciousness and that of her partner in possession rang in synchronicity: Run.

Alum ran.

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Character Portrait: Spotface
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#, as written by Subtle
Somewhere around the seventh cultist Spotface had rammed into, the second grappling shot had been knocked loose from the side of the cart. He actually noticed this later on, somewhere around the eleventh injured civilian he'd whisked back to the fountain for medical care. When he discovered this development, the depth of his instant disappointment surprised him. He didn't need to stay in the cart, now. He could use two grapples--two hands, too--instead of one. The cart was much easier to steer... As he zipped around gathering more injured fair-goers, it was all too clear that the challenge was gone, again. He could feel the way the game fell apart around him, leaving a chore--a bore!-- in its place.

Though honestly, that wasn't the full truth of it. He would hardly just flit up and away to the rooftops to seek out some other, bigger thrill when it was obvious that the people here needed his help. His real trouble stemmed deeper down... With every new pain-stricken face he helped aboard, and every malicious grin he smashed past, his courage ebbed and faltered. This hero stuff... it's all a lot easier when I don't think about it too much. As though Fate itself desired to prove him wrong, Spotface took a turn too slowly, and in a moment of distraction, a cultist leapt on to the front of the cart. For what seemed like a lifetime, Spotface stood, transfixed, by a face of purest madness, flecked ear-to-ear in the pink foam of her savage tastes, with eyes that sang of murder... In that moment, he must have jumped off the cart in terror, though he didn't remember doing that. All he could see were those hungry, gleeful eyes...

His grappling shot was still reeling him in towards a wall, so without the cart, he bounced and tumbled through the street, too dazed to right himself. The cart, still moving quickly though now without direction, crashed heavily into the wall, crushing the cultist in the impact. Almost crashing himself, muscle memory kicked in just in time, and he found himself only bruised and disoriented, instead of smeared across the sidewalk. Spotface sagged to the ground, leaning on the wall he'd almost been pasted to, trying not to look at the cultist who'd succeeded where he'd failed...

As his head began to stop swimming, it slowly dawned on him that someone was speaking. It confused him at first, seeing no one around but the thoroughly dead-looking cultist, until his impact-addled brain pieced together that there must be some sort of loudspeaker. It sounded like that Brutus character, actually, but he wasn't exactly lucid enough to even confirm that this wasn't just some hallucination. As he concentrated, the message became clearer...

"Atten ... ving mem ... ntelligen ... Due to the ... cult the city has been ... under quarantine ... All gates ... magical barrier ... placed around ... preventing any other means of conventional escape." The full weight of what he was hearing brought Spotface back with a snap. Writhka's breath... gods, this is bad, this is really, really bad... "That being said, there will be an escape vessel arriving at the central train station within thirty minutes. Due to the violent nature of the cult the train will not be able to stay for very long, that is why we recommend that all survivors make their way to the central station as quickly as possible. To all hunters and contractees, protocol twenty-four has been invoked and the Solarians will be handling the extermination. Utmost caution is recommended against all cultists and it is best to avoid to engagement. And remember, it isn’t dead if the body is still there.”

Spotface had been pacing back and forth with worry as the terrible litany continued. The thought of people being trapped in this city, condemned to death by these wretched, filthy berserkers... His ears twitched in anger as the voice casually mentioned "extermination," as though the people left behind were some sort of procedural nuisance, to be tidied away... Like vermin. As a goblin, Spotface had always been especially sensitive to the notion that some people were merely refuse to be cleansed. His best friends during childhood were rat beastmen, who were even more accustomed to being treated like living garbage... Due to his growing bad temper over the injustice of this situation, the last sentence of this strange and terrifying announcement took him entirely by surprise. She... It... isn't dead? The alley they had crashed into was a pocket of calm, at the moment. The cultist still appeared entirely dead, and though screams and turmoil echoed all around him, all he could see--where he'd once seen madness and evil---was a sad, empty sort of surprise in a mangled, broken face.

He kicked a bit at the broken cart, as overwhelming feelings of confusion, sadness, terror, and anger pooled together until he just felt very, very tired. He had no idea what to do, and stared down angrily at those horrible eyes, that horrible face... Until it twitched.

Before he even really knew what he was doing, a large chunk of the broken cart was in his hands, and he was swinging it bodily into the cultist's face. Blood flew everywhere, and he really was just pathetically weak, but the makeshift club came down again and again with all the anger and sadness in that tiny, wiry frame of his with a ferocity he never known he'd had. The body soon disappeared in a haze of green, leaving him to his own demons. Hands shaking, he raised his grapple and alighted on the rooftops. Tear tracks mixed with specks of blood on his face as he jumped and ran his way to the train station.

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve
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Soon enough, Adris would be woken up by all the noise. Even the weak couldn’t have a rest. It is still better than him being unconscious and eaten alive. Although, before he could really function, he had only one thing in his mind; water. What living on land taught him is that he’ll have a greater thirst than many, many beings would have. In the ocean it wasn’t that bad, since he was surrounded with water, but on land, it is harder to live. Fortunately, he always had his pouch of water. He would take it out of his belt as he stood up, taking a good sip of it. He felt the liquid running down from his mouth, feeling a regain in his senses.

His joy was abruptly stopped with a mass that hold him down to the ground. His pouch was throw back near the edge of the roof. The cultist that pounced on Adris would then take a deep bite into Shark’s shoulder, ripping off a huge chunk of his coat and his skin. Adris let out a scream of pain just by that. He would quickly took out his second gun and place it in the cultist’s mouth as it was taking a second bite, and pulled the trigger. Fortunately enough, the bullet made the spinal cord amongst with a chuck of the flesh of the cultist fly off. The cultist would soon fell down to the ground, burning in a green flame.

Adris panted as he felt his own warm blood flow down of his shoulder. He would quickly retrieve both of his other gun and the pouch, taking the few last drops of the liquid to sip it and concentrate to heal his skin back on his shoulder. It left a big bruise still, but it was better than nothing. When he was done, he noticed that more cultist was on top of the roof. He quickly draw his guns at them, both of them staying still.

He was in a dilemma. Adris was now standing on the very edge of the roof, with the cultists in his firing range. He wondered why him better than the others. Maybe it was because he was still on the ground, unconscious, or that he was the last meal available in town. However, it crossed in his mind that they didn’t attack yet. They weren’t as dumb as he would thought of. However, why they wait him to let his guard down? He had no idea. He would then thought they would ruin his flesh by being crushed down. They also could die with him, right?

He would swallow hard. He hard enough bullets for every single one of them, but he didn’t take the risk. He would quickly turn; there was no way around. He had to jump despite the height of the building. And he let his body fall down, only to notice a young boy vaulting the building. He shouted at him, trying to catch his attention. With his increasing falling speed, he wondered if the boy would will be able to help him. If anything, he was in a good position to land.

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Character Portrait: Maleki Character Portrait: Spotface
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Maleki


Two cultist fell, heads sheered apart, the bodies vanishing as whatever kept them in this world ran out. In many ways they had been terrifying, running through the city feasting upon the flesh of those too weak to defend themselves. For many, the more frightening site was the beast that slew them. A large armored troll, covered in blood with sweat pouring down, his blue skin made him seem all the more foreign in the city of Solarians. More than a few of the city’s residents had seen him and thought he was one of the cultist or some new form of monster unleashed upon the city, a few guards men had even raised there blades against him, it was the site behind him that caused many stop though. What had been a single family and quickly grown as stragglers and people with nowhere else to turn had joined, close to thirty people were crowded behind him, many clutching swords or make shift weapons that they had obviously never wielded before. Not all of them who joined survived though, the cultist came in waves and from all directions, the troll was quick but he could not be in two places at once. Even with the losses though all of his followers felt safer, they had seen him cut down scores of the demonic cultist with his cold and calculative movements and he had yet to even be wounded.

Maleki moved at a quick jog, his eyes scanning for any hint of trouble. A rather large group of cultist had forced him to move into one of the alleyways which had quickly turned into a gauntlet. The cultist seemed to be everywhere, they attacked with a wild passion that made them attack without thought or fear. Maleki hated fighting beast like them, it had taken him a little while to realize that the same opponents he was cutting down time and time again would simply get up unless he beheaded them in some manner. It seemed like an endless stream of them kept coming, they would not best him in skill but he could feel the sweat pouring off of him now. He was fighting to keep his breathing in check but even still it was going faster than normal, his arms and legs burned and he could tell how his movements were becoming slower with each sword stroke. He had tried tapping into his regenerative totem but it was not made to heal fatigue, his strength totem would give him little boosts and help make sure that his moves were on point but they were little more than shots of energy that would vanish as soon as the battle did. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the crowd that were trying to keep pace with him. Mothers and children seemed to be at his immediate back while the men and women who would fight wrapped around them, probably to hide the site of all the death as well as defend them. Maleki turned his gaze back to the street, wiping them from his mind. It would be hard enough to survive as it is, if they could not keep up he would leave them. If they tried and stay in one place for to long they would be slaughtered.

The biggest problem for him though was the fact that he had no idea where he was going, an announcement came on saying to make it to the station but he did not know where that was and he dared not ask the ones behind him for fear of panicking them. He slowed down as he came to one of the wider spaces that created a crossroad between the backstreets of the city. Looking up in the sky he quietly sighed, he did not understand what he should do now. No doubt if he asked the crowd behind him they would tell him the answer, they would also get panicked and cause more problems. I have no choice in this, if they panic they die. One mistake might kill them but it will not harm me. Before he could ask them though he saw a slightly strange site. A small figure was hopping from building to building. He would have given it no mind except for the fact that he recognized the figure, it was the same small goblin that he had almost stepped on at the magic hunters booth. Cursing his luck Maleki did the only thing he could think to do. He called out, his voice booming out loud enough that he hoped the little one could hear him. “Goblin! Come here, quick!” The moment he spoke his hand tightened around his blade, the chaos in the city meant the air was full of noise from the clash of metal to the screams of the dying, still a loud voice might attract unwanted attention right now.

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve
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June 21--10:53 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire


The situation really was getting no better, no matter where Thomas ran. The behemoth cultists were still following him, so he couldn't check up on where his fans were taking refuge. And the train station was equally off-limits, because endangering that many people was just stupid. He glanced back to make sure he was a safe distance away.

Really, there was nothing Thomas could do now. He had one last weapon in store, inside his puppet box...If I use THAT puppet, though, the terror and destruction I'd cause... Gritting his teeth, he decided to buy more time to plan a counterattack, and darted into a back alley, hoping the monster cultists would lose him.

But he could tell a moment later that it was a useless endeavor, for a goblin was conveniently rushing across the roof of one of the buildings right next to him. And, as it turned out, the cultists were glancing hungrily towards him AND the goblin.

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

Michael had hardly climbed for more than a minute before he suddenly saw, with absolute confusion and shock, that the man with the guns was hurling himself off the building. Wha...WHAT?! I don't even...

The man let out a shout that Michael could not hear properly, but he knew it was directed at him. Bracing his feet against the side of the building, he waited for the man to fall just half a meter above his line of vision, before launching himself through the air and catching him. His other hand extended and caught the wall of the edifice on the other side of the street--thankfully, it was concrete, so he could manipulate it in order to get a better grip. "Don't worry, sir," he told the man, trying to keep his voice calm sounding. "We'll be able to get out of this safely."

Glancing down, however, he could see his golem was not holding well against the cultists. The robot could possibly be doing better, but there were too many enemies down there for Michael to descend to street level. Was there a safe way out? He could try leaping from wall to wall, but that would put a strain on his weak muscles--already, holding this middle-aged man was rather hard for him. Hope one of you has a plan, he thought as he glanced at both of his impromptu allies.

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Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Valar Karackson
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Kai~

The huge Nord fired four solid shots at the cultist mage. The cultist jerked back and forth with each shot, like a broken doll, before he collapsed. The Nord jogged over to her.
"You ok?"
Kai brushed herself off, still breathing hard. "I'm in one piece. Thanks." That was a close call.
Just then a voice broadcast through microphone all over the city. It told everyone that could to get to the station as fast as possible, or they were going to die a horrible death. Apparently the Solarians were taking over the extermination. Kai grumbled under her breath, but she knew it was inevitable. They were going to die if they stayed in the city.
However, it was a ways to the station, and a dangerous trip, especially with the cultists still raging. A sudden fear washed over Kai that they wouldn't make it, and would be exterminated. Then it was replaced by a numb determination.
Kai turned to the Nord. "We should stick together."
Then she cracked her knuckles and ran off in the direction of the train station.

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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As Val dodged through cultists falling to the ground, then reforming into more terrible things, he heard a voice from somewhere, talking about some protocol or another. That part didn't really make sense to him. The shouting man afterwards, telling them all to get to a train station, was more clear.

Val had already had to leave the civilians behind, the cultists were too numerous for him to stay anywhere for long. As the cultists became larger, hulking masses of flesh, Val became more nervous. He hadn't faced anything that large before...

Korvan hopped into his head, snapping him out of it. Val put his staff on his back and began to run on all fours towards the train station, trying to weave through the masses. He passed a great many of the fighters in the square, and ended up on a slightly clearer street. Had he looked up, he would have seen a goblin and a man with a penchant for "fan service". However, Val was not going to look up, focusing on evading the cultists (and failing to remember that he had no idea where the train station was).

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Maleki Character Portrait: Spotface
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#, as written by Subtle
“Goblin! Come here, quick!”

Hearing this shout from down below surprised him, and he landed awkwardly on the corner of the next rooftop, spinning 'round to look out over the street he'd almost bounced past. He wiped absent-mindedly at the tears and blood caked on his face, discovering--with no small amount of dread--that some cultists, now even more monstrous in size and gory features, were eyeing him and the puppetmaster from before. Skittering further down the roof, he saw the source of the shout--the troll from the GMHO booth. The guy had a gaggle of civvies with him, many fighting alongside him, but all noticeably nervous. Seeing that the cultists would soon have hoisted themselves on to his rooftop, he grappled over to the wall just above the troll's band of civilians.

Smiling sheepishly, he said to the troll, "Heh.. You and I both know I'm the last guy you want fighting alongside you," and, turning to the small group of mothers and children, he continued, more softly, "but you lot are doing a great job so far! We're fairly close to the station, aren't we?" A young woman, either an older sister or a young mother, nodded first, and gave a meek smile. "I'll tell you what I'll do, then. I'll be a decoy, and lead these nasties away as best I can. Work with these strong and resourceful folks (he said, gesturing at the would-be magic hunters), and you'll be on that train in no time." The group of women and children seemed to stand a little straighter, the fighters nodding to each other.

With as brave a grin as he could manage, he leapt to the ground and ran straight for the group of mutants ahead. between the grappling shots and his jumping boots, he managed to dodge between feet and dance 'round blows and punches as the cultists wildly lunged for him. Being small does have its advantages... As he jumped and zipped just out of reach, he began to yell whatever insults came to mind, cursing their god and mocking them at every turn. The group had sidled around the first corner when one of the cultists' blows connected, sending Spotface flying across the street. Fine, but entirely winded, he gave a weak smile to the group, and staggered on, leading the cultists further down the street, and away from the growing stream of people working their way to the station. How long do I have to make it back to the train? He wondered... the he burst into laughter. What he'd give that moment for a pocketwatch...

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Character Portrait: Morgan Taylor Character Portrait: Lysandra Tyaelly
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As Morgan and Lysandra fell back, they witnessed some of the cultists changing, morphing into more horrific forms with inhuman strength. As if that wasn't enough, those that had fallen earlier were picking themselves back up, seemingly even more eager to throw themselves into the fray. It looked like the defenders were going to be overwhelmed if things kept up like this. Just then, loudspeakers around the city coughed into life and delivered a message to those who were still alive. As it turned out, the situation really was as bad as it seemed. Those who wouldn't be able to get out in time were going to burn along with the city and the cultists unless they made it to the train station, and the duo weren't about to let themselves get left behind.

Putting away the assault rifle, Morgan drew her caster instead and flicked the safety catch off, watching the runes on the barrel start to glow a dull orange. If they were forced to fight, then it was probably better to use something other than mundane bullets. "Can you see any signs for that train station?" the engineer asked her friend.

"You got a pair of eyes yourself, haven't you?" Lysandra answered in the midst of crippling another cultist before her arm slung the rifle onto her shoulder and reached for the hilt of her katana in a single, fluent motion.

"It's just a bit further down the road, I think." She said. Turning to face Morgan, the navigator jerked her head in a way that said "Let's go".

"Right. Let's keep our heads down and make sure we don't get followed by any of those... things." Taking cover behind some debris from the battle, the duo opted to try and make their way out of the battle relatively undetected. With some of the magic hunters having drawn the cultists' attention, getting out of the town square proved to be somewhat easier than anticipated.

"Can't believe they're desperate enough to initiate something as insane as complete extermination." Lysandra exclaimed, silently following behind Morgan. "It's sickening." The navigator felt her stomach turn at the thought of innocent civilians, left to fend for themselves as their supposed 'leaders' simply decided to purge the place and anyone still in there. "We could try the alleyways, it'd take longer but at least we wouldn't get ambushed by cannibals."

"I bloody hope not, or else we'd be mincemeat," the engineer muttered as she followed Lysandra through the alleyways. The long route definitely seemed the most safe, and surprisingly quick. The duo swiftly navigated their way through the many alleyways, ensuring no cultists would pick up on their position and charge in on them like a group of flesh-devouring pacmen.

Lysandra jutted a finger at the empty road ahead, signs of their ticket out slowly creeping into sight. "C'mon, we're nearly-"

As if from nowhere, a lone cultist got the jump on the navigator who had braced herself for a counterattack. Burning, crimson-red eyes and a devilish grin loomed from within the shadows that obscured all other facial features. Staring... Grinning... Eager to chew on living flesh. The woman flinched, as this very image struck a fear that desperately held onto her mind. The cultist swept the katana out of Lysandra's hands and subsequently pounced at her with sheer force, bringing both assailants to the cobblestone ground below.

Lysandra felt the razor-sharp piercing of teeth sinking into the flesh of her upper arm as she struggled to fend off the savage beast- Nay, 'demon' was a far more adequate description. The navigator howled out in pain, barely managing to shove her attacker off of her after giving it a good couple of punches square in the jaw. With the remaining ounce of strength and will left in her body, she crawled away from the cultist, watching in shock as it attempted to attack yet again.

Taking her cue, Morgan fired her caster at the cultist once Lysandra had put enough distance between herself and the brute. A bolt of fire erupted from the barrel, hitting the cultist right in the torso as he got up, which knocked him back down again. But Morgan was far from finished. Moving closer, the engineer fired another shot at his prone form, this time aimed at the head. There was little left of the cranium that hadn't been turned to ash, and soon enough, the rest of the body started to quickly burn away in green fire. Asides from the navigator's injury, there was no sign the cultist had ever been here.

With that out of the way, Morgan turned to Lysandra to see how bad the wound was. "You okay, Lissy? The wound can't be that deep. You'll live, right?" Morgan knew it was just a flesh wound, but there was no keeping the fear out of her voice. They'd expected the alleyways to be more or less pain sailing, and they'd just been ambushed because of it.

Lysandra instantly clamped herself against Morgan with her free hand, heaving as her eyes shifted from her wound to her companion. She felt tears trickling down her cheek as she tried to speak, but could only stammer out a few words. "I-I... don't... know." She whispered, not daring to break eye contact to assess the damage. Having been given a close look at what was invading the city, Lysandra was desperate, now more than ever, to get the hell out.

Morgan had never seen her friend so afraid before. Well, neither of them had ever had to fight off anything like the cultists before, either. The engineer was scared, of course, but she did her best to put on a brave face until they were out of the city. Taking charge of the situation, Morgan held out Lysandra's injured arm to get a look at the wound. Since they didn't have any bandages on them to stem the bleeding, the engineer made do with ripping one of Lysandra's sleeves and wrapping it round the girl's arm. There were no proper medical supplies, but at least it was a clean bit of fabric keeping the blood in.

"Come on, let's get out of here. You said the station was this way, right?" Seeing the navigator give a silent nod of confirmation, Morgan led the way this time, making sure that Lysandra was keeping up with her. Once they exited the alleyways, the two of them made a mad dash for the station, which was still standing against the cultists.

"Don't shoot! We ain't one of them!" yelled Morgan. After all they'd been through, it would've been just plain daft to let the guards mistake them for cultists.

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve
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"Listen! I'm going up there to try and save the man up there. Please, hold your own here, or get to safety; this golem shall help you." While a nice gesture of the garish fellow, Gainsboro hadn’t a sliver of interest on running on his own. He came here to help the man he saw on the roof, and that’s what he would do, in one way or another. It was a good thing though that the majority of the mutated cultists split of the group, presumably towards the station. Which in hindsight wasn’t good at all in the long run. Rummaging in his slingbag for the upteenth time today, he retrieved two of his electro packs, leaving him with one of them left. He pressed both of the packs against the connectors on the opposite sides of his neck. The red lights coming from Gainsboro’s faceplate winked out, and were replaced by a fitful yellow light. The extraction of both charges went by fast, and the fitful lightning was quickly replaced by its prior dominant, red glow. Stuffing the now chargeless packs back in his bag, he drew a sword in each hand.”Get that man to safety comrade, i’ll try to hold off these abominations along side your golem!

The man did not wait for Gainsboro to finish talking and, through his terramancy launched himself up against the wall. Brandishing his swords, Gainsboro rapidly swung his blades at a nearby cultist, cutting through appendages. However, they reattached themselves just as fast as it took him to cut through them. The nearby cultists didn’t sit still, coming with attacks of their own aimed at Gainsboro and the golem. Fast and hard, their strikes came from unorthodox angles and rained down upon him. He blocked and parried what he could, and directed any towards his pauldrons or wristguard, or any other well armored part of him with irregular precision. However, he soon slipped up.

In an almost coordinated fashion, the cultists he had been fending off, all struck at once. Except one. That one waited till gainsboro was in the middle of blocking and struck. The axe, held upside down struck him in his upper torso in a upward arc. The blade dug deep into his chest, and was wrenched out if it subsequently, leaving a deep gouge. It was then that Gainsboro’s calm state of mind left him, and was replaced, not by fear, but by intense anger. Anger directed towards the cultists, with their fiendishly broad grins, and eyes that mocked him so.

Staccato lightning sprang from the rend as the core dispersed more energy throughout the body, giving off a thrum, becoming evermore audible. His swings came faster and faster, until they became like a blur. However, while his movements were undoubtedly faster and carried more weight, they lacked the fluidity and unnatural precision they had before. The swings were wild, and he himself was full of openings, which the abominations eagerly took advantage of. By the time Gainsboro managed to slay one of the cultists through total decimation of his head, his frame was filled with pock marks and gouges. A solid blow to the head with a rather large looking mace, caved the right side of his head in, and flung him into the wall of the building the terramancer had been climbing.

His head, due to the blow was wrenched to left, and as he tried to make sense of his surroundings and in his attempt to adjust to the loss of sight in his right, he noted something.
There was a bicycle with a carrier on the back, leaning against the building, without a lock.
Still angered, and not fully in control of his emotions he shouted towards the young fellow.
Kid, get your self and that fucker on that bicycle, and pedal as fast as you can towards the train station! Don’t worry, i’ll be able to keep up on foot. We have to make sure we get there before those cockmonglers can amass there!”

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Character Portrait: Thomas Aefenleoht Character Portrait: Adris Dasul Character Portrait: Spotface Character Portrait: VPS-GWF3: Gainsboro Twelve
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June 21--10:56 AM
Kergstien, Solarian Empire

The puppeteer watched with an awed expression as the goblin who had been on the roof earlier ran off, getting the cultists to follow him. "Okay, I've gotta admit, that guy has guts," he muttered. Against his survival instincts, however, he decided it might be a wise idea to follow the goblin, in case he needed help.

And sure enough, he saw the goblin getting punched by one of the monstrous cultists. Oh, shit. Though Thomas panicked, he soon realized the goblin had survived and was still walking...but he hadn't gotten away completely unscathed, no. "I hope the guy can hold his own long enough for me to get there," Thomas muttered, preparing his own strategy.

Raising his hand, he pointed at his two remaining puppets, which were practically nothing but tattered cloth and scrap metal by now, and had them help him get to the rooftop. From there, Thomas sprinted along, following the incredibly fast goblin and his monstrous pursuers. As long as I have a clear view of the goblin, it'll be okay...

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

Michael nearly lost his grip on the stones when the robot was flung into the wall with tremendous force. At a second glance, he was horrified by how much damage the robot had taken. "Oh, no..." he whispered to himself.

Before he could feel too guilty about it, though, the robot urged him to go to the train station, bringing Michael's attention to a bicycle leaning against the very building they were hanging on. That...didn't look very welcoming, especially not with the cultists getting closer. "There's got to be a better way," Michael muttered, but he had no time to think about it, for the robot was starting to fall back towards ground level.

Scanning the area for something he could use, Michael remembered the golem, and saw that it was still working, but crippled--its torso was cracked in many places, and its leg was completely missing. "That's it!" Michael declared, a bright gleam of excitement in his eyes. It was a really strange idea, but if he did it just right...

Reaching out with his mind, he caused several parts of the concrete building and sidewalk to move at once--he blasted himself, the man with the guns, and the robot towards the crowd of cultists. Just before they could make contact, however, he willed his golem to spring off the ground and shove them out of reach with the last of its power. At the very same time, the bicycle was blasted forward, and with Michael's momentum, he managed to land right on top of it.

The robot somehow landed on his feet, just as Michael deposited the man with the guns in the carrier. "Are you really going to be able to walk like that?" Michael asked worriedly, looking over the robot's mangled body. As he pondered, he noticed the cultists were starting to move again. "Oh, dear. I don't think we have enough time to worry about this; we'll just have to wing it!"

Without warning, Michael's golem exploded in a shower of green-gray shards of stone. Meanwhile, the earth underneath the robot and the bicycle burst upwards, catapulting them forward and giving them a good headstart. Though he wasn't very athletic, Michael kept pedaling as hard as he could, looking over his shoulder every now and then to make sure the robot wasn't lagging behind too much.

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Character Portrait: Hugo Tyrus Character Portrait: Val
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Val kept running. Past the cultists, towards the people, the people who probably knew the town better than him.

There was blood all around, civilians still getting cut down as they flocked down a thoroughfare, screams still hanging in the air, cackling still piercing through Val's ears, and-- though faintly-- the sound of gunfire and battle ringing through the streets.

Val kept running still, nearly stopped by a monstrous cultist. With no way to draw his quarterstaff in time, Val ducked to and fro, then pushed past some civilians to escape, unable to deal with the threat of the cultist himself. He felt sorry for the deed, but he would not die here for some other humans he didn't know.

Eventually Val ran towards a heavily armed man, clad in leather and firing away with a powerful looking gun. Figuring it was safer to stay with someone who could fight, Val took a moment near the man to catch his breath-- or at least to slow down, as there was no stopping the flood of people heading for their only chance of escape. Still breathing hard, Val called up to the man, who must have been a couple feet taller than him. The cultists followed, relentless.

"You look like fighter. Need help?" Val called, taking out his quarterstaff. Val didn't know his way around a fight in a city like this, but he could try.

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Character Portrait: Kai Ember Character Portrait: Valar Karackson Character Portrait: Lucious Marder
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Image





Lucious watched as nord ran to the teker girl. That was when he heard the announcement. The nord and the girl ran off as the lead filled cultist stood once again, a mutated mess. "Not even a thank you..." he thought. But it really was rude to run off like that, after all the two couldn't have won the fight without him. "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to remind them later. I have a bigger problem at hand."

As the cultist got ready to release some sort of magical attack at the half-elf, he quickly did some hot/cold wind manipulation to get the air around him to blur. He then immediately cloaked himself within the shadows, leaving the re-born cultist stunned. Lucious ran as fast as he could away from there, trying to keep up with the nord and the girl. I hope they're going the right way, I can't even find my own way anymore. Everything just looks like burning buildings and mutated cultists."

Lucious decided to find out for himself, so he uncloaked some distance away from the two before catching up to and greeting them. "So," he began, "do you two perhaps happen to know where the train station is?"

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Character Portrait: Maleki
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Maleki


With the goblin leading the larger group of cultist beasts off the path to the train station had become clearer, that with the new sense of direction put not only the families following him but Maleki in a better mood as well. The new hope welled up in him, giving his body a new sense of energy as he took off at a quick pace, his stride quick and even as the others almost ran to keep up with him.

Turning a corner Maleki could see the train station just down the path, however a group of cultist were also coming out of one of the many side streets. He and the others were quickly getting tired, the site of another foe draining some of the energy that they had been filled with. These cultist were larger than the last though, stronger even, and their eyes were filled with a glimmer that only sentient life forms tend to have. These were not the same breed as the grunts he had been going through earlier. With a small huff he broke into a jog towards them, his eyes never wavering as he shouted over his shoulder. “Get to the station, now!” His gruff voice cut through the air like a knife, his blade and shield swishing faster and faster as he broke into a run towards the beasts.

The civilians took off, running as fast as they could towards the station, watching as the one who had been guiding them challenged a group of foes. Many of them thought he was doing it for their sake, others assumed he was doing his best to rid the world of such beasts. None of them realized his true reasoning though.

Maleki knew one thing, that if he fought these monsters on even footing he would lose and they would all die. As he closed the gap he and they the civilians ran down the streets, there chaotic movements as they fled drawing attention easily. Many of the cultist were unsure of what to do, their heads jerked back in forth as they tried to identify which target they should pursue. Those eyes quickly focused on Maleki though when he sent a wave of flame flying towards them. He tapped into his fire trinket, calling upon his reserves of strength and fueling the blast of magic which he transformed into fire. Of the nine large beastlike cultist one of them was quickly devoured in the flames, his arms flailing around in a panic. Maleki had used this trick many times when facing a group of opponents. The one he had set ablaze was the center most one who began to flail madly, striking and setting ablaze the others. The cultist natural leapt away, focus momentarily on their flaming brethren as they either avoided his blows or tried to extinguish the flames on themselves. With the momentary distraction Maleki was able to slide his glade into the base of the neck of one of the beasts, severing it so it hung limply as the green flames began to devour him. Spinning quickly he struck at the next one, only to have his blade caught in his targets hand. Yanking away and cutting a few of the cultists finger off Maleki could not help but curse to himself, he had only been able to kill the first one set aflame and a single other. He was now outnumbered seven to one, odds he did not like at all. Stepping forward he tossed out a fireball in the center, sending flames in all directions as he stepped into the middle of the fire and into the center of the group.

His shield came up and bashed into the chest of one, sending him back into the wall as the inhumane strength of Maleki’s trinket took effect. Spinning on his heals he knocked away the blows of another one of the cultist and retaliated with a sword slash that cut through a part of the beasts arm, before he could follow up though Maleki was forced to duck and avoid another blow. He barreled himself into a third opponent, knocking him to the ground where a quick blow with the shield caved in the man’s skull. Before he could get up though a powerful force struck him in the gut, one of the cultist had gotten a running start and the kick send Maleki flying back, skidding along the group for a few feet until he was smashing into a wall.

As he struggled to his feet as the remaining six closed in on him the fires he had started earlier with his initial blast was starting to get out of control. Two whole buildings were up in flames by now and smoke was pouring out and around them. The heat was intensifying by the second and Maleki could feel it draining away at him, the flames themselves would not hurt him if he got his trinket up in time but he could not keep it active all the time. Stepping forward three of the foul monstrosities closed in on him and forced Maleki to dive towards the feet of the one on the far right, his shield shattering the leg and being quickly following up with a sword flash that cut away everything above the nose. As he engaged the two remaining he launched another blast of flame, this one right into the face of one as his blade stabbed into the eyes of the other. Before he could draw back his blade though he felt arms surrounding him and bare him to the group. His short blade was lost to him and he could feel the monsters jaws clamp down on his should. The pain drew a scream from him as he desperately grabbed at one of his hunting knives. With a gasp he buried it up to the hilt in the monsters skull. As the thing went limp and the jaws released him Maleki felt the monster get pulled away. Rolling urgently he raised his shield to stop a foot from flaming down upon his face. Looking up he saw the last three beast standing over him, arms reaching out for him.

With death just moments away an explosion tore through the streets. One of the building that had been burning, the trolls fault, erupted and sent gouts of flames, mountains of smoke and debris of all varieties. Maleki and his two opponents were tossed backwards, sent flying by the force of the blast. Whatever was in that building had been highly flammable, possibly an alchemist or something had worked out of there. Maleki could feel pain everywhere, his eyes fought to open as he was covered in dust and ash. Looking forward he could barely get himself to move, his wounds burning in pain. Focusing he called up his regenerative trinket, his skin and flesh slowly knitting together again. As he watched though one of the beasts stood, the last surviving one. Turning it slowly stalked towards Maleki, a scream tearing out of its throat that Maleki responded in kind too. The pain, the fury and anger, the despair and knowledge that he was about to die made it so that Maleki let lose all of his emotions in one loud barbaric yelp that echoed into the sky.