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Fierach last won the day on March 20 2018

Fierach had the most liked content!

About Fierach

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  • Birthday August 1

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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. The enemy was well trained. They recovered with a speed that was admirable, bringing up weapons even as they were ripped to shreds. Sporadic fire rang out, and James weaved through bolt rounds, a few shots glancing off or cratering the dragonbone and steel weave of his armor. The counterattack came though. From a new angle a fresh flood of troops poured in from the doors and passages of the warehouse, setting up fire positions and opening up on the Custodes. One of the Seekers went down, with the rest and James taking cover. The counterattack was expected. The Daemonslayer glanced around a corner towards the thickest fortifications, marking it and activated the signal for support. In battle, James was fond of constant shock and awe. A never-ending tide of surprise and powerful, well placed strikes to keep the enemy on the back foot. He employed it here as the ceiling of the warehouse gave way, four brass figures punching through stone and concrete and landing in a flash of quickly dissolving green gel. They landed like thunder amidst the enemy firing positions, throwing them into disarray, and fresh screams of death rang out as the Greatswords of the Order of Force Majeure joined the fight. They were hulking brass figures, taller then mortal men, more like ogres then warriors in powered armor. Battle-honours decorated their breastplates alongside scrawls of heraldry in black gold and red silver, displaying their valor in past actions. If there was any disorientation from their rough landing, they showed no sign of it, charging in synchronicity and leveling their weapons. The air split under a prodigious amount of firepower cast forth, cut down the rebel rabble like wheat upon a harvester's scythe. Any who got too close were chopped down by brutal flourishes of their vibroblade swords and axes. James swept forwards from his cover, and all anyone could see was the blurred arc of Amaterasu, rising and falling, blood and flame and shredded metal. A soldier flew back, a bloody canyon in his chest. Another stepped forwards, and the tip of the nodachi met his faceplate and obliterated the skull beneath. There was no need to even rip the blade free.
  2. Sensing the pull of Selene's spell, many of the beastmen in the immediate vicinity of the forward group redirected their attention toward her, making straight for the swordswoman even as they were cut down from behind by the renewed Custodes assault. Blade and bullet hammered into the tide of flesh, but they seemed set on attempting to overrun her before she could complete what she was planning. The ministrations of one witch-kin, the Kadian Inquisitor, was bad enough, but to allow another, one who even matched them with her skill at arms to resort to her magicks drove them into a new frenzy of hatred. The nearest hound-man raised a large, bloody and wicked axe, intent on cleaving her through, and in the next instant pulled back howling in pain as his hand fell away in a spray of flame and boiled blood. James too read the flow of battle, and he pulled back to guard Selene and let her complete her spell. He once again wielded the nodachi in his hands, plucking it from the desiccated corpse it had been laying in. The next instant saw the Daemonslayer stepping in, punching the beastman in the gut with enough force to send the monstrous being flying despite being much larger then either of the two humans. It flew back into its cohorts, delaying them all and creating space. The sight repeated itself six times in as many seconds, with the Daemonslayer cutting down any monster who approached with his flaming sword, or sending them flying back with an expertly placed punch or kick. None would get near the Kadian Knightess. James would not allow it. --- The monk's stance was clear. It spoke to the warchief, beyond words, beyond race, it was challenge plain and simple. The bloodthirst in the air seemed to weigh even more heavily even as the monster seemed to draw it in, standing upright at its full height and bellowing an earthshattering roar before affixing two beady eyes of hate upon Tenkai. The maddened creature charged. Even as the Chieftain bounded forth at a blistering speed, it reversed the grip on the axe in its left hand, and swung the the flail around its head, building speed. Its animal cunning made it take a different tack. It would not swing at Tenkai, but instead using the flail's increasing speed to form a deadly barrier, and use the shortened, but quickened reach of its axe to attempt to counter any attempts to bypass the spinning obstacle. The whirling spiked head would draw close to Tenkai indeed as the warchief closed.
  3. Perhaps the true danger was that James could fathom how his foe worked. He was a man born fought dangers vastly more ancient then Michael and his AI Tori, terrors against whom the entire existance of Man was as a footnote in history. Perhaps it was the arrogance on the Peacekeeper's aspect, believing that his computations were ironclad against that most capable of men. In truth, Michael and Tori already established for themselves a telling pattern. Nearly every single attack they made was a headhunt, a killing blow. It made them predictable in turn, and James easily read the new projectile attack for what it was and leapt up what looked almost like an impossible height, for an ordinary man, well above Michael, with preternatural reflexes and speed, shifting his right side back. The increased distance made it easier for him to pull this off as well, not slowing the rest of his actions down in the slightest even with the laser searing past past his side, ripping through the armor there and glancing off his lower ribs painfully. Michael might have raised an eyebrow at the Daemonslayer's handling of his weapon. Perhaps the ease of use of the Peacekeeper's armaments and abilities made him forget the basics of handling more mundane weaponry, as James was just adjusting his grips. The powers being channeled into the mighty weapon became more visible now, flames bursting into being from the spearhead, down to his arm and right hand, and from his body. The Master Knight seemed to hang in an air for an instant, with his spear reared back and ready for the finishing blow. "Soulchiou Style, Spear Form-"
  4. If the Lady Blaze could hear it, the beep of a embedded chip activating, then transmitting, she might have been more introspective about the arrow in her wolf. The Seekers of the Order were no ordinary rogues, skilled in tracking, sabotage, reconnaissance, and their gear matched. The silvered arrowhead was a tracer, and the archer smiled viciously as she saw it strike home through armor. Now the fun part began. In rapid unison, she notched and fired three more arrows, this time towards the sky. Her hand skillfully brushed an activation rune on the feather base of each as she did so, the projectiles' lethality underscored by the differing heads of each. Two appeared to be canister-like, filled with a storm of poison darts. As long as even one could bypass armor and nestle themselves in joints the target would be rapidly overcome and neutralized by a debilitating cocktail of pain and muscle paralysis. The last arrow was more straightforward, a simple drillhead packed with enough explosive to take out an armored vehicle. Luckily for the Lady, with a tracer to guide it, it would be set to become an airburst instead. A small consolation to be sure when her pet would be thrown into the ground by the blastwave. Each arrow flew straight up into the air and then came back down, homing in on the armored wolf with means both magical and technological. Her squad of three would move towards the tracer signal now, both to confirm the kill, and to guard the artillery enplacements. Elsewhere in the lower city, the other Seeker team set the finishing touches on one hell an ambush. Paratroopers were best used when the enemy weren't aware of them, and they needed to be supported by armor and artillery quickly. Neither of those could truly support the Norkortian and mercenary paratroopers as they now entered the impending meat grinder of urban combat. Mines were the preferred weapon, set alongside sidestreets and flanking paths where main barricades had been setup with the remaining militia who weathered the bombardment.
  5. Fierach

    [GS] Baal.

    The pylons worked their arcane wonders. Each spike brought forth a fresh howl from Baal just from being driven down near him. Each black pylon was as a herald of doom as he felt his divinity slip away from him, his powers becoming reduced in strength. Nearby, James was not immune either. While the null spikes were calibrated to deal with beings of immense magical and supernatural power, he felt his own abilities being dampened, smothered like an guttering flame. James didn’t really mind. Take away his powers and the Daemonslayer was still one of the finest martial artists of his time, with a body forged like steel, tempered with iron discipline and surpassing will. Fighting giant monsters as more or less an ordinary mortal was half the fun for him some days. Baal still had some teeth though. The maddened god unleashed another blistering wave of flame, this time wide-spread over an area. It dispersed into a hailstorm of molten shards, aimed to strike at the Daemonslayer nomatter what. Despite the Knight's best efforts maneuvering the bike, skimming it across the blasted plains, molten shards of energy splattered against the sides of the vehicle and damaged it, threatening to eat through the vessel's armor plating and melt the volatile engine workings underneath through half a dozen holes. With a growl of annoyance, James cycled down the hoverbike in an emergency stop, sliding it across the plains in a cloud of soot until the stressed metal stopped screaming at last, and climbed out of the cockpit, bringing his spear along with him. Time to do this on foot then.
  6. @Sir Nathaniel Gideon was vaguely annoyed by the other Watcher's insult, but it was one of his fellows who expressed his scorn privately over their internal comms. "Perhaps we should have been so keen-eyed as to have left them to their fates and continued on our mission" The Guardian Sergeant silenced him with an almost imperceptible movement of his head, and a tap of a finger on his left side. The other soldier shut up immediately, and as the rest of the spectacle played out, they were as silent observers. To Gideon, the Watchers could be as rude as they liked, they had just been through a fierce, and trying battle, and it was ultimately not up to the Custodes to avenge any slights against the honor of the Order of Force Majeure. No, the Knights did that, if they were so inclined. "I'm sure they'll do you proud" Gideon replied at the last, taking the other man's hand in handshake, and he looked over at Arthur, making sure to raise his voice so that the rest of the Watchers could hear what he was going to say next. "Although I doubt you will be alone. Our master goes to strike at Lilith as well..." he paused. He would have also added "alone" to be dramatic, but that wasn't really true. Knight Tenkai Matsumoto took his personal frigate a good portion of the other Custodes in the theatre along with him, even if he did intend to face Lilith in single combat. "If you should meet him, I am sure Knight Matsumoto will welcome you to the battle"
  7. @SteamWarden In the shadows of the city, there was a potential threat lurking. The Seekers of the Order of Force Majeure were to gather information on their ambitious ally, their expansion of territory, and the potency of their new technology by any means necessary. If that meant putting their lives on the line and killing a few of them, then so it was. The concerns of the Force Majeure outweighed that of the conflicts of nation-states, and if they did their jobs right, nobody would know the truth of their actual allegiance, other then being particularly skilled mercenaries in the employ of the foolish mayor. Already they had coordinated with their fellows embedded in the mercenaries hired by the Norkortians and prepared an extraction point. Once they had inflicted some damage and tested the mettle of the good Executor's forces, they would disengage, and melt away into the compromised hirelings that were supposedly to prevent any escape. While the Seeker in charge of the operation didn't think that the battle would unfold according to plan (few things ever did, in his experience), he had no doubt that his small group of operatives were far more hardened and experienced then the majority of their opposition. The six Seekers could not win this battle for the Mayor even if they wished to, but they did not. Nor would their standing orders allow them to drastically alter the course of this piece of history. Dressed in drab greens and greys, there was nothing to distinguish cleanly them from any other mercenary force. They were armed with a mixture of antique and modern weapons, machetes, tomahawks, and crossbows alongside high-powered rifles and grenades lined with runes. Much of it were like they were, deceptive, their true strength hidden. They were currently posted as two teams of three. One was stationed near the lifts, fortifying the area against sneak incursions and aerial assault. The other team was in the commerce sector, intent on taking first blood of the Norkortians coming into the lower city. One of them was taking aim now, at a strange woman charging toward the barricades on her furred mount. The pirate must have been another one of the mercenaries hired by Norkortia. It was a difficult shot for anybody, but the grassy-haired woman was a skilled hunter and archer even before she joined and went to work for the Force Majeure. Afterwards, she had trained constantly to reach the pinnacle of such warcraft, becoming a veteran of the battle of Last Chance in the process. She pulled her bow taut in the shadows of some rubble, with no light to give her away, no tracers from her position as warning, and exhaled slowly as she tracked the zigzagging wolf. Take out the mount and the rider shall tumble, she thought. She let the silver-headed arrow fly.
  8. Tori's computations would be inaccurate. There was something about just being human that was unpredictable and could not be measured accurately by any means, and whereas Michael had been attempting kill strokes with every strike, James had been undoubtedly holding back, yet still keeping pace all the same. After all, one could be subject to life or death like the Peacekeeper was… or they could create another way through sheer will and skill at arms. Ultimately the Peacekeeper was right of course, there was no honorable or dishonorable fighting in the Colosseum, in this realm beyond realms, fit only for the slaughter and bloodshed. But James would never be bereft of direction nomatter where he was. After all, who better than the Daemonslayer to know, that one’s true character was defined by what they did in the dark. James didn’t need his arms to defend himself. He simply allowed the momentum and weight behind his sharp-angled spear swing to carry him down into a low forward-leaning crouch, neatly ducking under the make-shift buzzsaw with his fine haircut as victim, moving faster and with more surety in response to the fact that Michael was apparently, trying to kill him in earnest with every strike. It had not a true 360 degree swing, as the fact that James had twisted his left side back at the beginning of the maneuver shortened the spear's arc to only 180 degrees, shortening its distance and thereby increasing its speed. The Master Knight was far more agile then any warrior in his armor had a right to be ontop of his strength. The Peacekeeper was a magically powerful being, and the Master Knight was more along the lines of physical prowess. The inexplicable nature of the magical would trump the realities of the physical easily if he was not careful. James’s aura pulsed and strengthened as he prepared a counter in kind, channeling his powers into his weapon, clasping the bottom length of it with his wounded left hand as his right slipped up the shaft somewhat to make space. Even injured, he had enough grip strength left to do what needed to be done. Michael seemed to attempt to cut off James's movement. That was fine. There was nowhere his spear couldn't reach.
  9. Understood. Will wait until December to post.
  10. Going to go on vacation in a week for a while. I'll try to get my posts out before then, no guarantees though. Cheers everybody.

  11. I think I'll relax the restrictions for Trueblade more, to be honest. Perhaps it wasn't the best way of getting my intentions for that aspect of the competition across.
  12. Fierach

    [GS] Baal.

    Had it been a race, James would have far outpaced Baal on his bike, god or not. Instead the Daemonslayer danced just outside of the fire god's range, goading him. A few fireballs were artfully dodged, the vehicle kicking up ash and dust in the wake of flame and fiery maneuvers, and James replied with taunts. Baal grew ever more angered at the insults the mortal threw his way. If Baal had been in a right state of mind, he might have realized he was playing into James’s hands, but even at the height of his power, before the mind-poison took hold of him, the fire god had not been known as the most introspective of beings. Eventually, James lured him over to a predetermined spot. When it came to fighting non-mortals, James often "played dirty", although in his estimation, there was nothing inherently unfair about using everything in one's disposal against deities. There were gods, and then there were gods; Baal fell in the former estimation for the Daemonslaye, not a true god, but certainly dangerous and powerful enough he could be considered as such by most standards. True gods could never walk the mortal earth, they were far beyond that of a human, they were intangible beings, abstract concepts, the dark corners of mortal psyches given life as cunning mirrors. To rise to be able to best such an entity would be to become a god themselves, to abandon their mortality in favor of... something else. Many sought that something else. Most believed that it made them greater, be in in power, influence, immortality, or other such benefits. James knew better. He would never rise to such a height to defeat a god. He sent a coded signal on a transmitter. A few seconds later, the sky cracked open as the Imperator Bellum tore open time and space and reshaped the clouds with its sudden presence, warping into the area. It stayed at a safe and far distance, but launched a swarm of black dots at Baal, although none of them were actually targeted at him. As they closed with extraordinary speed, the dots resolved themselves into the appearance of giant, black crystal spikes, studding the landscape. A few more moments and they would resolve themselves to be a giant ring, hemming in both god and mortal. Nullification pylons, created from the melding of Order of Force Majeure antimagic magetech, and black exalta crystals from caverns touched by Whispernight. They would greatly weaken Baal's overall power. After all, like any good and truly nasty individual, James knew it was much easier to beat the shit out of somebody after dragging them down to his level.
  13. Capria was correct in her assessment. Eshara was twitchy indeed. He couldn’t really be faulted for it though, as he accepted the weapon back, still keeping his gaze trained on that patch of dark. After all, he knew some of the things that could be lurking in the dark. He’s seen some of them too. The Knights of the Force Majeure were more capable of handling such things then he was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give them his best Hochland try. Eshara was a survivor, and he was capable. That’s all there was to it. “… I’ll keep that in mind” Eshara replied neutrally as he finally lowered his weapon, cleaving to her request to stay out of her shadow. Eshara lapsed into Theoretical Thought Didactic as he followed her in silence. Theoretical, the inquisitor possessed magical abilities, and could better handle being the vanguard into the shady unknown. Practical, she did have magic and it was always better to stay a few paces apart so they could not be gunned down in one motion. When they came to the blockade, he obliged her, holstering his weapons to put his considerable strength to good use. The strange door prompted a look, and he glanced at her for her instruction, pulling his pistol in one hand and blade in the other. The questioning look was easy to read, shall they enter using his preferred way... or hers? Ladies first, if she was so inclined.
  14. The false Rodan was stealthy, and the drone's sensors failed to detect him. Even on the best of days, it might have been hard-pressed, but in the midst of a hasted repossession, and half-blinded by its own building power, the copy of Rodan wouldn't be detected until was too late. Illusion or not, its steel proved real enough as it drove straight through the hovering machine. ... of course, it was well that technology appeared to hate him right back, even if he was a false Rodan. As if to spite its killer, the drone unleashed its building energy as it sputtered and died, a brilliant coruscating wave of light that would envelope all in the area. All manner of magic would be weakened, but for the illusions born of them, their end was nigh as the wave would swallow them up whole and shatter them into mists of arcane energy. As the light eventually cleared, the members of the Abbadon Triumvirate would find themselves as they were, except no longer harried by their ghosts and doppelgangers. They would also find Mori's drone broken beyond repair at the center of it all, with a gaping hole through circuitry and metal in its center. Sparks flew, as though a dying man were taking its last breathe, gasping to stay alive, but slowly and surely, the lights faded one by one until it was still.
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