Langsuirver3

Sneaking around the siege wall, Fareedz managed to find a low spot that he might clear with one well-timed leap. He couldn't try to climb it; the turrets might notice him and start firing, as he gathered there was no visual sensors and that maybe they used radar or infra-red sensors. If he cleared it, he'll be in the in the compound, with his chances of getting caught moderate. If he tripped and didn't make it, he'll be captured, if he was lucky. If not, his head would be sent to the Titans on a platter. He shuddered to think of the thought.

Fareedz backed up a few steps, trying to gain momentum. He started running.... And he jumped. What little acrobatic training he had, he utilised, tucking his legs in and spreading out his arms to help his landing. His foot almost got caught by the top of the wall, but he managed to land safely on the other side. He was in.

Fareedz stealthily looked around, making sure no patrols were coming. He then began exploring the base, noting that there were a lot of military equipment stored there. From munitions warehouses to armories, everything military under the sun was available there in one form or another. 'Daaamn... These guys must be expecting a siege or something...'

He began taking pictures with a small camera, noting all the escape routes and entry points, taking extra care to not get caught. Along the way, he saw that the Council were repelling assaults by the zombies from the Pantheon, the Warriors, and the Sky Raiders. 'Lots of people interested in this place...'

Fareedz then came to a large, iron door, seemingly bolted shut, against the volcano. There was a tarmac path leading into the door. 'Oh, come ON... Don't tell me there's an underground factory in there...' Knocking on the door a few times, he convinced himself that it was bolted shut, and ran off to explore the other places.

A radar tower stood out among those places, balanced on a forested cliff. There was no movement in the compound, save the slow revolving of the radar dish. 'Let's see what's in door number one then...'

Opening the door slowly into the radar tower, Fareedz saw that the whole place was dimly lit, and the slow humming of mechanical equipment broke the otherwise monotonous silence that hung heavy in the air. He crept slowly around the room, looking around for anything interesting, when a large heavy object dropped. Then the small ray of light emitting from the slightly-ajar door disappeared, with it the sound of a slammed door. '[censored]...'

Before he could do anything, he felt something heavy come down on his head. Everything went black at that instant.

Running around on the grassy hillsides, he came up on a large, fortified wall, with automatic gun turrets surrounding it. Their spotlights flashed in the darkness, moving around, looking for targets. Fareedz wisely kept his distance, running along the wall, until he saw a company of the same mysterious military men that killed the Fifth Column on the port.

"No one has enough power to attack the Council." One of them, a blue-suited one, said to the other men. He seemed to be the leader of the company, as they all answered 'Yes, sir!'.

'The Council? Ho boy... This fortress seems to be holding the lot of them...'

The siege walls are low enough for someone to climb, but high enough for them to take at least a few seconds to do so. Long enough for the Turrets to lock on and attack. Hoverbots patrol the skies just behind it as well, lending to the fact that fliers won't have an easier time.

'Damn, fortified like a turtle...'

'Damn! Got my clothes wet...'

Fareedz swore under his breath, stripping to his underpants on the covered beach. Olive skin gleaming wet in the moonlight, he warmed himself up with his kris, a magical medium that draws heat from the surrounding air.

He then blew hot air slowly onto the clothes laid out on the sand. Careful not to draw too much heat, he basically blewdried the clothes, and then, satisfied that the clothes were sufficiently dry, he started to put his clothes back on. Until he heard a longing groaning sound...

... And instinctively sidestepped just in time as a musket ball whizzed past his head. He turned and saw five pantheon husks bearing down on him with old muskets and WWII rifles.

'Oh shi-'

Fareedz then used his kris' magical skill to speed himself up a lot, dodging the hail of bullets from the five zombies. 'Too bad I didn't mention how much I hate zombies on my resume-' He dodged another bullet and fired up his kris into a magical fire scimitar, sending it flying into a husk's emaciated body. The husk groaned as it crumpled up into a heap at his feet, as the other husks drew out clubs and battleaxes.

'What's this, a Renaissance Faire or something?'

Deftly stabbing a nearby zombie, it crumpled, consumed by flames, and another was beheaded, though almost no blood creeped out of the husk; just foul-smelling bile-like juices. No time to think about that, Fareedz told himself to stop from gagging. An axe flying into his chest almost harmed him, but a fast action that brought out his ice armour prevented the battleaxe from connecting. Punching the errant battleaxe aside, he cleaved the zombie in half, and sent a flurry of punches to the other, it crumpling under the force.

Dusting the old mildewed skin off his hands, he wrinkled his nose at them, and realised that he had been fighting them stark-naked with only his underpants.

'Talk about dignity lost... But Zombies, here? Damn it, what a party that's going on...'

There is no true way of RPing, grasshoppah...

Besides, I'm in a supergroup that doesn't count on how good you RP, more like how well you fit in. As long as you don't fight with others, you are in. We do mostly casual RPs, but we DO RP a lot. Even have a one-night-a-week kinda thing.

The thing is, there is no true way to roleplay. If you offend people OOC as well as IC though, then you should be spanked. Hard.

EDIT: Forgot to add in something. Knights don't always speak in thees and thous, but some do. But if the player don't even know how to speak in that, then they should not even try it. Besides, most knights don't do that anyway. They're too busy fighting and practicing manners to care about speaking properly.

EDIT AGAIN: I've seen some people who RP as soldiers, but gangsters? Well, I've seen some Tsoo, but most people don't really make em. I've given some thought but I'm full up on 8 slots on my main play server.

I have a Jawa though, does that count?

The briny water tanged slowly in his mouth, as he swam in the water around the small island. Fareedz looked up and saw the sky darkening, the sun lowering in the west. He just shrugged it off and moved on. Since his powers involved a bit of fire and ice control, he can shrug off any extreme temperature, say, cold water at night, more easily than others. If not, he could always alter it himself.

Swimming around in the darkness dangerous as he could get lost in the sea, he stuck close to the shore, occasionally seeing more of the unknown military group patrolling and standing guard. 'Funny that they do that. What could possibly come against them at sea?'

The word 'Hero' hit him like a brick. Heroes could possibly be the ones they are looking for. Then he thought of something again. He had to take a ship here, and even the strongest heroes would have a daunting time flying from the mainland to this place. So what...?

The sounds of missiles exploding and machinegun fire brought him back to his senses. Right up ahead, there was a high-speed dogfight between what looks like sky skiffs and...

'Damn... They look like hoverbots but they're... different...'

Three sky skiffs in a line formation were pursuing the strange hoverbot-like craft, the middle one launching missile after missile while the others provided machine-gun rounds as covering fire. The hoverbot skillfully evaded them all, flying in a zig-zag pattern. Suddenly it dipped dangerously steeply, going down before doing a vertical loop back up and firing a missile...

... right into the middle sky skiff, making a spectacular firework display, and blasting it into little bits. The two sky skiffs left then went berserk and launched all the missiles they had, ill-aimed and not locked on. The hoverbot, like before, avoided them and launched two seperate missiles at the pair, exploding into brilliant blue energy. Unharasssed, the hoverbot then turned to the island and continued on its way. Fareedz recorded this stealthily using a small waterproof camera.

'Don't know whether these things are better than Fifth Column Hoverbots, but after that fireworks display, they're certainly better than the Sky Raiders...'

The question Fareedz itched to ask, though, was; Who the hell are these guys!?

[This is a Single-RP mission, unless you want to take part. If so, send a PM to me]

Hijau Zamrud, AKA Mohamed Fareedz bin Affendi, smoothed down his jet-black hair, whipping in the wind, as the ship slowly made its way to Striga Island. His olive-brown skin glistened slightly in the sunlight, and the odd bright green circle tattoos on his torso even more so. He paused from reading a report done by Manticore to look out at the island coming rapidly in view. Numerous conflicting reports by government and third-party sources made it difficult for him to obtain a good story, and, always a perfectionist, Fareedz decided to pay a visit himself to the island. He was a freelance journalist, as well as expert photographer and a good scout for the League of Titans during any of their missions. His interest in Striga Island was purely professional, and when he was professional, he was serious, not like his usual demeanour.

When the Island came closer, he decided to change into a more appropriate costume for the excursions he called 'scouting'; a dark, loose-fitting shirt, and a pair of tucked-in cargo pants along with soft-soled shoes. Gripping his kris, the source of one half of his powers, and putting on his emerald amulet, the source of the other half, he waited in the dark cabin of the ship.

The ship pulled into port. Fareedz looked outside. Not a soul was there. He figured that at least someone would be guarding the port. His eyes then fell on a few police drones, before nodding to himself, understanding. He then stealthily, and speedily, crept out of the cabin onto the creaky old boardwalk.

Using his powers of speed and stealth, he quickly cleared the first of several blocks, not seeing another soul, before he saw one of those button men of the well-known Family. Fareedz darted from his hiding place and into a warehouse door with no one the wiser, waiting for him to pass by.

“Family… Bigger operation than I thought.”

The button man was talking to one very hairy and dishevelled man, with a red bandana and wrist guards. The warrior insignia was stamped on the back of his khaki-coloured jacket. The two talked as they walked, ambling along, before coming to a stop right outside the door Fareedz was hiding in. He swore under his breath and closed his eyes.

“… The price is wrong, punk.”

“Just give me the stuff…”

The sound of their conversation finally moved off, away from the door, and Fareedz heaved a huge sigh of relief. He then skulked out of the door, and sneaked around on the docks, seeing a few Warriors and Button men.

Then he saw it. Three Raserei Ubermenschen attacked by a dozen unfamiliar military men who looked almost like the Fifth Column themselves. They wore dun, earth-coloured clothing, except for one in a blue uniform and hurling what appears to be darkness at one Ubermenschen. Fareedz scrambled for his camera, but the ugly fight only took a few minutes before the Ubermenschen were brutally murdered by the dozen men, none of whom fell. The men in military garb then hurriedly moved off to the middle of the island, where a billowing cloud of ash issued from the maw of a volcano. Fareedz thought to follow them, before stopping to think.

‘They must be the Council that Manticore talked about... But why are they attacking the Fifth Column? And, moreover, why the hell are they going there!?’ Then an idea hit him. ‘Maybe… No, they can’t be THAT obvious!’ Reminded of old spy movies and comics, he went after them, gripping his kris tightly. He would have to use it sometime during this foray into Striga.