Flat on your back on a hard, gravelly surface, you blink your eyes as you come to.
The bright lights overhead blind you momentarily and you shield your eyes with a hand as you squint. You ache all over and you can feel a wet stickiness on your arms and sides. You struggle to sit up on what you find to be a narrow strip of road.
You hear a sharp squeal as a blocky shape stops next to you. There's a loud rumbling coming from its front end. As your eyes focus, you make out the details of a Kord Model R automobile. A door slams open and you behold a dark-skinned dame with dark curls in a blood-stained cream flapper dress.
"Hurry up! Get in!"
Her words are a shout but seem to roar in your head, your ears ringing.
A large man with broad shoulders, dressed in a dark suit and wearing a black fedora with a cream headband, sticks his torso out of a window. The chattering of a tommy gun fills the air. He growls, "We don't have much time, kid. Get in the car. Now."
You feel arms lift you up from the ground and half-drag, half-carry you over to the car and unceremoniously throw you in. You turn as you try to sit properly and see a young black man, possibly barely out of his teens, slamming the door shut. You notice that his teeth are amazingly white as he shoots you a toothy grin, blood smeared across his face and clothes.
The automobile shoots off as the young man jumps onto the tailbar, a hand clapping his argyle flatcap to his head. The dame is driving and you realize that she's barely any older than the young black man hanging on for dear life in the back.
She shouts back into the wind, "Patrick Nemowe, if you die now, I will never, EVER forgive you!"
"Awww, shucks, Miss Paz, that's so sweet of you," came the reply, dripping with cheekiness. And how anyone could hear it over the racket, no one will ever know.
The big man growls as he reloads the tommy gun, "You still owe her thirty bucks, Nems. Now hang on tight, there are three of 'em and they're gaining!"
The young dame lowers herself to the wheel and floors it.
Looks like you're in for the ride of your life.
WHAT DO YOU DO?
... seems like a good setting for the Exalted.
Showing posts with label Games. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Games. Show all posts
Friday, November 07, 2014
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
>>> Everybody get up...
"How do you like that, sports fans!? It's a tie going into halftime here at Sakuragawa High's Zone Amphitheater. And, man, has it been a brutal match so far! I dare say that the number of fouls today has been unprecedented in Kami High School Divisional League! Especially the ones that have gone right under the ref's noses, Ken!"
"Indeed, Mark! But it's so hard to prove those to be fouls and not as the accidents that they seem to be. Tsuyosa has a reputation for powerful, forceful plays. But, recently, stories have been spreading about a new style which is both dangerous and crooked."
"Right you are. But there's no way to substantiate those claims. Though, a review of past games might be in order... Now, let's look at these numbers! Tsuyosa's monster of a Power Forward and their number 2nd Year ace, Setsuden Kenta-sama. True to his heritage, he is the very essence of strength, working on a double-double in field goals and rebounds. He is 10 for 15 from the paint and has 9 rebounds so far. Sakuragawa's own starlet, Par-...."
"Mark, there seems to be a commotion at the referees' table! A player from Sakuragawa just walked over and declared something that has EVERYONE agitated! Managers, coaches and players from both sides are mobbing the table! Oh, wait, looks like Setsuden-sama is getting in the Sakuragawa player's face!! What is going on!?"
"Oh. My. Gods! Could it be? Oh, yes, Ken! YES! Looks like there's going to be a halftime JAAAAAAAAAMMM!!!"
"For the first time in three years, Mark, in Sakuragawa High, there's going to be a JAM at Halftime! AMAZING!!!"
"For those watching from home, a Jam is a one-on-one match using the full court. It's like a duel, only with Basketball! And, like a duel, Ken, there's always something at stake, varying anywhere from favours to consorts!"
"Especially with the players being the Scions of the Divine! But who's the challenger!? Wait, wait, wait! The announcement's on the video screens! Looks like it's... Sakuragawa's number 13, Akihito Konamo'i?? Against Tsuyosa's ace, Setsuden-sama!!? Who in the Nine Hells is this kid!? Mark, do you have anything on Sakuragawa's number 13!??"
"Well, Ken, for starters, we don't have much to go on, paper-wise. He's a transfer student from the States, starting his first year of high school here. Plays as a Center Forward, but his stats are non-existent!"
"He's a FRESHMAN!? He MUST be INSANE to challenge one of the best, if not the best, Power Forwards in the Kami Junior Leagues!"
"Hold on, Ken, something's not right here. That kid looks intense. Can you see that aura!? More info is required! We need the ORACLE!"
"Right then, Mark, I've got you covered. The mob and furor around the refs' table has dissipated, but can you feel that tension in the air? The stakes are on screen now: a female player from each side has been laid down on the outcome of the Jam! Whoever wins the Jam has the wagered player transfered to the winner's school!? On a best two-of-three Jam!? Incredible! Unbelievable!"
"The first player to score two baskets out of three attempts in a 1 minute and 30 seconds or under of playtime WINS. If Sakuragawa's number 13 wins, Tsuyosa will lose their talented - and rather pretty, she has a fan club dedicated to her in Tsuyosa - Point Guard Tetsubara Rin-chan. If he loses, he will leave Japan and Tsuyosa will receive Sakuragawa's star player, Parvathi Araviswanadha!! AMAZING!!!"
"Seems like some harsh words being exchanged between Setsuden-sama and Tetsubara-chan. The Sakuragawa bench is strangely quiet... Akihito is waiting, seemingly unconcerned, at the refs' table."
"And the two players have moved to center court... TIP-OFF! Akihito grabs the ball ahead of Setsuden-san. My gods, what a leap! And such height! But, wait! The whistle's been blown! What, Akihito touched the ball before it hit its highest point!? UN-BEE-LEE-VAH-BEL!!! Let's see that in a quick replay!"
"Ladies and gents, Akihito's height and wingspan may become a pain for other teams in future! It's CRAZY!"
"Returning to the Jam at hand, Setsuden-sama has possession and moves in at a quick jog after a quick bounce check from center court. Akihito is crouched between the three-point and free throw lines, arms out. Wait, he's straightened up! His posture's become very relaxed. His head is even crooked to the left! What is he DOING!? Setsuden-sama dribbles, here comes the cross-over and then, suddenly, dashes in, cutting past on Akihito's left! What the... But, Akihito is suddenly right in Setsuden-sama's face! How did he move so fast!? Setsuden-sama has been stopped in his tracks, almost right back at the free throw line! The snarl on his face is fierce! What is he goi-..."
"WOAH! WOAH! A STEAL, A STEAL! AKIHITO HAS STRIPPED SETSUDEN-SAMA OF THE BALL! HE'S GOING COAST TO COAST!! SETSUDEN-SAMA'S CHASING!!! THE CROWD'S ON ITS FEET AND ROARING LOUD!!! SETSUDEN-SAMA HAS ALMOST COMPLETELY CAUGHT UP!!! BUT!!! AKIHITO SUDDENLY LEAPS FROM JUST PAST THE THREE POINT LINE!!!! A LANE-UP FROM THERE, IS HE COMPLETELY INSANE!?!!!!"
"OH! MY!! GODS!!!"
"SLAAAAAAAAAMMMDUNNNNKKK!!! 18 FEET LONG AND 13 FEET HIGH AIRWALK A LA MICHAEL JORDAN!!! UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE!!! AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!"
"Look at this kid! So composed, so focussed! Just a small fist pump after his dunk! And Akihito calmly backpedals towards the free throw line. And there's the bounce check! Setsuden-sama is powering down woodwork. He's really pulling out the stops, he's so fast that he's almost a blur!!"
"But Akihito is keeping pace! Seriously, Mark, who is this kid!?"
"Still checking, Ken!"
"O-kay, Mark, and... WHAT A MONSTER OF A BLOCK!!! Took my eyes away for only a few seconds and the Jammers already made it to the hoop! But! An impossible block on Setsuden-sama's double clutch dunk!! Akihito slipped in between him and the basket!!! And Akihito is acting like it was nothing special!!!"
"Both benches are stunned! BOTH! I don't think that Sakuragawa was expecting this level of output from Akihito!!"
"Bounce check from the sideline for Setsuden-sama. You can almost taste the aura pouring off of him. He. Is. Pissed."
"And, yet again, Akihito is already up in Setsuden-sama's grille on defence! He's quick, I'll grant him that, his speed has been beyond fantastic so far."
"Less than 50 seconds on the countdown and 18 on the shot clock to go."
"WHAT!? THE BALL'S KNOCKED LOOSE! THEY'RE CHASING IT AS IT BOUNCES UPCOURT TOWARDS TSUYOSA'S BASKET!!"
"AKIHITO SCOOPS IT UP AND HEADS TO THE BASKET! A CUT-IN FROM THE LEFT, A JUMP, SETSUDEN-SAMA'S SUDDENLY BETWEEN AKIHITO AND THE BASKET!!"
"AKIHITO IN MID-JUMP, MID-AIR, DOUBLE CLUTCHES, SPINS OUT A 360 AROUND SETSUDEN-SAMA AND SLAMS IT HOOOOOMMME!!!"
"THIS JAM IS OVER! AKIHITO WIIIIINNNS!!!"
"Akihito offers a handshake but Setsuden-sama slaps it away and walks off. Ooooooohhh. But he suddenly stiffens mid-stride. Was it something that Akihito said?"
"Ken."
"Yes, Mark?"
"Sakuragawa has gotten their hands on a MONSTER."
"Eh? Sory, say that again, Mark?"
"Akihito Konamo'i. Born October 1997 in Hawai'i, USA. Moved to New York 2009. 6 feet, 9 inches tall, wingspan 6'10.5". Ticonderoga High School, Defiants, junior high to sophomore year in high school. Center Forward. Drafted to the Dark River Ferrymen of the Olympean Basketball Association in the beginning of his sophomore year. Played 6 first string games. Averages 20 points a game with a high number of assists, blocks and rebounds, usually double-doubles. Then took a leave of absence after February's end. Transferred here in July as a freshman. There are rumours that he's a Scion of Nike and his leave of absence was actually a quest of some importance."
"He's 17!? And a Dodekatheonite!? AND PLAYED FOR THE HADES' SPONSORED TEAM!? NO WAY!"
"I KNOW! IT'S CRAZY! Sakuragawa has a MONSTER of a player and I don't think that they even realized! But, let's get on with the Halftime Report, Ken, before we run out of halftime!"
"Right you are, Mark!"
"It's going to be a hell of a season!"
"Looks like it's going to be, Mark!"
---
The idea of writing a short story about a combination of basketball, high school and Percy Jackson-esque demigods through the eyes of a third party came to me when I was just thinking about creating a unique character for Scion.
Enter Akihito Konamo'i, Scion of Nike, part-Hawaiian, part-Japanese, the young man nicknamed 'Breeze'.
And then my brain started churning out ideas for the setting he would be in. And I thought wouldn't it be cool to set him up in a high school for young demigods. A step higher: what if there were several schools like that in a region. So Sakuragawa High School was constructed on an island off the Japanese shore and hidden by the Mist.
And the rest was a snowball travelling downhill from there.
I just thought that it would be cool to do a story using just sports commentary.
Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed typing it out on my mobile!
Cheers!
... it's time to jam now.
Friday, April 18, 2014
>>> A character makeover...
Character Biography:
Faolan, or "Mac" among friends, is not your run-of-the-mill Half-Moon. Faolan constantly obsesses over lore which he argues lends credence and support to the laws of our people. And to learn, he translates everything into music and sings to memorise what he needs to know by heart. An old Galliard of the sept was overheard remarking "that it was such a waste that he wasn't born a Galliard". It must be said that music runs in his veins, if not his whole family. The older brother of Siobahn O'Gallagher, born of expatriate common law parents, Faolan has always been immersed in music. Encouraged by his parents, he learnt as much as he could about music.
In fact, even his First Change at the age of 18 involved music, in a way.
It happened at a heavy metal concert, when a mosh-pit had transformed itself into an ugly riot. When his sister was in danger of being trampled to death, he felt his skin crawl, stretch and twist, unleashing the heart of Rage that he carried within. The period of his First Change is hidden behind a black-out; all he knows is that he woke up, semi-naked and covered in gore, several miles away in a deserted park with his sleeping sister cradled in his arms.
A few days later, while he was contemplating what had become of him, he was set upon by a trio of lean, sickly-looking black dogs. Standing in the surf, under the light of the Half-Moon, he Changed and held his ground, following the rhythm of the waters in his defence. He was rescued by a pack of Garou which had been tracking the trio of filth. Taken to the Sept and educated by his elders, he learned quickly of what he was and what he had to do.
He also learnt that his parents were truly kin in more ways than one.
Too bad that they're presently divorced and spilt between Dublin, Ireland and Austin, Texas. His younger sister Siobahn stayed with his mother in Austin while he moved to Ireland with his father. His parents are still on relatively good terms with each other, and still visit every once in a while. He has spent the majority of teens and young adult years travelling between both Dublin and Austin, trying to keep the family together in some form. However, most of his time is spent in Ireland, due in part to the Troubles. He speaks fluent Irish Gaellic and Mandarin.
He makes his money through his talent and passions by writing songs and lyrics for various recording studios and labels as well as by being a recording sessionist as he's able to play most musical instruments. In addition, he loves cars, with muscle cars a strange smog-filled corner of his heart. There are some rumours of him driving known IRA members around Ireland, though are enough stories of him hanging about the Black-and-Tans, as well.
He has returned to Austin due to suspicions of his sister being in some sort of trouble and the Wyrm beginning to rear its ugly head in and around Austin.
But, remember, Kin first, laddie.
... for a new chronicle.
Faolan, or "Mac" among friends, is not your run-of-the-mill Half-Moon. Faolan constantly obsesses over lore which he argues lends credence and support to the laws of our people. And to learn, he translates everything into music and sings to memorise what he needs to know by heart. An old Galliard of the sept was overheard remarking "that it was such a waste that he wasn't born a Galliard". It must be said that music runs in his veins, if not his whole family. The older brother of Siobahn O'Gallagher, born of expatriate common law parents, Faolan has always been immersed in music. Encouraged by his parents, he learnt as much as he could about music.
In fact, even his First Change at the age of 18 involved music, in a way.
It happened at a heavy metal concert, when a mosh-pit had transformed itself into an ugly riot. When his sister was in danger of being trampled to death, he felt his skin crawl, stretch and twist, unleashing the heart of Rage that he carried within. The period of his First Change is hidden behind a black-out; all he knows is that he woke up, semi-naked and covered in gore, several miles away in a deserted park with his sleeping sister cradled in his arms.
A few days later, while he was contemplating what had become of him, he was set upon by a trio of lean, sickly-looking black dogs. Standing in the surf, under the light of the Half-Moon, he Changed and held his ground, following the rhythm of the waters in his defence. He was rescued by a pack of Garou which had been tracking the trio of filth. Taken to the Sept and educated by his elders, he learned quickly of what he was and what he had to do.
He also learnt that his parents were truly kin in more ways than one.
Too bad that they're presently divorced and spilt between Dublin, Ireland and Austin, Texas. His younger sister Siobahn stayed with his mother in Austin while he moved to Ireland with his father. His parents are still on relatively good terms with each other, and still visit every once in a while. He has spent the majority of teens and young adult years travelling between both Dublin and Austin, trying to keep the family together in some form. However, most of his time is spent in Ireland, due in part to the Troubles. He speaks fluent Irish Gaellic and Mandarin.
He makes his money through his talent and passions by writing songs and lyrics for various recording studios and labels as well as by being a recording sessionist as he's able to play most musical instruments. In addition, he loves cars, with muscle cars a strange smog-filled corner of his heart. There are some rumours of him driving known IRA members around Ireland, though are enough stories of him hanging about the Black-and-Tans, as well.
He has returned to Austin due to suspicions of his sister being in some sort of trouble and the Wyrm beginning to rear its ugly head in and around Austin.
But, remember, Kin first, laddie.
... for a new chronicle.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
>>> Find a ship...
Korree "Kore" Glavian
Gearhead Racing Pilot
Corellian Human
Smuggler
Pilot/Mechanic
... find a pilot, keep flying.
Gearhead Racing Pilot
Corellian Human
Smuggler
Pilot/Mechanic
... find a pilot, keep flying.
>>> Brothers in battle...
Battle-Brother Caendirn
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Deathwatch Devastator Marine
Geiarsson Krakenspear
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Deathwatch Devastator Marine
--
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge
Space Wolf Iron Priest
Deathwatch Techmarine
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they were set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... clad in black and smeared with blood.
Space Wolf Iron Priest
Deathwatch Techmarine
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they were set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
Saturday, March 22, 2014
>>> When you're in a jam...
Black Ops Campaign
Character Idea
United Nations Special Operations Command - Omega Special Service
UNSOC-OSS
Personnel Dossier
PDF-S-FR-082D-31-8084055W
Classified: Top Secret
Djamel "Jammer" Charron
Sergent Chef
Recce Specialist
Parachutist/Armoured Cavalry
French Foreign Legion
Born in December 1982 of mixed heritage, the war orphan Djamel - or Jam to his friends - grew up mostly in Nice, France with Franco-American parents & siblings, though his adoptive family travelled substantially. Due to studying in an International School, he was influenced at an early age by American hip-hop and the British alternative scene. He also picked up a smattering of languages due to his circle of friends. He has a fondness for extreme sports, basketball, breakdancing, tattoos (he sports many on his body, including two full arm sleeves and Legion emblems along the right side of his neck) and very loud music. He possesses above-average creative talent and good physical co-ordination.
Djamel is an ever cheerful and encouraging individual, prone to behaving like a big brother to many. On duty, he is serious and cautious but is said to enjoy his assignment. At the age of 19, following the tragic deaths of his adoptive parents, Djamel dropped out of university and enlisted with the French Foreign Legion to, I quote, "to escape the Dark".
However, after his first tour, he applied for and gained admission to a correspondence degree program with a speciality in military history.
The Legion became a surrogate family, although he has kept in contact with his adoptive siblings, especially his younger sister Jean-Marie.
He has served four 3-year tours with the French Foreign Legion. He is a trained parachute trooper, but his talents were discovered to lie behind the [driving] wheel. After six years (two tours) with the 2e REP, he was transferred to the 1e REC to utilise his newly discovered talent. The rest of his subsequent service was then consequently spent in the recce company of the Legion's armoured battalion. Considered a veteran and a "lifer" (pegged for lifelong service), he has served well in many theaters, including Afghanistan as part of the Coalition's Peacekeeper Corps.
Djamel comes highly recommended to the OSS by several of our "talent agents". It is advised that Djamel be recruited to serve dual duties as both a scout (infiltrator) and skilled driver (wheelman) with his unique skill set and experience.
-
Theodore McHallens
Captain
Recruitment Officer
... and need to get out quick.
Character Idea
United Nations Special Operations Command - Omega Special Service
UNSOC-OSS
Personnel Dossier
PDF-S-FR-082D-31-8084055W
Classified: Top Secret
Djamel "Jammer" Charron
Sergent Chef
Recce Specialist
Parachutist/Armoured Cavalry
French Foreign Legion
Born in December 1982 of mixed heritage, the war orphan Djamel - or Jam to his friends - grew up mostly in Nice, France with Franco-American parents & siblings, though his adoptive family travelled substantially. Due to studying in an International School, he was influenced at an early age by American hip-hop and the British alternative scene. He also picked up a smattering of languages due to his circle of friends. He has a fondness for extreme sports, basketball, breakdancing, tattoos (he sports many on his body, including two full arm sleeves and Legion emblems along the right side of his neck) and very loud music. He possesses above-average creative talent and good physical co-ordination.
Djamel is an ever cheerful and encouraging individual, prone to behaving like a big brother to many. On duty, he is serious and cautious but is said to enjoy his assignment. At the age of 19, following the tragic deaths of his adoptive parents, Djamel dropped out of university and enlisted with the French Foreign Legion to, I quote, "to escape the Dark".
However, after his first tour, he applied for and gained admission to a correspondence degree program with a speciality in military history.
The Legion became a surrogate family, although he has kept in contact with his adoptive siblings, especially his younger sister Jean-Marie.
He has served four 3-year tours with the French Foreign Legion. He is a trained parachute trooper, but his talents were discovered to lie behind the [driving] wheel. After six years (two tours) with the 2e REP, he was transferred to the 1e REC to utilise his newly discovered talent. The rest of his subsequent service was then consequently spent in the recce company of the Legion's armoured battalion. Considered a veteran and a "lifer" (pegged for lifelong service), he has served well in many theaters, including Afghanistan as part of the Coalition's Peacekeeper Corps.
Djamel comes highly recommended to the OSS by several of our "talent agents". It is advised that Djamel be recruited to serve dual duties as both a scout (infiltrator) and skilled driver (wheelman) with his unique skill set and experience.
-
Theodore McHallens
Captain
Recruitment Officer
... and need to get out quick.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
>>> More geekness...
Battle-Brother Caendirn
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Storm Warden Devastator (Deathwatch Devastator Marine)
DW Caendirn
... pervades my vicinity.
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Storm Warden Devastator (Deathwatch Devastator Marine)
DW Caendirn
... pervades my vicinity.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
>>> Such a geek am I...
Geiarsson Krakenspear
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge, Blood Trail of Stars
Space Wolf Iron Priest (Deathwatch Techmarine)
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they wer set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... that I created a Deathwatch character for fun!
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge, Blood Trail of Stars
Space Wolf Iron Priest (Deathwatch Techmarine)
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they wer set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... that I created a Deathwatch character for fun!
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
>>> Going back through my past...
Well, this article sounds like an awesome argument for almost purely foot-based armies in the 'new' edition of 40K.
Especially when everyone is going MECHAnical heavy. With all those tanks, speeders, dreadnoughts, flying troopships, gunships and, Gods help us, TITANS.
And almost every race now has something that is the equivalent of the Imperial Titans. So, who says that the Galaxy is unfair?
Anyways, perhaps I'll eventually dust off my old army of Wolves and unleash them across the tabletop battlegrounds of the future.
Perhaps.
... and we find my love of miniature wargames.
Especially when everyone is going MECHAnical heavy. With all those tanks, speeders, dreadnoughts, flying troopships, gunships and, Gods help us, TITANS.
And almost every race now has something that is the equivalent of the Imperial Titans. So, who says that the Galaxy is unfair?
Anyways, perhaps I'll eventually dust off my old army of Wolves and unleash them across the tabletop battlegrounds of the future.
Perhaps.
... and we find my love of miniature wargames.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
>>> Resistance is Futile ver.3.0.8
Ver.3.0.7 : Call of Duty: World At War multiplayer trailer
I so wanna get this game now, looks bloody interesting!
Friday, June 13, 2008
>>> Who says that the Reds aren't hot?
If there is just one reason alone to play this game on the Soviet's side of the line, Gina Carrano as Natasha is probably that lone reason. She's fit, has a cool attitude, looks great and has a fantastic bod... what's there not to like!? Crikey, now I have to wonder whether Tanya's gonna to 'reprazent' for the Allies.
Coz, if not, I think the Soviets just won.
And if that isn't enough, my God, check out the benefits of being a Ruskie soldier!
Lol!
See you lot the next time round the Steppes.
Yes, this is just filler till the next proper update.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)