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Fierach

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Fierach last won the day on August 22

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About Fierach

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    ACE SUNSET

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    New York City
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    Gaming, Roleplay, Weapons, Reading, Writing
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    Angry New Yorker

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  1. Fierach

    General chat thread

    If our political discourse was anywhere near as civilised as this interaction we wouldn't be in this hole to begin with, heh.
  2. @Tenkai Matsumoto @Maverick The Daemon seemed to diminish in size. It was a curious quirk of the warpborn, with reality altering itself as if he had always been only slightly larger then a human, then his imposing presence prior as a Herald. It bellowed a hateful roar of surprise as it found itself with a severed arm, the stump meat of the wound impossibly smooth thanks to the power of the Muramasa sword. He even had to shield himself against the storm of steel and blade the psyker threw his way. The indignity of it all rankled him. He was a Herald of the Eight Fold Path! He was the Blackened Knight! He denied the end, and would deny it as long as he could, even as the plating of the corrupted airship rumbled and shook under a huge explosion elsewhere, with a threat to stumble all. The Khorne daemon lashed out, almost blind, bleeding phantasmal energy from a dozen small wounds. Greatsword Asil was bearing in to aide the others, beginning to draw his weapon up for an overhead blow when the sudden shaking caused him to misposition, an opening by the merest of misfortunes, and the keening hellblade hacked through his wrists. The daemon automatically knew he had successfully struck someone. Rounding on the taste of fresh blood in the air and the Greatsword's anguish, the Blackened Knight angled his sword back in, piercing through the gold brass power armor until the daemon weapon was hilted. He would try to pull it out and whirl about to confront Tenkai as the monk no doubt would be moving in for a killing blow. The Daemon's sword did not move. He snarled, glancing back. With the last of his strength, servos straining, and lifeblood gushing from the rent in his armor, Asil clutched the Hellblade and prevented its movement.
  3. Arthur was a a little bit better off in their trades so far. He was a skilled fighter, and their exchanges probably gave him a bit more confidence even, but James remained unconcerned. The Daemonslayer was a man who didn't mind giving up a pound of flesh to break his opponent's bones, and he was willing to bet that the battle mage still wasn't nearly as tough or as strong as he was. Therefore, he would switch his tactics up, looking to bait that dual exchange. If he had to break a rib to break Arthur's jaw, so be it. As Arthur came in, James never lowered his guard, levering up his left leg into the path to check what he believed was an incoming front kick, that never materialized. What inside happened was the snap of force against his left forearm, absorbing most of the force of the feint's follow-up. It pained badly, and sent him swaying away to the side due to having been balanced on one leg, but James grit his teeth and stomped back down, throwing his weight back forth to bull through, and send a devastating full-body right straight into Arthur's center mass.
  4. Fierach

    Public AFV Thread

    @Ace No. You've been away too long. How dare you?!
  5. James raised an eyebrow at the young regent-prince who walked in. He was here quickly. Not sure if he had the proper authorization to be in here, but whatever. At least he was showing concern regarding the idea of an enormous monster horde eating his city. Some monarchs just ignored that kind of thing. On the map, a landmark to the east of Blairville was circled. Blaurg Mountain. James wasn't sure which geographer or cartographer named it that, probably a side-effect of traveling through either the badlands to the north or the wastelands to the east. He imagined the first thing the explorer did upon getting out of there and seeing a mountain pass to surmount was to chuck up the contents of their belly. Yes, this was headcanon to him now. "I apologize for the short notice of this meeting. Its come to my attention that a horde of monsters of some sort seems to have formed on the continent. Preliminary reports from all manner of sources indicate that they have last been sighted by Blaurg Mountain, to the east of Blairville." Accompanying his speech, a diagram of the mountains came up, highlighting terrain, estimated time to pass based on past records. "That information however, is not reliable as it is at minimum perhaps a week old. I've begun recalling all available Force Majeure forces to the Bastion as its believed the horde is heading west. That puts Blairville, and then us, squarely in the path." "You'll notice Sheryl Wainright isn't here at this meeting. I've asked her to scour our library for information regarding an "archdemon", that is supposedly leading this horde. To get us up to get positional information, I've dispatched a wing of Greatswords on our jetbikes to conduct reconnaissance. Any immediate questions?"
  6. Somehow, through magic, determination, or sheer raw grit, the two clambered out of the pit, and hastily quit the orphanage. On their way out, Eshara located what he was looking for as well, a room containing some psionic tech designed to interface with and amplify the power of psychically-sensitive beings, using a crystalline matrix of magitech woven throughout a helmet. This would be integral to the control schematics of the next Belisarius-Sinistrum class airship, the frigate called the Bane-Sidhe. His job complete, Eshara gratefully accompanied Capria, first to a nearby inn, where they could both hopefully wash off the stench of the sewer and make themselves more presentable. After all, it wasn't every day one got invited by an Inquisitor to dinner. Eshara was still on duty as an agent of the Order of Force Majeure. He intended to make a good impression over the hearty meal of steak, and some drinks. In the end, maybe he made too much of an impression.
  7. The Knightess of Wind had always seemed to be one of the more mild-mannered members of the Force Majeure, more demure and bookish, but that was only ever just a front, a mask of control to yoke a greater insanity and desire for combat. "So we're in our heads is it?" Sheryl snapped. Was all of it they were conjuring in their heads? There was a mental link of course. But who? The answer was obvious. It was the queen. She was linking them, putting them all in this mental landscape. To free herself, she would have to suffer death, after a fashion. Her mind had to believe that she was dead, her body killed. But was that air she was breathing here? Where those her clothes that she was wearing? Was that her powers she was manifesting in her hands? No. Know the truth. There was no spoon. It was not air she was breathing, but her mastery of it was all the same. Her clothes mended themselves on the spot (likely much to Charlie's disappointment), for she was not truly hurt, not in here. It was not really her powers that was manifesting here, but a version of her will. Sheryl glared at the Queen, the built-up manifestation of a hurricane dissipating in her hands as she held them outstretched at the insectoid royal, and manifested her will upon the vision, and she squeezed. It would be as if the atmosphere would grip at the Queen, and crush her as if she was in an invisible vice.
  8. There was never the intention to defend from James, the Daemonslayer had thrown himself into the jumping knee wholeheartedly to try and catch the recovering mage, and perhaps that was his own salvation. As his strike carried him past Arthur, he threw his arms down forth, adding just that extra bit of momentum forward, rendering the mage's hook to be more of a glancing blow. Painful, but not debilitatingly so yet. Had the battle mage been able to use James's momentum against him it might have been crippling, but that was not the case here. It was still a deadly a risk to try and counter head on. He landed from the flying knee and spun to face Arthur, hands up and held loosely at neck level, the pain in his side driving his teeth into a feral grin. Pain, it fueled him. "Good! Nice recovery" he praised. A lesser man might have been caught by that rushdown combination. @Voldemort
  9. [Predator's Keep] Dawn Komturie of the Order of Force Majeure @Tenkai Matsumoto @Twitterpated Precious few Knights were present in the war room, the recall had been quick, and not many were able to answer in time. Time was of the essence. From initial reports, the horde led by the Archdemon seemed like it would have a week, or perhaps at most two weeks before they reached Predator's Keep. Already dispatch messages were sent out to Peacekeepers for any military support and/or aid they might be able to render @supernal @amenities, and Custodes were dispatched to inform and advise the young ruler-regent of the city to evacuate in preparation for the worst case scenario. While the Knights planned, James dispatched three fireteams of elites to scout the enemy and relay positional information back to them. The Force Majeure were not quite going into this war blind, but knowledge was power. The Greatswords would be excellent reconnaissance upon their fast and speedy jetbikes, hard to catch, and veteran enough to fight their way out of any minor entanglements they might find themselves caught in. Standing at the head of the table, James glanced around at the assemblage. "Are we ready? Good" He dimmed the lights, and the table projected a hologram, a map of the last known positions of the horde of the Archdemon. --- @squid peanut
  10. Ah, she was making the logical arguments. The persuasive ones based on honor, good will, and charity. The cost of lives. "A veil of deniability", he began in reply, looking down at his desk, tapping his glass thoughtfully, and then he looked back up. "That would mean that there would be something that needs denying. Your clients are not the palatable sort are they? This is valuable information you could have taken to any other authority..." he paused. "True authorities, nations, governments, with thousand times more resources, men, machines, weapons then we do, and they would be able to act on it. So spare me the morals of the cost of lives. You may be surprised I'd be willing to let more die for the clarity of a few names, but somehow I'm not to learn you are just the same. Are these names that worth protecting? Its because your clients are not losing anything even if the destruction is vast and spirals out of control... correct? No. Don't bother answering that. They never had any true altruistic intentions. They would be better off even, to take advantage of chaos". He cocked his head. "As for a rebuilding effort, your clients would make use of such a thing whether there is a deal or not." he phrased it as such deliberately. Whoever they were, the entities represented by Ana didn't seem like they would be there to contribute, not in the truly altruistic sense. "There's a word for that, opportunists, scavengers... vultures". The nameless clients. They wanted a connection. They chose the Order of Force Majeure for a reason. James did not know the reason, but keen instincts told him it wasn't for any great benefit of them, or the common people, rather the opposite. As she prepared to leave, James would get up and see her to the door. "Indeed. Most informative. Have a good day yourself, Miss Ana." She would be escorted the entire way out of the Komturie. When she left, James went back to his desk, and made two calls. One, a communication to all Knights of the Force Majeure. Two, a sweep of his room, and anywhere else the saleswoman had been, for foreign surveillance devices.
  11. "As for the cloak of anonymity, unfortunately I'm contractually obligated to keep the particulars of my clients to myself, but-" James scowled, and cut her off with one word at the line of anonymity. "No." There was no further elaboration. She seemed smart enough to figure it out. Contrary to cultivated public opinion, the Order of Force Majeure were not, the "Good Guys". The saleswoman knew this well, as likely did her clients, but that did not mean they would so easily work with more nebulous vendors. If they insisted on anonymity, that was fine, but James would not need, nor accept their services. For an organization that broadly claimed a mandate that ultimately superseded all else, it was one of the few ways they kept themselves honest.
  12. He nodded at her answer, and got up from his desk to wander to a set of cabinets from the corner, opening it and fetching two glasses and a jug of crisp cool water. Coming back, he placed one glass before her, filling it, and then did the same for himself. He was quiet as she made her pitch, standing with his drink, examining the displays Ana presented carefully. He was not familiar with the wastes, but he had heard of them and was growing more knowledgeable by the day as he turned his attention to the horde. "... and what would your organization like out of this contract? Who do you represent?" He asked after a minute to peruse what she had to offer.
  13. James's office was an anachronistic jumble. Clean and sleek gunmetal and pearl walls were broken up by bookshelves housing thick tomes and volumes of arcane lore. Firearms of various designs, both glided and practical lay racked next to swords and a hammer that looked like it had been created from an arm ripped from some kind of titan of a being. Maps, sculptures, and more artifacts of various sorts lined the walls and dotted the room, and upon the far side there was a door that led to a conjoined room, his actual armory and bedchamber. A holographic screen contrasted the ironwood desk they were projected from, somehow seeming to match perfectly with the dataslate in the Master Knight's hands. As for the object of her visit, he was in full battle attire sans the helmet, a sharp-faced and sleek thing framed of impossibly high golden wings which lay upon the table, the man having chose to conduct this business face-to-face. Dark eyes appraised the woman from beneath darker bangs of hair, and the Daemonslayer brushed it away with the languidness of an apex predator unconcerned and unchallenged by any threat, before putting down his dataslate and indicating with a hand the ironwood seat before his desk for her to take a seat. "Welcome miss Ana. I am James Eredas. You've put in a lot of effort to reach me, and bring me this information. Before we conduct business, would you like a drink? Alcohol? Water?" His voice was deep, smooth, with a hint of melody to it. He played the gracious host as she played the well-mannered guest. @Noko
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