Darkest Heart Redux

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I'm referring to a man who's name starts with an L.
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OOC: Would that be me?
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Malek grunts impassively, relaxes and turns back to watching the chaos unfold;
"Fine by me."
Edited by Warhawk on 3/18/2014 5:31 PM PDT
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IC: Arden sits down about 5 feet away from Malek. Curiously, he asks: "By the way, what brings you to this area of Darkova? People don't normally go here casually."
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Not bothering to look away from the bloody mosh pit of undead and vampires, Malek shrugs;
"I'm a Hunter. I find mosters, kill them, find cursed artifacts, destroy them or get them to someone who can."
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It had taken quite a bit of persuasion to simply get the villagers to stop trying to prod him with pitchforks or attempt to set his robes alight with their torches, but Din still had quite a problem on his hands. For the most part, the villagers had settled into a rough circle with himself at the middle, but one noisy man near the back had pushed and shoved his way to the front.

"But how'd we know yer human! Ya could be some demon walking around in human skin! Them Thaumaturges don' exist no more! You there! Gimmie that!"

With a rough motion, the man reefs a spade out of one of his fellow's hands and lets out a belch. With a drunken warcry, he charges Din, the cracked and rusted weapon held at the front. Considering how rude the man had been, and how off-balance such a makeshift spear was, the young Thaumaturge felt no pity at his upcoming involvement. With a simple spin and extension of a hand, he pulls the overweight redneck close.

Close enough, of course, to take an elbow to the nose.

OOC: Gotta skeedadle, will finish later.
Edited by morrjo on 3/19/2014 5:09 PM PDT
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Sorry for all the links, I just want to have all these things in one place. Part 7 is from the Pre-RP.

Keyword: twistedstory

Please read and enjoy.

Intro: There and Gone

Part 1: Business is Personal

Part 2: Reflections

Part 3: Mind the Wolves

Part 4: Thoughts of the Enemy

Part 5: A Sad Song

Part 6: A Joke at your Expense

Part 7: The Road to Battle

Part 8: Poised to Strike

Part 9: Blood and Tears

Part 10: A Twisted Analogy

Part 11: Driving Blind

Part 12: Anger and an Idea

Part 13: An Impact with Opportunity

Part 14: Breaking Down Barriers

Part 15: A Decision Made

Part 16: Blinded by Need

Part 17: Thinking Quickly

Part 18: Investigations of the Enemy

Part 19: The Full Story

Part 20: An Oath Given

Part 21: Sit and Talk

Part 22: Things to Do

Part 23: An Empty Feeling

Part 24: Frustrating the Enemy

Part 25: Assurances

Part 26: Theory for Now

Part 27: A Story Told

Part 28: On the Left

Part 29: Slightly Dusty

Part 30: Cautious Approach

Part 31: Full Contact

Part 32: Answer the Question

Part 33: Restraints

Part 34: Tests

Part 35: Just Like You
Edited by Zanon on 5/4/2014 1:40 AM PDT
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I mentioned some funny line from Darkest Heart (original) to my sister once. She demanded to know where it came from, subsequently read the entire RP, and proceeded copy down almost all of your posts (Zanon) and seriously consider plagiarizing them into her own book.

She probably could have pulled it off, she's a good writer. She abandoned the plan due to the sudden onslaught of college.
Edited by KnarledOne on 3/19/2014 2:54 PM PDT
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IC: "Huh, some coincidence. So am I. Except I tend to just act more like a traditional hunter, waiting for the right moment to strike."
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You know, did I once mention there was fighting? And I also believe I said the halls were a battleground, not grounds. Sorry for the late point out, been distracted.
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Malek's not the type to throw himself headlong into a meat grinder. He's perfectly content to let the monsters slaughter the crap out of each other before moving in to clean up the remains.

Malek grunts noncommittally, pulling his cloak tighter around himself, more or less ignoring the other hunter.
Edited by Warhawk on 3/19/2014 4:18 PM PDT
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As for mine, as stated, he just waits for the right time to strike.
IC: Arden decides to stop attempting to make small talk and just listen to the sounds of the creatures, with the occasional glimpse of one of them in a window.
Edited by Lumamaster on 3/20/2014 5:01 PM PDT
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I mean the freaking Vamps and Undead aren't fighting. All I said was they were moaning and growling.
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OOC: Minor edits and whatnot. I feel out of it today...

Close enough, of course, to take an elbow to the nose.

With a loud crunch and a cry of pain, the drunk lets go of of his makeshift trident and stumbles backwards. Cradling his head in his hands and stumbling back to avoid the young man, he swiftly snaps out of his half drunken daze, sobering up nearly on the spot. Affixing the young Thaumaturge with a murderous scowl, he escapes into the mob behind him with a whimper of pain.

"For Pete's sake people! I'm sick, cold and I'm tired, and I'm sick of being cold and tired! I'm not some damn mage who throws fireballs at innocent folks, so could you show a bit of hospitality and let me rest for a night?"

A few murmurs rolled through the crowd. Upon Darkova's lands, the practice of magic and arcane arts were oft considered taboo by many and the simple presence of such a man demanded some form of action to be taken. But the lack of straightforward demand for action (Minus one man hollering in the back), nobody quite cared. It was late on a quiet night, and the visitor seemed quite human, contrary to what they were told before. With a collective grumbling shuffle, the mob dispersed.
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Oh god damn it.


Really, really wished you'd caught this in my first post... 'cause I really don't want to go back and edit...
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The inquisitors unloaded quietly and surveyed their surroundings. They were less than a hundred feet from the orphanage's entry arch. The arch was stone with a metal sign displaying "Lost Sheep Orphanage" in thin blocky letters. Dark brown stains were present at a few locations on the road.

Inquisitor Luke checked the breach of his pistol and holstered it. "Looks like some of them tried to escape. May their souls find solace on high."
Matt glanced down the road both ways. "At least there isn't a crowd this time. Don't need to worry about more civilians being grabbed."

Another inquisitor grunted his agreement then spoke. "Okay. By twos. Inquisitors Luke and Richard, flank to the left. Inquisitor Matt, you are with... him... you two head up the back. Exorcist Daniels, your with me. Assume anyone you meet is possessed. Ready to send some fiends back to hell?"

Exorcist Daniels nodded and turned to the others. "Him on High go with you and keep you safe. We will wait three minutes for you to get into position. Proceed with the cleansing."

"In His name." The inquisitors replied. The two groups broke off without another word.


Inquisitor Matt watched the man in front of him move quickly and swiftly through the front yard of the orphanage, deftly avoiding all of the toys strewn about. He decided to ask about it. "How come you haven't tripped on anything?"

The man froze. "What?"

Matt swallowed. "How come you aren't tripping on anything on the ground... you can't see them... right?"

The man resumed his careful pace. "I know which places are hazardous to place my feet. I know what can take my weight and what can not."

Matt cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I know. I know the ground in front of me is very stable. I know that the ground over there is slick with blood. I know that table is not strong enough to take my weight if I jump on it."

Matt nodded. "What's the downside?"

The other man snickered. "I'm blind. I can't read a street sign or a billboard. I can't see color... What color is this place anyway?"

It took Matt a moment to realize that he had just been asked a serious question. "Oh... Kind of a faded yellow white I guess. I could..."

The blind Inquisitor had made a swift shushing gesture. He waited a moment then resumed in a whisper. "We are in position. Thirty seconds left... Prepare yourself."
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The growling and moans seemed to grow more frantic the closer the man got to the door, a loud screech piercing the night and silencing both sides for a short thirty seconds before the building seemed to rumble with the sounds of their charge. The man stopped to listen to the noise a moment, or lack there of, half way up the path, and smiled beneath his brim. "Tis a fine night for a cleansing, wouldn't you agree Argost?" The blade on his back seem to quiver slightly in response as he reached into the duster and drew two .45 caliber revolvers, the name Chaos engraved on one and Order the other.

Holding either one out to the side, he continues his deliberate pace towards the doors of the old asylum, every monster associated with vampires and necromancers racing through his mind. A necromancer's first choice to slow an opponent down is a small group of zombies and possibly ghouls. Easy to handle, bullet to the heads, taking out any form of thought and direction and rendering them useless. Then they'll start using tougher undead, skeletons, stalkers, slicers. Simple break them once, though these ones could be reinforced for a quicker resummon. Best be prepared for that.

He was almost to the doors, maybe a hundred feet left before he began his duty. When those lines of defense fall, which they undoubtedly will against an apex nighttime predator, he unleashes his Undead Knights and Abominations, some of the most powerful forces a Necromancer can summon. They'll require a more traditional play on combat, at least the Knights. The Abominations will die with a few bullets through the head anyways. Ten feet to the door. Now the Pureblood. She'll most certainly have a strong following, who I heard just moments before. But they also have unique abilities that help them in combat, hers could be anything. I guess that'll show itself when it shows itself. Then the Shadow Walker...Argost will be needed for the killing blow for sure, but...where... Even as he reached the doors and began pushing them open, the pages of the Compendium of Monsters flashing through his mind.

Even among the apex predators of the monster world, Daemons, werewolves and vampires, there exist mutations, members of their ranks with powers that shouldn't exist that give them an edge on prey and rival alike. Daemons with the ability to use Holy Smite have been recorded, though they are almost always killed by their own gift, or curse as some call it, in an effort to save themselves from a rival or even a Hunter.

His mind ran down the list of mutations recorded up to that point with great fervor as his right boot set foot within the halls. Almost immediately, a wolf, most likely under the control of the Vampiress, leaps at him, only for a silver bullet to pass through it's skull and end it's life mid leap, the loud bang echoing through the halls. As the barrel ceased to smoke, his mind found the Shadow Walker entry.

Shadow Walkers are a vampirec mutation that can fade in and out of existence, similar to a shadow, hence their name. Their corporeal form is condensed in a certain place when they fade, their 'weak point.' The trick is always finding it. Only by striking their weak point can they be killed.

By the time his mind had finished reciting, he'd already found a group of ghouls and vampires tearing at each other and had already engaged them both pistols ringing out in unison as each primeval threat was vanquished. By the time he'd formulated a battle plan for the Shadow Walker, he'd finished the group and was stalking the halls once more, the cylinders getting a single spin as they're reloaded before the breaches and flicked shut again in an expert manner. "Deus misereátur." The halls still echoed with the sounds of a war being fought between evil forces, the revolvers an odd note amongst it all.

OOC: Just a side note, important enemies, such as the Shadow Walker, will see a full entry in the Compendium. What I have on here, which will usually come up in my posts, is an abbreviation.
Edited by Zarkun on 3/21/2014 11:49 PM PDT
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Really.. don't.. want.. to.. edit.. ugh.

Just don't have the time to think of them right now.

At the sound of gunshots, Malek slips upright, alert and focused, an pretense of idle boredom gone;
"Seems we're not the only hunters who've found this rat's nest... My only question is this.. Will this hunter drive the divergent forces together over an external threat?..."
Malek mutters to himself, paying close attention to the aged asylum.
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OOC: That's neat. So we can have a small compendium of creatures to reference? Would we be able to add a few to the compendium as well, if required by sideplots/arcs?

Stumbling into a luckily placed inn, Din paused a moment to take in the place's layout. The worn inn was in fairly pleasant condition, possessing a nearly homely aura from its simple days of standing and acting as a refuge from the elements outside, having seen its fair share of varying guests. A small fire burned in the center of the room, taken outside by a chimney hanging atop its coals. A few young children were warming their hands by the fire under the watchful gaze of their parents, some of whom peered at their harmless observer. Though, they were far from happy at the sight of the great golden blade hanging from his back, or the grand pistol holstered upon his thigh.

He drew a few gawkers for simply gazing about, for those who wore blindfolds could not see plainly with their eyes. Before such things could escalate into awkward questions, he simply removes the piece of enchanted fabric from his face with a soft tug. With his eyes rarely used and in such poor condition, it was fairly difficult to make out the bodies and faces of those who lounged about. Over the years Din's sight had improved significantly from the olden days of explosive cauldrons and cruibles, but the scars from such old incidents still lay in plain and startling view.

The world is so different, seen by such poor eyes.

He chuckled under his breath.

Its almost like it were a blurry painting...

Casually strolling up to the desk, the Thaumaturge notices a plaque hanging off a wall atop the desk; Let there be no violence here, it read. He smiled at the small statement, and ordered a single room from the woman manning the desk. Pulling out a small book from a drawer and leafing through it, she pulls out a small keycard and she speaks up with her face caught in some strange emotion.

"The room will be ready in a few minutes. We're cleaning right now, so you can wait here in the lobby if you wish."

Accepting the small card with a polite nod, he turns around and meanders back to the fire. Kneeling down and warming up by the fire, his eyes fade out of focus slightly. Some small thought had taken root in the back of his mind, stubbornly refusing to leave.

She looks familiar, he thought.
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