Mr_Grey

((Anybody who's seen the images I have posted of Power Breaker (Kingdale Backgrounder) should take something into account... The spikes that adorn his body haven't grown in to their full length yet. His head spikes haven't begun to grow in, either, while the shoulder ones are barely more than studs. He's also wearing the typical orange prisoner uniform, as opposed to an outdoors appearance.))

Randy stared down the office hallways. Some Council soldiers had commandeered the building for one of their bases, and he had to put a hurting on the Archon at the end. Typical hero work. He sighed and walked around the corner.

A Council trooper saw him, screamed and started firing. The bullets pinged and panged harmlessly off Randy's hard-as-stone skin, and the massive tanker gave him a right hook so hard it bounced him off the wall to the left and into the hero's still-hanging fist.

As the body crumpled to the ground and his comrades started preparing to shoot, Randy sighed again. It was getting so boring, walking through the buildings, beating everybody inside to a living pulp, arrest the boss, leave, get another mission from the cops, wash, rinse, repeat. The bad guys always seemed surprised, though, and there was a little thrill in that.

"I just wish there was something I could do to liven things up," he grumbled as he punched down the last soldier after he turned into a wolf, "Bad dog! No treat for you! Stay! I SAID STAY!"

A solid overhead smash later, and the War Wolf lay still.

"It's just becoming so tedious... And now... I'm not depressed enough to drink myself into a stupor when I'm done."

He grimaced.

"I don't get to work off a hangover anymore!"

He wasn't sad, really. He was happy his family was whole again. He was glad he'd found a new justification for all the work (damage) he'd done. He was pleased that these powers of his hadn't been wasted...

But where did he go from here?

"Could... could you please stop sitting on my head?" the War Wolf gurgled as the massive tanker pondered, "For one thing, it really hurts... For another... Your pants, couches, chairs, whatever, all must really hate you... This is torture for someone with a heightened sense of smell, man..."

"And I'm supposed to care?" Randy mused.

"Just... Just hit me with the drone tag, please. I can't take much more of this..."

The stone tanker complied, and in a moment, the troops he'd just thrashed were gone. The police drones, however, hung back. It wasn't that they couldn't clear the building... But if they tried, it was likely they'd be damaged, or worse, some could be destroyed. These were just the mass-produced models that cleaned up the buildings when the heroes were done, not the heavy-duty types like those that were stationed at the hospitals, War Wall exits/entrances and Railway Stations.

"Man... I could be doing something else..." the tanker grumbled.

In reply, some Council troopers a little further down the hall barked inquisitive phrases, but didn't really check to see what had happened.

"They probably just called these guys and figure a hero's on deck. Hm..."

A wicked grin split Randy's already hideous face, somehow creasing it even more deeply and making him seem almost a monster. One of the nearby drones beeped, and it sounded almost frightened.

----

"So... We move outta here, join up with Archon Jones and his crew, and move on to project Lemon Meringue..."

Archon White shuddered at the mention of the project name.

"We had to call it Lemon Meringue, didn't we? Not Project Pumpkinfall, or Project Overnight... No, Lemon Meringue. We want you guys to know, we don't care. Sincerely, Center."

White turned to his closest minions.

"I'm telling you guys, I'm starting to think this Center guy is actually Statesman... [censored] with all of us."

"No way, boss, couldn't be that big," one of the flamethrower troopers quipped, "I figure Manticore, tops. He'd have the money to pull it off."

"I'd have pegged one of those kheldians..." another muttered.

"Alright, shut it!" Archon White roared, "Now look, we know a hero's here, so lts pack up and move out!"

A deep bass sound accompanied a tremor throughout the building. It sounded like something falling over. White flicked on his radio and called down to the sentries downstairs.

"What's going on? What the Hell is all that noise?"

"Mein GOTT!" was the only reply before there was static.

"Frickin Fifth Column vets..." White rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Okay, boys, grab what you can, we're heading out."

They grabbed what weapons and equipment they could carry and started moving for the elevator. They inched around each corner, bringing other groups of troopers with them as they caught up with them. Although radio silence was being kept up, any time they came across another crew, they had to hear how one of the groups downstairs fell to the monstrous crashing sounds reverberating throughout the building.

"The whole place is shaking, Boss," a Cor Leonis Force trooper whimpered, "It's like being stationed in the Hollows... I got a bad feeling about this..."

The carpet in front of them suddenly jumped up a little. It was right in front of the elevators. White turned to his troops, shock just as evident on his face as it was on theirs. Good thing they wore those masks.

"You don't think..." he was able to murmur shortly before a massive fist smashed through the floor and tore away a piece of it.

Randall Grey started ripping pieces and chunks of the floor down to his level, and was tearing his way in their direction.

"Retreat, retreat!" the Archon shouted, then grabbed a trooper armed with a grenade launcher, "Get back there and blow a hole in the floor! This guy's crazy, we need a crazy way out!"

"Aye sir!" the trooper ran like mad ahead of the rest.

They entered a corridor that circled around an office and stopped at the doorway leading to another hallway.

"Okay... You boys, get up on that loft down the hall... You guys, get ready... whichever way this guy goes, I want you on the opposite side, ready to jump down and put bullets in him..."

"What about you, Boss?"

"I'll figure that out when we get there... Move!"

"Wait," a Force trooper stopped them, and White resisted the urge to shoot him in the head outright, "Listen..."

Silence. Randy hadn't been tearing the floor out from underneath them...

"Oh my God..."

There was the sound of an explosion on the other side of the office suddenly and the troopers readied their weapons. They weren't in time. The nearby wall burst out at them, with a dusty, rocky Randall Grey in the center of it. Screaming, the troopers tried to shoot, but the massive tanker stomped, smashing through and dropping them all to the floor below.

Coughing, Archon White struggled to his feet and met the face-sized fist of the hero. The other troopers met similar ends, the last two falling to a flurry of punches, one hand for each chest. They crumpled to the ground, clutching at their bruised ribs.

Lying on the floor, the cell leader was able to get a good look at the destruction done to the whole building. It seemed a massive tunnel of destruction had been bored through the third floor of the offices. There were still unconscious bodies strewn about wherever Grey had burst through a wall from one room to the next.

"Holy..."

Randy picked him up by the "scruff" and turned him so he could see his smile. White's face was masked, but Grey could picture the mortification on the tall man's face.

"I figured this place could use some renovation... Like the progress so far?"

"You... You smashed a bee-line for the elevator..."

"Both floors. One solid line one way, one line all the way back. Figured I'd just smash through the floor and get it over with at the end, there. There were a few moments where I hit soft, fleshy things with bits of aluminum and steel that tried to stop me."

He turned the Archon so he could see the damage again.

"It didn't work."

"I see..."

"Now... I'm gonna knock ya out, and it's gonna hurt. You don't happen to have that annoying wolf serum in ya, do ya?"

"Yeah, a little... All of us do. We never know if it'll work."

"Ah, [censored] it," the tanker grunted moments before punching the Archon through the ceiling.

White came back down as a wolf and tackled Grey. They fell through the floor, wailing on each other.

"Man!" White punctuated his sentence (and the next) with a punch to Randy's jaw, "This building was cheap material!"

They landed in the basement, and Randy threw the wolf off of him into the concrete wall. Thankfully, that didn't crumble or shudder. At least the foundation was solid.

"No wonder you guys get these buildings so easy... I figure somebody's making money on the insurance. You guys show up, building owner abandons the property and puts a claim to his insurance company. This time, he... she.. whatever, they didn't use proper materials to fix the place up... They were counting on you to take over. Probably made a tidy profit... I should probably report this."

The wolf stretched his shoulders and looked about their surroundings.

"What do you want to figure the court will say it was MY responsibility to fix this place up, since I was occupying it?"

They looked at each other, shrugged, and finished their fight. It was quick, as Randy didn't waste any time ramming his fist down the wolf's throat and forcing White's gag reflex (an effective method for dealing with vicious dogs, especially when your arm is thicker than most people's legs). While the wolf dry heaved on his hands and knees, Randy lifted him up and threw him against the wall. When it looked like the villain was going to struggle to his feet, Randy's massive, Root covered foot put an end to the fight.

----

A few moments later, he was dragging the human version of Archon White out of the building. As police drones moved in to clear up the bodies, Randy set the man on a bench out front. Lacking a tag and his uniform in tatters, the drones didn't even stop to consider if he was a criminal.

"What? What're you doing..." he mumbled.

"I'm lettin' ya go," Randy replied as he checked to see if anything was broken, "But there's a price."

"What's that?"

"You're going to be my informant."

White looked into Randy's eyes. He knew the hero was serious, but he wanted to make sure Randy knew he was serious, too. The moment his delerium cleared, he spoke.

"Okay," when Grey looked incredulous, he explained, "I was involved in a mission called Operation Lemon Meringue. Lemon Meringue! It's like we don't even care, anymore, like we're waiting for somebody else to do something... Or maybe they just didn't care about us, huh? I joined these guys a year ago because I thought they'd give me a purpose... Now I just get headaches and piddly-crap harrassment missions."

"You wanted to hurt people?" Randy started reconsidering his choice of stoolie.

"No. I thought we were working to make a difference... A new government with less bureaucratic red tape... Streamline the whole process, you know? Now, I've been doing this a year... It seems this is a group of idiots who barely even understand what they originally wanted... Like it was some guy who saw the Fifth Column as an army he could use and decided to just take it to play around with... I want out... But I want out in a big way. I don't want them to know it was me, but I want to know my betrayal meant something!"

Randy nodded.

"Keep me informed, and that may just happen...."

A section of the building collapsed inward and police drones started rushing out the doors and windows.

"As you can see, my crew's starting to do things in a big way."

Power Breaker saw the massive, tattooed asian enter the cell with him. Obviously a Tsoo goon of some sort. When the other saw Power Breaker, he gave a derisive snort.

"What do we have here," he hissed in a heavy, almost stereotypical accent, "Some fresh meat thinks he's impressive?"

The other cellmate, a skinny guy with scraggly hair and a matching narrow face simply walked in behind the Tsoo bruiser and walked over to Power Breaker.

"Um... You're in my bed."

Harris looked down at the little man. He knew from experience that there were few people like this. The deceptive sorts who are so much more than they seem. Deciding not to push the issue, he stood up and yanked the sheets and blanket off the mattress.

"My mistake, but these are mine," he turned to the bruiser as he made his way to the bunked rack on the other side of the cell, "I'm taking teh bottom one."

"That one's mine, little man..."

"Tray again... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Paul," the skinny one's voice was smooth as silk, he then motioned to the bruiser and said, "He calls himself Red Dragon."

Breaker's face clearly illustrated his shock. He turned to R.D. and laughed a little.

"What's so funny?" Red Dragon folded his arms over hsi chest and sneered, "Red Dragon is great and powerful!"

"It's also the rank of a white supremacist," Power Breaker threw his linens onto the bed haphazardly and started flexing his hands to limber up his knuckles, "And you're ripping off a movie character who became a serial killer because he didn't know what to do with a woman, even when she clearly wanted him."

Paul chuckled a little and set to making his bed. He had his blankets neatly folded under the rack and the seemed quite clean.

Oddly, Dragon didn't seem bothered that the little guy had laughed at him. He was more bothered that Power Breaker had insulted him.

"I will break you, little man... You're in Hell..."

"And you're the Devil..." Raymond sighed, "No... you're not the Devil, you're practice... yeah, I saw the movie, too."

Red Dragon punched at Power Breaker. The massive brute ducked his forehead into the punch and was rewarded by a popping sound.

"You can thank high school soccer practice for that one," Harris rubbed the top of his forehead, the "hard end," while Red Dragon screamed about how his hand was broken, "Might I suggest a name change?"

"I don't think he's listening," Paul mused as he neatly folded the corners at the foot of his bed, "But I'm all ears."

"How about... Tiffany?"

"Tiffany's taken a few cells down."

Power Breaker's ears perked at that, "Female?"

"Sadly, no... But he has long hair."

"Hm... I've been through here enough times to know that stuff's not for me. I can tough it out."

"That's good," Paul finished and pulled a leatherbound book from under the mattress, it was a bible, "I abhor abberations such as that behavior. Daniel, if you're going to whine and complain like that, you shouldn't have assaulted our new cellmate."

"Yeah... but... Augh! Look what he did!"

"Aw that's not so bad," Power Breaker took a hold of the hand, "See? Just displaced a little... I had this sort of thing happen to me a couple times working in a mechanic's shop... This might hurt..."

Pressing sharply, Harris felt the bones in the back of "Daniel's" hand replace as he manipulated it deftly. his eyes widened a little at it, but he stopped cursing and shouting. When Power Breaker was done, the bruiser was able to maneuver his hand almost perfectly.

"Wow..."

"Well, you're just full of surprises," Paul found his bookmark and read a little, "You've earned your place with us."

"So... Daniel, right?"

"Right."

"You with the Tsoo?"

"Was..." Daniel rubbed his hand a little more, "They... They disowned me about a year ago..."

"And you, Paul, what's your story?"

"I was a hitman," he intoned, "While here, I seriously maimed my first couple of cellmates until they got the idea to stop pestering me. Daniel and I keep each other entertained with theological debate."

"Nifty."

((Paul and Daniel here aren't intrinsic to my story. They're just background filler NPCs. If you need an idea of their "Super" capabilities, Paul's a Dark/Dark stalker, and Daniel has the abilities of an Ancestor Spirit minus their flying and disappearing act.))

((My apologies for not being around for an apparently eventful day... It seems my ISP decided it was too cold to work...))

Slater stood, shrugged at the large machine, and started laying into ghosts. It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with them, and he was glad MAGI had given the Black Mauler an enchantment to affect the critters.

"I'd have to wear a cape to be called one, don't you think? Fortune... Fame! Mirror... VAIN! Gone-in... SANE! But the memory remains... ow..."

The last bit of his recital punctuated with mace strikes was interrupted by a barrage of sonic blasts to the chest. A winged spectral demon floated before him, "breathing" for another scream.

"Oh... I see... A critic. Well, tsk, my brother's louder, my blood's pumping, and this mace is perfectly handy for dispatching you cretins, so what else do ya got?"

Another pair of spectral demons appeared behind it. Slater narrowed his eyes at them.

"I'm just gonna keep my mouth shut, now..." he muttered as he closed with the monsters and raised the Mauler so it could get it's two cents in.

Lord Diov: 21
Khellendrosiic: 23
Hallucinogen: 20
Essex: 25
Prodiguy: 21
The Soviet: 21
Lazarus: CRY MOAR'D
Devious Me: 19
Burning Brawler: 20
Arashi: 22
Halo Inc: PAIN TRAIN'D ( But +2 Awesome)
Billy Boy: 19
Leo Gunner: ARROW'D
Pheonyx: 20
Mithril Zeta: 20
Cowman: TROLL'D
Moiread Scott: 21
Seikon: MENTAL BLAST HEAD EXPLODE'D
Coldfire Kaiser: HEAD SHOTT'D
Mr Grey: 21
Ozell One: 20

FRICKBLAMMO Devious Me!

And a healing BLING for Pheonyx!

Edit: I just couldn't leave it as my original targets... They were the inverse of the previous post.

I'm using Grand Finale to flesh out a character I'm not really working on in the back of my head. Usually, I could just play the character in-game (I've been doing that with Matt McGinty lately, but I had to stop because I'm waiting for I-9 to hit... he and a bunch of others are at the brink of the late-teen arcs). However, since Simmy's based off one of my friends, it's somehow harder for me to imagine the character in-game. I guess it's because the guy is one of those down-to-earth types, so putting him in this fantastic stuff is too far a stretch for the practical part of me.

So, I figure if I throw him into a fantastic setting, and have to roleplay him, it'll help me develop his character in the back of my mind.

((I apologize if there's a lot of typos in this... The temperature is dropping here rapidly, and I really just want to get to bed and get to sleep. Fingers... so... cold...))

Jazt

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Telamon Jazt, former Archon for the Council

Archon Jazt is yet another of the growing number of criminals and villains who are learning to hate Randall Grey. However, Jazt had the fine distinction of being one of the few "celebrity" villains to learn such exquisite hate.

Being the Archon involved in what ahs been infamously deemed the "Cube Incident," Jazt was irrevocably altered by the artifact he had employed to enhance the armor and weaponry of the Council cells under his command. He blames this event on Randall Grey, who apparently smashed the man into the orb (Azuria was very cross with Randall about this, she had wanted to study the artifact).

After his apprehension at the hands of Grey's Army and Blue Steel, Jazt was abandoned by the Council. Apparently, they aren't comfortable with transformations that don't occur through their scientific experimentations... So, Jazt wasn't too ungrateful when Arachnos decided he'd make a welcome addition to their "Project D.E.S.T.I.N.Y."

He seems to have taken well to Arachnos leadership. Though his body is withered by the magic within him, he also seems to be quite powerful. There is some speculation as to whether or not Jazt is of his right mind, or whether or not some Circle of Thorns demon has taken the corpse. If the latter is the case, perhaps this is part of some terrifying experiment, to make Circle wizards far more powerful than they currently are...

Jazt's powers were documented as a dark magical invulnerability pared with shadowy brawling techniques. It seems while other Archons learned a derivative of martial arts, Jazt preferred pugilism.

Sikk

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Shadowshock

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These two villains were broken out of the Ziggursky Penitentiary at about the same time. They're both loyal to Arachnos, and have personally signe dup for anything that involves Grey's Army. Sikk was apparently apprehended by Mad Matt McGinty, while Shadowshock was arrested (quite violently, according to the report) by Randall Grey himself.

Sikk's specialty seems to be assassinations, and he has one deal with Arachnos worked out. He claims the souls of all his victims. Apparently, his weapon is a cursed "ninja blade" known as a soul drinker. Such artifacts are common among the Tsoo and the Warriors, but not as actually wielded weaponry. Though his was relieved from his possession, it seems the Arachnos organization reacquired it for him, thus sealing him to Recluse's goals. The blade seems to be what is necessary for the deranged youth to be useful. It has granted him access to a plethora of dark powers to aid in his concealment. Every victim who falls to his blade feeds the evergrowing gap in his soul... I guess it's safe to say this will lead to a very violent end for Sikk...

Shadowshock seems to just be a heavy brute who likes to deal out pain. He named himself quite literally, and his attacks are all spiked with a flow of bioelectric energy that is coursed through his targets, sapping them of their energy. His protective powers seem to be a dark armor that absorbs most of the impact from incoming attacks.

Paired together, they seem to be quite dangerous. Though Arachnos hasn't put them into the field ("Go rob a Paragon bank!") with their newly honed and focused powers, it's a sure bet they'll be a devastating duo when deployed.

Blizzard Front

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Alongside his friend, Ashen, Blizzard Front has aligned himself with the heroes of Paragon City. As an Ice Blaster, he feels he can do quite a bit of good.

"Yeah, I remember hearing about the fires the Hellions set all throughout the Canyon... There needs to be more people like me. We can cut that [censored] down. Why? Cuz we're metal like that."

Where Ashen has a surprisingly calm, almost overly proper demeanor, it seems Blizzard has a brazen-bordering-on-rude mentality. Still, he seems to be a nice guy.

Ashen Roast

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A former Outcast, Ashen was involved with the small war that occurred under Baumton between the Rikti and Grey's Army. He led a small group of sympathetic gang-bangers who helped defend the refugees from the alien onslaught.

Surprisingly, shortly after the battle, Ashen took full advantage of the pardon granted by Freedom Corps and even went so far as to register as a super-powered hero. It's a good thing, too, because if this guy reached his full potential while working for the the elemental gang, he'd have made a dangerous opponent for many of our up-and-coming heroes.

As it is, he's been classified a Fire Tank, through and through. He's fairly deft with the blazing scimitar he wields, and he's got a few street brawling moves that help especially when he's got flames wrapped around his hands.

Brother Mauthe

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We don't know the real name of this individual.

When the Rikti invaded and the dreaded Lost suddenly sprouted up on our city's streets, there was little word of any resistance against the mutant transients. As it turns out, there is actually a rather extensive effort against the oppression of the Lost and their Great Revelation... Or whatever they're always raving about.

Meet Brother Mauthe. He's a tad... odd... The commander of a legion of homeless vagrants, Brother Mauthe leads an almost communist force against the Lost. Utilizing what equipment they can scrap from raids on Crey, the Council, and sometimes even Arachnos (or even us, Freedom Corps/Longbow), Brother Mauthe wages a guerrilla war to fight back at the terrifying influence of the alien-minded oppressors.

He calls his army the Dregs. Whether or not this has anything to do with the afore mentioned Martin Sanders is up to debate. However, Mauthe seems to be more concerned with his operations in the Etoile Isles. Why he personally is engaging in missions there is unknown, but until we can determine his intentions, we'll have to label him a villain.

Brother Mauthe is constantly surrounded by a small cadre of the toughest, fittest vagrants he can maintain. He supplements their capabilities with stolen technologies that their various agents (which are apparently scattered all over, both in Paragon and in the Isles.

Kingdale Backgrounder in my sig is most of my characters so far, so if anybody needs a quick understanding of what one of my characters looks like, typically acts like, etc., biggity-bam, it's right there!

Kip pulled up his shirt for them to see. It was a little rough, but it was clearly a dark purple and blue heart-shaped bruise pattern across his chest.

"I guess it's nice to see those Malta goons have a sense of humor!"

He made sure Balsk could get a good look, then pulled the shirt back down.

"Sonova... what a day..."

Kip grimaced suddenly and started scratching his chest. Wincing, he looked down the neck of his shirt. His face turned to a mask of shock.

"Those sons of... I can't believe this..."

Slater fell to his rear and watched the robots decimate more of the zombies. Crab-walking backwards, he inched behind the line and let the machines work their merry work.

"This is crazy," he breathed, "What did I do to have attention drawn to me like this?"

Lord Diov: 21
Khellendrosiic: 23
Hallucinogen: 20
Essex: 25
Prodiguy: 20
The Soviet: 21
Lazarus: CRY MOAR'D
Devious Me: 20
Burning Brawler: 20
Arashi: 22
Halo Inc: PAIN TRAIN'D ( But +2 Awesome)
Billy Boy: 20
Leo Gunner: ARROW'D
Pheonyx: 19
Mithril Zeta: 20
Cowman: TROLL'D
Moiread Scott: 21
Seikon: MENTAL BLAST HEAD EXPLODE'D
Coldfire Kaiser: HEAD SHOTT'D
Mr Grey: 21
Ozell One: 20

Pheonyx gets some healing...

Khellendrosiic takes one in the wing...

My main server's Protector, and we typically get power-levellers. We've got a small RP community, but most of the players are story-driven ("I wrote a cool bio, yay; now it's time to level!").
Honestly, this is the first I've heard of this sort of RPing in this game. I'm not surprised its here (and another thread of my respect for humanity withers away), but this is the first I've heard of it.

EDIT: Fixed a dreaded "teh."

King Slater stopped when he saw the robot before him. Suddenly, the pain had returned... like something caressing his mind and... massaging it...

"You shot at me!?" he shouted, then wrenched his sunglasses off and dropped to one knee, "No... that can't be rrrrrgh..."

They shot at you, but you were lucky and they missed... Now's your chance to strike... Kill them... Kill... Them... Kill... Kill... Kill...

"...Kill... Kill..." Dustin muttered as one of the zombies broke through the withering blaster fire and grabbed his ankle.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Slater whirled around and smashed his mace into the monster's head.

Now it was different... Somehow... He had more pressing concerns, not just some petty... Vengeance? Why did he want to kill the machine? He didnt even know it... But they tried to shoot him. If they did, why were they killing zombies? It's a trick! Wait a minute... They?

One zombie got close but another bright beam decimated its head and a third of it's upper torso. Slater gave the side of his head a hard knock. Some of the influence seemed to fade, so he hit himself once more before driving his mace into another monster's chest, caving it in, but not really stopping the critter. A swift kick through the spine, however, collapsed what little it was able to do anymore.

Now, no longer facing the little robot that was providing him with cover, Dustin could think more clearly. He didn't know what would happen if he turned back to it, but he hoped this little exercise would clear the weird fog in his head. Oddly, the pain hadn't returned when he turned away from the Tower... Maybe the adrenaline was fighting it off... He didn't understand this place, the best he could do was make guesses... He hoped the machine didn't get it, too...

Another zombie was smashed to the ground and a beam seemed to pass by dangerously close, but it still vaporized most of another critter's working parts.

Dustin could almost hear the Kill Bill Vol. 1 soundtrack playing in his head...

Gripping the mace with both hands and bringing it to his right shoulder like a baseball bat, he tensed. His being understood the call, and stone armor started to grow from the earth and wrap its way around his body.

The unusual undead knights(?) shambled forward, and King Slater wound up taking a strike to the left shoulder from one of their ancient blades. Fortunately, the weapon skittered along the rock armor, and Dustin retaliated with a hard swing to the zombie's midsection, smashing a gaping hole into its torso, but otherwise doing little else.

The other zombie knight carved into his back. Dustin felt it that time, but his armor did a terrific job to minimize the damage. Releasing with his left hand, the stone tanker delivered an arcing attack that blew through the rest of the other knight's torso, splitting it "in half" and smashing into the other, knocking it backwards.

Taking a few steps back, Dustin noticed the other undead rapidly approaching. One projectile vomited at him, but the puke came up short.

"Dammit, what the Hell got me into this!?"

Smashing the mace into the head of the still moving "half" of the first zombie knight, Dustin turned to the approaching horde. Three for now, but there were more beyond. He had to do this right...

As the three approached almost as a wall, Slater lashed at their knees. He was rewarded by snapping and crunching, and the corpses collapsed like playing card houses. He didn't smash into their heads, however. He left them in the path, to further stumble the rest of the oncoming horde. It would buy him little time, but it just might be enough...

He turned back to run, but the other undead knight was on its feet again and it stabbed into his stomach. Dustin's skin was hard as stone, but it wasn't enough to hold back the oncoming assault. He felt the rusty blade slide in, and he could feel a kind of choking sensation.

Angry, Dustin scrashed ((Thank you Lewis Carroll for making words like this; (Scrash=slam+crash) this is an attack that's clumsy, yet devastating if it connects)) the weapon through the zombie's head. It collapsed and dragged the weapon back out of the lost hero's torso.

Dustin staggered through the clearing, coughing and wheezing. Collapsing to the ground, he gritted his teeth.

"Grr... NO! I can't die here! Not like this!"

The earth answered his cry with a sudden upsurge. The ground seemed to explode, and the warrior was surrounded by a tornado of dirt and stones. Green light emanated from it and suddenly, Dustin's wounds started to close up. In fact, he was feeling better than before. Invigorated, he briefly considered going back and killing the undead headed his way.

A ravening, moaning horde of nearly fifty zombies was making its way through the forest toward him. The nearest group was the largest, numbering around fifteen strong, and jsut barreling over the minor barrier he had left in their way.

"[censored] that!" he shouted and started sprinting in the opposite direction, vomit splattering and hissing behind him.

Once again, he was on his way to the tower, but he feared he had fewer options at his disposal...

Dross plunged his hands into the remnants of the flowstone. It was broken, flawed, defunct, and rapidly dying. It remembered having a source, a soul, a purpose, but now it was dying in the aftermath of a great and tremendous cataclysm.

It wanted direction... It needed Dross.

Dross's mind merged with the flowstone and took control. Bits and pieces across the landscape started making its way to the new source, the new central mind. As each piece connected, it took in the new code, the new command, the new form and construction. Dross could feel his reach extending across the planet's(?) surface, working slowly back toward the Orks and their war with Raphael. The mass made no noise, no change... Dross kept up the appearance of the local earth, simultaneously gobbling up what resources he could. Soon, it would be time to strike. Soon... It would be time for vengeance...

Dross wondered at that last bit. Was it his thought, or that of the flowstone? He didn't care. For the moment, their purposes were coinciding, and they were compatible. He would deal with the errant code when the danger cleared...

((Prod... It'll take much more than that to make me chew cud.))

The last thing Dustin Simms remembered was falling asleep in his apartment. When he awoke in a lush forest, he knew something was amiss.

Standing, he examined himself. He had his jeans, his T-shirt... Hell, even his jacket and sunglasses. His war mace lay nearby on a patch of moss. As he grasped it, a withered hand shot out of the earth and grasped his wrist.

"Oh no you DON'T!" Dustin growled as he wrenched free and repeatedly slammed his weapon's head against the offending appendage.

The thing kept coming, but King Slater didn't stop until it did. A small mess of putrid flesh and bone lay on the ground when he finished, smashed into oblivion. Dustin sighed to himself and pulled his shades from the left breast pocket of hsi jacket. Donning them and slinging his mace on his shoulder, he got a better look at his surroundings.

He got a feeling, a pang in the front of his... mind? There was a buzzing sensation... It got worse when he turned a certain way, lessened in another.

Curious, Dustin slung the mace to his belt and climbed a nearby tree.

"What the Hell is going on?" he grunted as he climbed.

Finally, he broke to an opening in the foliage and could get an excellent view of what was in the direction away from the pain. A tower. It was the most prominent oddity and it was smack in the middle of hsi vision. He found himself overcome with a desire to make his way for it.

Shaking his head to clear it, he made his way back down the tree. It was strange, but now that he had a destination in mind, he could take better stock of his surroundings. He didn't even realise that the tree he'd climbed was one of the largest... White pine? One-two-three-four-five... Yep, it was the largest white pine he'd ever seen. It was like a sequoia...

Stranger still, this region of forest seemed to have all sorts of weird trees. He could recognize some black walnut, maple, oak... But then there were exotic trees that he'd never seen before...

"This looks like something out of a horror movie..."

Just as the words left his mouth and he was on the lowest branch of the tree, he saw the ground start to move. Swallowing a curse, he armed his mace and leapt down.

Wherever something broke through, he smashed it on his desperate run. He had no idea where he was going or why, he just knew his head didn't hurt, so he must be going the right way.

((Mein Gott, Prodiguy, that's like something out of Hellraiser... And I just ate!))

((I don't think that it's dead... Our players are simply trying to find the right way to access the next stage of development. Some of us are in limbo, waiting for replies/interaction from other players, etc. It's also a tad unnerving to be writing about life in a prison, especially one as dark and corrupt as this.))

((So... COH... Mortal Kombat style...))