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Posts posted by 'Dread' Delgath

  1. "Pffffft," Dread's lips vibrated with boredom.  He leaned against the wall, where he'd been waiting patiently for awhile.  "Yeeeaaah...," He looked to the other's assembled.  "It doens't look like the others are coming and I'm starving... you guys wanna, like, go get a McMuffin or something?  I skipped breakfast."

  2. "I wouldn't know, because I don't do paperwork.  Because, you know, I'm a god.  I don't answer to people, people answer to me."  He shook his head, still not understanding how these 'gods' thought.

  3. "Sure," he shrugged.  "After all, Ruin and I are all kinds of impressive."

    Modesty apparently was no tone of the Warlord's virtues.

    "Ugh... where to begin."  He folded his thick arms and thought for a moment.  "Ruin used to be a spirit of nature.  Freedom, exploration, the wind, all that.  Anyway, when the sundering or end of the world, or whatever you wanna call it happened... it found it's way here.  Curious to see this new world it set about roaming the plains and countrysides in the form a horse.  Beautiful, majestic, finest of specimen of it's breed, yadda, yadda... you know how it goes with spirit types."

    He was an expressive talker, his hands moved a lot, conveying points as his words planted themselves and blossomed into the ideas he was expressing.  His frat-boy immaturity and party animal nature seemed to have bled away, indicating that when Dread was serious, he was deadly serious and far smarter than some might give him credit for.  "Then, Ruin had the misfortune of encountering the worst thing to ever to exist in all the realms, spiritual or otherwise."

    "What was that?"  Kamala asked, curiously.  Taking the cue of his pause while he gathered his thoughts.

    "Us."  Dread said solemnly.  "It was so beautiful and majestic, that a group of assholes of course had to chase it down, probably with the intent to kill it and hang it's hide on a wall.  Because that's what we do with majestic things.  We destroy them.  It was so fast though, they couldn't catch the spirit... until finally they did.  A group of thugs, raiders after the initial fist fucking the end of things delivered to us.  They chased i on their bikes, pulled it to the ground with chains wrapped in barbed wire."  Kamala could feel the heat radiating off from the War God.  Anger, rage, resentment, disgust... these were not emotions to the giant man, they were a palpable aura to deep that even the normally calm and rational Kamala could feel herself wanting to give into the baser desires of hatred and rage.  "Near death, they left it to bleed out in the wastes."

    "I came upon it, near death."  His eyes were focused on a point in time, not any anything particular in the present.  "For the first time it knew pain, misery, greed, resentment.  It knew vengeance.  All it wanted before its essence passed from this world was for those that wronged it to be destroyed and their souls scattered to the ether.  I promised I would avenge it, and in return it bound itself to me.  To save itself, it and I become one... War, and Ruin.  The cruelest and most malicious of them, the chopper Ruin takes the shape of, it was his.  Although it can still take the form of a horse if it chooses, it rarely chooses to do so.  It's existence is pain and misery, anger and contempt.  I offer what solace I can by trying to be its friend.  Indeed, Ruin is the only friend I've ever had.  Inseparable, literally, since I was eight."

    He smiled.  It was forced and mildly faked in a vain attempt to cast aside the miserable topic and memories.  "Which was pretty embarrassing at first... because I was too young for a motorcycle... so it took the form of a bike.  I had to pedal everywhere.  Don't get me wrong, it looked bad ass having a mongoose of chains and fire and skulls.  It was rad as fuck, but... pedaling.  Anyway, what Ruin was and Ruin is now... two totally different things.  The spirit of nature is gone, all that's left is the desire to take me into battle so I can cull the weak and pathetic from this world."

  4. The Lord of War snored loudly, sprawled out on the bar like it were his bed, which indeed, it was.   It was only a matter of time before the scandals rolled in, as his temple was a debauched mess of half naked women, men, and a lot of booze.  From some distance away a large splash of beer slammed against his face, lurching him up from a restful sleep.

    "My Lord," hissed Sydney in a disappointed tone.  She watched the god hop off bar, bare ass to world and on full display for anyone passing by.  Thankfully the establishment was far away from the road and dimly lit enough that it wouldn't raise to many issues.  "If I am to be your mouthpiece, do keep in mind there is only so much I can explain.  Also, you're late."

    "You sound irritated."  He grumbled.  "Christ, you're a Herald... we're not married."

    "You're... like a damn child!  You require constant supervision!"  She fumed, approaching him she whispered softly, to prevent any embarrassment.  "I woke up in a basin of beer with cheeseburgers smeared in places I didn't even know I had..."

    Dread chuckled.  "Yeah... sorry, can't help ya... I don't remember a damn thing."

    "You have an appointment, front gate.  Genesis Seed.  I have to clean this up."  She folded her arms, enraged.

    "You... have a little mustard..." The god reached out to her forehead with his finger to clean a large smudge from her.  She batted his hand aside and point to the door.

    "Out.  Seed.  Go."  Her tone was monotone and laced growing frustration.

    Twenty minutes later Dread Delgath, God of War, rumbled up to the gates to meet everyone for whatever it was there were supposed to be doing today.  Last night was a blur and this morning was quickly becoming one too.  Was it actually before noon?  He rolled up and cut the engine on Ruin.  He dismounted and walked toward them, the motorcycle rolled forward on it's own and drove downward into the ground until it had disappeared into  small ember filled trail.

    "Woah, did you guys miss a good time."  His devilish smirk told them there was nothing 'good' about it.  "Man, totally got my Anakin on last night.  I was slaying Yeunglings right and left.  Damn did we celebrate.  Good times.  Didn't see you guys there... at a celebration... for the men and women who keep this place safe and sacrifice their lives doing it..." He gave them a judgemental glare and a smirk.  "Shame, that."


    Ready to go when you are.


  5. Well, she could sing, he had to give her that.  He considered maybe suffixing his sentences with '...among other things', juuuuust in case people he introduced himself to couldn't quite surmise 'War God' hinted that skilled at things like killing, and war after he mentioned he was an avid equestrian.  Aurea, aside from being obviously bat-shit crazy, seemed the prime example why he didn't get along well with people.  She always seemed to want to state the obvious but tried to be coy and fell way short of the mark.  They're Courtesians... they fulfill desires.  It was in the name.

    He got it.

    Her being on stage didn't leave them much time to mingle, talk, get to know each other or introduce him to people.  These were strange gods, indeed.  He wasn't sure if they were all insane control freaks or showing off, or blatant attention whores.  They had to be in the middle of everything, the center of attention at all times.  From outside the restaurant the skull on Ruin's handlebars bobbed up and down, flames sputtering in the mocking pattern of laughter.  His mount could pick up on his anxiety and reservations, and found the shared thoughts hilarious.  The mighty war god picked up two bottles of whiskey locking them between his fingers and walked outside for a moment.

    "You," he said to the 'horse' while twisting off a cap.  "Can kiss my ass.  I'm nothing like these... city gods."

    All Ruin did was whinny and neigh, which sounded like the whirring of air flow and demonic churning from where in the engine that echoed to the skull.

    "I'm not an attention whore," he said flatly.  He turned up the bottle as the lid of the gas tank popped up with a hiss, brownish vapor that wreaked of rust and blood billowed out.  He poured in the whiskey, leaving the bottle in the hole to drain.  It went slowly instead of all going in at once, like Ruin was taking it shot by shot.  "I'm an egomaniac.  There's a difference.  Smart ass."

    "Your... horse, drinks whiskey?"  Came a soft voice from behind him.  He turned to notice Sydney, the caravan girl he'd claimed as his prize for today.  In the hour since he'd cleaned the place out and got the party started the Courtesans had cleaned her up nicely.  She had little to no makeup and like him, was in nothing but a denim pants and a black tank top.  Without the the dust of the caravan road she was even more radiant.  She realized he glaring.  "S-sorry, I should not have interrupted you, apologies my lord."

    "Ruin drinks more than me," he replied.  His lips turned to the slightest hint of a smirk.  "And I'm not your lord.  A war god can not rule, he must remain neutral in all things.  War doesn't take a side, it favors those who have trained, prepared, and whose cause is more fervently worth dying for.  You're more suited for this city life than I am.  You will be my mouthpiece here in the Arcology.  You will bring my way, my teachings, my training, to the weak."

    "If that is your will," she said calmly, swallowing hard as his steely gaze seemed enough to open wounds.

    "It is my request, and you've the right to refuse," he approached her, draping his arm over her as he led her back inside to the party.  Ruin gurgled and neighed, flashing his headlight eyes on the second bottle on Dread's hand.  "Hell no.  You get one, I'm going through another morning like last month."

    "Last month?"  Sydney looked up at him.

    "Oh, it got hammered.  Found it swerving side to side, trying to drag race old wrecked cars that hadn't worked in years.  Talking shit after it blew em' off the line, demanding pink slips.  It was embarrassing and fucking hilarious all at once."  With a nod of the head he ushered back inside.  He turned and pointed a finger at Ruin.  "Take that slow, and behave.  If I find you causing problems, I'm trading you in for a crotch rocket."

    They re-entered the party and he raised his arms high, praising his guests of honor: the soldiers of he Legion and the caravans surviving guards.  "Shots!"  He yelled.

  6. The game plan is simple.

    Dread needs dominion to invest in his power structure.  He won't actually be a war god until 3rd level, when the Word becomes his.  Once this whole Genesis Seed business is taken care of, he will go to Eden, Arizona.  If occupied, he will conquer it.  Once there he will rename it to Warrior's Rest and begin scouring the land in every settlement for the bravest and most skilled warriors and women and men who have the potential to be great.  He will gather them at Warrior's Rest and begin training them to be an unstoppable army.  The city will expand and more will be trained, until there is no one qualified to train (eliminating weakness in his people, and among the populace once the conquering begins).

    Once he hits 3rd level and acquires the Word of War he will begin to sweep across the country side, moving West first, conquering every settlement, village, and 'kingdom' that he and his forces encounter.  Those who do not wish to fight will be given the option to include him as part of their worship, or have it be done by force.  Until everyone, everywhere recognizes him, The Rider, as their war god, he will not stop.  He'll sweep up the west coast, conquering everything in his path and eventually sweep East until the entirety of North America wholly understands and accepts that his teachings and his writings on war and combat are the penultimate faith when it comes to warring and efficient destruction of one's fellow man.

    Warrior's Rest will eventually be upgraded to 'New Sparta', a city where only the finest and most blessed of the Delgathian faith are permitted to reside.  A place where every citizen is a soldier, and when called upon to do battle is the most capable fighting force in the multiverse.


    Repeat as necessary upon other continents until Dread is love, Dread is life.

  7. "To do what is right, what is easy, or what is necessary," Dread said softly, less to anyone in particular and more to anyone with ears keen enough to pick it up.  "The greatest war humanity wages is within each and every one of these hearts.  Castles crumble, kingdoms fall, but humanity never stops fighting, when this arcology long falls to dust, it is I who will still hold dominion."

    That thought pleased him.

    He ringed his fingers together and blew loudly an ear piercing whistle that instantly caught everyone's attention.  There, in the doorway, stood the god this establishment and one could almost hear a record scratch in the background as the music stopped and everyone fell silent.  He didn't bother introducing himself, why should he?  It was his temple.

    "Well, what do you think?"  Aurea practically cooed.

    "I think they're drinking my beer," he grunted.  It was hard to tell if he was joking.  "Alright, listen up.  You all have twenty minutes to eat, and GTFO.  We're having a private party this evening and rest assured, not a single one of you qualify for the guest list.  In this hall, we honor warriors and tonight we will honor the women and men who protect you and watch over.  Do them the courtesy of clearing as swiftly as possible and I'll do you the courtesy of not tossing you out myself."

    There was a sudden and swift river of people gathering their belongings and heading for the door, most didn't bother finishing their food.  He could sense it on the air, a scent a feeling, a sensation.  In one of the booths not far from the entrance an older gentleman, missing three finger on his left hand, sat patiently waiting to leave as people waded past where he sat.  Dread never met the man before, but knew he'd lost those fingers in Gary's Legion... fighting and defending what was important to him: the Arcology.

    The man sighed, shaking his head at the clamor and rush of people disturbing his meal.  With surprise he looked up as Dread's massive hand rested gently on his shoulder.  "You, Old Timer, are welcome to stay.  You have served your time and will want for nothing this evening, in my hall."

    The gentleman nodded, patting the god's hand.  "You honor me, Rider.  Thank you, I accept."

    Delgath looked to Aurea.  "Nymph... find a band.  I wanna piss the neighbors off..."

  8. "Great," Dread said with all the gruff of a dusty wastelander.  He shrugged at Sota.  "Build yourself an arm to pat yourself on the back, cuz I sure ain't gonna."  He uncrossed his arms and took a few steps forward, breathing deeply, then he chuckled.  "'Near-Utopia'?  This place is far from it.  Content is what these people are, sure, but I can smell the conflict in the air.  These people are weak.  A gilded cage is still a cage... they want more than what they have, more than what you provide.  Most are content, sure, but you have a way to go before this place is anything close to a 'near-utopia'.  The more you give, the more they'll take.  The more they'll want."

    "Politics.  Greed.  Corruption.  Welcome to 'civilization'..." he air quoted.  "Ah well, your problem, not mine."

    "Now... someone show me to my drinking hall."

  9. His eyes fixed upon the utter mess that was all these people living in seclusion and isolation.  The vastness of the cityscapes and the clutter of everything was enough to churn his stomach.  "Hmph," he scoffed.  "What a shit hole."

  10. I've got nothing.  Ready to move forward when you are.

    I don't see any reason to acknowledge the change.  She appeared, shouted a ton of profanities, then opened fire on a crowd of people... it's safe to say she was loony.

  11. The battle was concluded, it was time for celebration.  Sure, Genesis seeds and pantheons were all well and good, and worshipers were great too... but, well, who wasn't worshiping him already?  He was tall, cut, good looking, had a regular job and his own transportation... he was amazing and was pretty sure the world knew that.  Bout damn time he had a statue in his honor anyway.

    When Gary spoke over the noise Dread's smile grew big and his greeting even larger.  "Haha!  Death!  My fellow Rider, I thought that was you creeping in towards the end there!"  He threw out his arms and gripped Gary in a tight embrace, lifting him off the ground before setting back in place and smacking him a few times on the back.  He waved his hand dismissively at Gary comment about talking gems.  "Bah, are you still hung up on that?  We lived, they didn't.  And the battle was glorious!  Once we get all this Pantaloon stuff cleared up we need to catch up at the celebration.  There will be drinking, and sex, and feasting and sex, and," he paused, looking around as if he had not idea what to add to that (and there were pretty sure he didn't).

    "And telling of deeds," came a soft voice from the crowd.  It was the dark haired woman The Rider had set his sights on in the first place; his 'prize'.  Truth be told he saw her in the window of the bus and just thought she was amazingly hot and maybe would get to know her better.  There was just an army of beasts between her and him.  He had no intentions of helping any of these people, let alone claiming his rightful place as a god... he just wanted to impress a hottie and get laid.

    "Yes!" Dread bellowed, it seemed he was rarely silent and whispering was a foreign concept to him..  "We'll tell of our deeds," he wrapped an arm around Gary, pulling him in to be partner in the war god's mirth.  "And conquests.  It will be glorious!"

    He raised his fist into the air and several of his new 'Delgathians' threw their hands in the air and cheered.

    He leaned into Gary, "...and sex."  As if to not leave the sentence punctuated without the proper amount of events, plus sex.

  12. Ruin halted at the head of the caravan as Dread noticed no one seemed quite as anxious as him to leave and move on to better things, like booze, women, stories and women and booze.  The chime seemed to punch him in the ear holes as he winced and stuck in a finger, wiggling it around in a vain attempt at clearing out the noise.  As one may have guessed... it didn't work.

    "Uhh," he looked around for the disembodies mechanical voice.  "I'm Dread Delgath... I just said that, like twenty seconds ago... to her."  He pointed at he mounted fae on her unicorn.  "I want, uhh... titties and beer.  Not, like... my own tits, but like, someone with really amazing tits to bring me beer."  He dismounted Ruin and walked towards the gem, wading slowly through people as he did, making room for himself to get closer as the Fae girl spewed a million questions at it.  "All kinds of beer.  And uhh, that last question... wow, that's a uh, doozie.  I mean, why are any of us here, really?  I mean, ain't we been asking ourselves that question since we could ask questions?"

    "Why have it explained to you?" He said to Sigil, whom he towered over.  She was majestic and radiant to his primal... dimness.  "If you can't understand it without an explanation, then you certainly won't understand the explanation," he said to her with all the charm and courtesy she expected from a man like him.  "Sure!"  He said a loud to the voice.  "Set us up a Pantheon.  A Genesis Seed sounds like something I could have some fun with."

    • Like 1

  13. 3 hours ago, Aurea said:

    "Quite right, sir, quite right," Aurea agreed, dipping her head towards the huge warrior, giving his motorcycle an amused and intrigued smile. "That is a most fearsome steed. Will it allow another astride with yourself? I would like to ride... with you some day, I think. I am known at Aurea."

    "Dread Delgath." He replied in his standard deep tones.  He chuckled inwardly, but visibly.  "Sure, y'got the right amount of leather, way too many colors though... holy shit..."

    There was no doubt in his mind that she was quite possibly the most gorgeous woman he'd ever set his eyes up, and he'd taken many beautiful women to bed.  If there was one thing he'd learned about beautiful women: they were all crazy.  The prettier, the crazier.  Which stood to reason that Aurea was moon mad and all marbles and conkers.  Ruin revved, spewing a gout of fire and a demonic 'whinnie' of a horse was softly hidden in the grumble.

    "Yeah, yeah... I know exactly what not to stick into crazy, thanks."  He patted the gas tank again, gripped the handlebars and with a twist of the throttle Ruin's wheels exploded into brilliant flame and the mount sped off, kicking dirt and rock and fire.  "We ride!"

    He sped off to the front of the newly formed 'caravan', without taking the lead on what were possibly the luckiest mortal people in all the wastelands, for the sort of entourage they gained this day was the sort that only the wealthiest kings of the New World could dream of.

  14. Not to shake off what Aurea said to Dread, but she wandered off to talk about the stone, so I considered her words more 'casual' than 'conversation starter'.  So I chose to simply let her words stand and move on, maybe revisit them later.  Didn't want it to feel like he simply ignored her, because he didn't.  I just moved the moment past her words and into the moment with the stone and possibly leaving before the monsters came back.

    Oh, and those playing the home game, Dread was abandoned in the wastes when he was 6 and never given a formal education... so expect his ideas of what the world was like 24 years ago, before the Apocalypse, to drastically different from what so called 'historians' say.  He's seen all the archived footage about the laser sword knights and the dinosaur theme park, and those 'Avengers' guys...

    Don't believe their lies... it was all true.

  15. "Well," the big guy turned his shoulders, as if to loosen the muscles and stretch away the fray.  "My guess is she got it from the island of dinosaurs.  That's how they're made.  Little amber stones like that.  Saw it in a documentary about a theme park once.  Might be 'Aw-Strahl-Lean', he said, trying to sound out the word Australia from memory with a bit of an Aussie accent.  "It's an uncivilized land, full of monsters, where women roar and the men are thunder."

    "Also, might wanna walk while you talk.  Ain't nothing stopping those things from regrouping.  Ruin!" He circled his fingers and whistled loudly.  From the earth his motorcycle rose up like a shark from the ocean.  Like water, the ground gave way and simply 'pushed' the bike up at an angle like it was driving on buried ramp that lead to the surface and with a spurt of flame and a howl misery,  the Rider's 'steed' slowly drove itself to it's master's side.

    Several of the caravan guards still present made symbols of warding or gestures to their faiths as the chopper thrummed slowly past them.  The Rider was never was never viewed as an evil 'demigod' but he was certainly not well liked.  Fickle as the winds he was as likely to ruin a settlement as he was to save... they just never knew why and simply viewed him as a harbinger of War and... Ruin.

    He mounted the chopper, swinging his leg over the seat and sat back getting comfortable.  The ghastly contraption wailed and revved, spouting gouts of flame from the metallic skull's nostrils.  He smirked and patted the gas tank.  "Next time, Old Friend.  Next time."  He looked to them.  "We should be off, perhaps jib-jab about this at the 'Arc'?"

  16. As the bus sped away he knew the women and children would be safe.  He bear a look of surprise at the bus's transformation, hell, he made weapons appear from gouts of blood and fire and his motorcycle was a rage fueled animal spirit consumed by a desire to decimate all things.  'Weird' was pretty much par for the course in his life.

    Still he knew the people would be safe, and while he'd not planned on fighting any battles today, and, truth be told, he generally steered clear of the Arcology weirdos, a battle did indeed take place, and there would be a feast and a celebration of victory and a time to honor the fallen and praise those who stood up to defend their own.  Booze.  Boobs.  Battle.

    "God I love being me." he said quietly as soldier cheered and raised their weapons high in victorious celebration.  Several rushed him, praising his prowess and thanking him (and the others, but mostly him by Delgath's standards).

    8 hours ago, Krul said:

    "Perhaps, it would be safer for one of you folks to carry the treasure that we have brought."  The middle aged woman withdrew something that was wrapped up, about the size of a human's head and unwrapped the jewel, appearing as  large amber  jewel, but it was also glowing with a golden light and now that you have seen it, you realize at least a good portion of the buzz of power is coming from this jewel.

    The large savage looked to the other 'Paragons', waving away the gemstone.  "Not my place.  I'm not with the arcology, and I don't fight for baubles.  I will go back with you, celebrate the victory, honor the fallen, claim my prize, and be on my way soon enough."

  17. Dread swept his arm over his face to shield himself from  the explosion.  His eye were alight with the reflection of the explosion as he smiled wide and raised a fist high.  "Wooo!"

    His massive arms reached out and he grappled a lizardman, pulling him close by the nape of his collar like he was shaking it down in an alley.  "Did you see that!?" He  screamed at the poor lizardman who could only cry out in abject fear.  "Hahaha!"  Lizardman screamed loudly, his head bobbing like a bobble head perhaps in some prayer that this maniac would let him go.

    He pulled it even closer, they were nose to nose and the jovial mirth left his expression as he said through grinding teeth.  "I live for this shit."  With a sudden motion he punched the creature in the jaw with enough force to break its neck.  It fell limp to the ground while he took a moment to observe the battlefield now that he knew someone had his back.

    It wasn't good.  Even with all the assembled powers it was only a matter of time before the creatures realized they couldn't defeat the Paragons... but the convoy was still vulnerable.  These creatures were dumb, but they were driven by a desire to eat and survive, a desire Delgath knew all to well.  When survival was on the line, people and animals would do some pretty scary things to get their grub on.  He made a dash for the convoy.

    "The Rider!" one of the passengers shouted.  "The Rider approaches!"  A fear swept over the van as he made his way to it.  Dread's legend was known to these people and they feared that he was finished with one side and was now going to decimate the other.

    He saw the look of dread in their faces. As a boy growing up in the wastes he'd worn that look constantly, until he took it as his name.  By naming himself after his weakness he gained control over it and soon, fear was nothing more than a childish phase he'd gone through.  "Put it in neutral!"

    Afraid, the driver just shook his 'no'.

    Dread's shoulders relaxed and he raised an eyebrow at the man.  "Don't make me come in there," he said with the tone of a scolding parent.

    The van was swiftly placed in neutral.

    He leapt to the top of the van, not far from the floating pixie.  "We can't hold this line!  These people will die no matter the body count we rack up.  We need to move the vehicle!  Cover me."

    He leapt down, thrashing a few monsters who'd congregated near the rear of the vehicle attempting to pry the rear door open.  As skilled as they were there were just too many of them... they needed something bigger than fists and fire.  "Brace yourselves!"  He shouted at those inside the van.  He saw his dark haired beauty once again in the van offered her a smile and a wink.  "Hold on to something!"

    Deep down he touched that spark of the divine that separated him from humanity.  With a mighty cry he pushed the back of the van, running as fast as he could.  Since the weight of the van meant very little to him, he could run at a full pace even if it wasn't super speed.  It wasn't just so he could move the van, well, that was part of it, but the van was two tons of steel and framework that made an excellent battering ram.  As everyone hit the deck, he turned their coffin into a siege weapon, dozing over any opposition unfortunate enough to be in front of the vehicle.    Goblins and giant spiders became road kill in moments as he pushed forward.  With the van moved, they could prevent the enemy from surrounding them, they could force the enemy to face them head on.  They could form a line and hold it.  The soldiers kept pace as best they could, providing him with cover fire, trying to help him form a line.

  18. We'll get together later this week and plot something out for our independent masterpiece, featuring me and my trusty sidekick Gary.  Keep an eye out for awesome merch.

    Oh, I edited my Blood and Steel post to include, well some intro music, because I totally deserve intro music and fixed a lot of issues that result from trying to post from a phone.  It reads a bit more clearly now.

  19. The howl of an engine broke through the gunfire and screams.  The motorcycle looked demonic.  All polished metal with chains and skulls etched carefully across its surface.  Two straight chains, their links welded taught extended downward to grip the axle of the front tire.  The wheels were exploding with fire and the bike left a streak of flames behind it as it rolled down the road, screaming as the engine revved.  A horse skull, polished and metal, rested twixt the handlebars, its eyes were burning flame.

    The man upon the bike, his wild hair whipped in the wind, his thick beard and dark eyes paid no mind to the conflict happening around him.  When one drove through giant country and didn't bring weapons to rid oneself of giants... well... you sort ended up getting what you deserved.  Emotionless he cut a wide arc around the battle, his face expressing some dissatisfaction that this skirmish was taking up both available lanes of traffic and that was inconsiderate to other motorists.  He glanced over, seemingly unimpressed with the  flaming pixie raining fire down on an ogre.  Did she just seriously just try to talk to them?  They didn't seem big English speakers to him.  Still though, he had to admit it had flair, and he had a soft spot for that Old Testament shit.

    As he passed the center of the small convoy his eyes locked on a dark haired beauty.  Scared, fearing for her life.  She must have been in her mid twenties, busty, beautiful, and positively convinced that these were going to be her last moments on the planet.  He smirked and Ruin squealed out a complaint by launching fire and smoke from its tail pipes and flaring its eyes.  Ruin halted and the man got off his bike, looking like six and a half feet of angry biker with an axe to grind.  Thick leathers and steel-toed boots touched the firmament and the ground seemed to recoil at his steps.  War was a man made concept, it was out of balance with nature and his very existence was antithesis to everything that made the planet thrive.  He walked swiftly towards the battle, tipping a large bottle of whiskey to his lips, swallowing a large measure of its contents in several powerful gulps before he rose his arm and smashed the bottle to the ground.

    An ogre noticed his approach and howled a battle cry.  With no fear the man continued walking forward, offering a belch in reply to the mighty war cry.  Down came the massive club that was once a small tree upon the wild wanderer when suddenly and swiftly it stopped.  The man was stood there, arm raised, the club in his hand and held tightly.  He looked at the ogre as the people in the vans watched the newcomer as intently as they watched the fiery summer fae.  Obviously, no mortal had the power to stop an ogre's swing like that.  "I found out this morning someone cancelled my Columbia House subscription.  I'm not getting my twelve CDs this year."

    The ogre roared, jerking at his club but unable to free it from the vice-like grip of his opponent.  He finally let go and just thundered his fists on he chest and howled.

    "Yeah," he nodded.  "Pretty much my reaction too."

    A swift moment later the ogre flew backwards, bowling over rows and rows of lizard men and fellow giants.  The man waded into the fray, speed and power in perfect balance like he was born to every form of conflict.  In flaming streaks from his hands formed the outline of something before it became solid and real.  Five or six pieces of re-bar twisted and braided into the thick metal haft, atop it was nothing more that a giant block poured concrete that looked like it was torn from the earth long ago.  With every swing it rained corpses a split second later.

    Surrounded now by scores of enemies he was a buoy of calm in an ocean of misery.  His eyes seemed to glow like red embers as he played testimony to the fact that there was no weapon in the world more powerful than a human soul on fire.  He continued to fight; the body count continued to rise.

  20. Alright, so it stands to reason that at least one of you is aware of the greatness that is me.  So, the question is: which one of you milk drinkers is the soul lucky enough to have had the honor and privilege of basking the in the glory that is Delgath.  I will school you in the ways of crushing bone and rending flesh.  We will drink to the glorious chorus that is the wailing screams of our enemies.

    There will be beer.

    ((Translation for those who do not speak Delgath... "I'm gonna do an intro fic here pretty soon, which one of you, if any would like to guest star?  We'll kick ass, spread our name around and party afterward.

    I plan on drinking, a lot."))

  21. 'Dread' Delgath

    God of War (...and drinking, and breaking things, and terrible one-liners)


    Name: 'Dread' Delgath
    Description: Dread is a mountain of a man whose physique looks like it was air brushed onto him by a comic book artist. His body is littered with scars from previous battles. At six foot, six inches tall he wears his long hair loose, rarely tying it back. He can commonly be encountered wearing simple loose fitting pants of denim or leather and adorns himself in some sort of patchwork armor (that doesn't last long under the abuse he puts it through), generally under a long, road worn leather duster or jacket of some kind.
    Goal: To defeat any and every opponent that stands against him.
    Level: 1
    XP: 0

    Origin: The Apocalypse came when Dread was 6 and it took his parents. He's survived in the wastelands and forests for nearly 20+ years. He refuses to allow the world to beat him. He will continue to survive long after others would have given up.
    Past Career: Dread has ventured to places no sane mortal would dare to. He is a survivor and while he's made contact with the 'civilized' word from time to time, he always ends up where the conflict is... he's a warrior after all.
    Relationship: Dread has no relationships, sure he might bed a whore and drink til he can't see straight, but these are distractions, not relationships. His only non physical relationship is conflict. He thrives on it and needs violence to vent the anger of a lonely, dark existence.



    STR 19 (+4) 2 | DEX 14 (+1) 7 | CON 18 (+3) 3| WIS 13 (+1) 8 | INT 13 (+1) 8 | CHA 10 (+0) 11

    Saving Throws (Final, Base, Mod, Armor Pen):
    Hardiness: 11 (15, -4)
    Evasion: 14 (15, -1)
    Spirit: 14 (15, -1)

    Hit Points: 11

    Weapons: +5 to hit, 1d10+5, magical (regardless of weapon due to Steel Without End)
    Fray Die: 1d8
    Armor: 2 (3 Natural, -1 Dex)
    Damage Chart - Roll (damage) 1 or less (0), 2–5 (1), 6–9 (2), 10+ (4)

    Resources (Total/Free/Earned per Month):
    Effort: 2
    Influence: 0
    Dominion: 2
    Wealth: 0

    Words and Divine Gifts
    Endurance - Need not eat, sleep, drink, or breathe. Set your Constitution score to 16, or 18 if it’s already 16 or higher.
    - Amaranth Vitality (Constant) - Every fifteen minutes you heal one lost hit point per three character levels, rounded up, so long as you are still alive.
    - Body of Iron Will - Your natural armor class is 3. You are impervious to any natural environmental damage, such as that caused by extreme heat, cold, pressure, radiation, or vacuum. Such forces used as a weapon or hazard against you function normally. Armor or shields don't benefit this base AC.

    Might - Gain a Strength score of 19 and a +4 attribute modifier for Strength. This prowess allows you to lift or break anything that is humanly possible to so handle, though truly supernatural feats of strength require the use of a gift or miracle.
    - Thews of the Gods (Constant) – You are always able to pick up anything smaller than a large building and punch through, smash, or break loose any non-magical substance as a free part of your movement or other actions. This might is quickly deployed, but not finely-controlled enough to help damage rolls or other attacks.

    Sword - Treat all your weapons or unarmed attacks as magical, you cannot be disarmed, and you can summon any melee weapon you've ever used immediately to your hand as an Instant action.
    - Steel Without End (Constant) - All your melee weapon attacks are treated as magic weapons doing a 1d10+1 damage die, including unarmed attacks. As with all weapon-boosting gifts, you may use any attribute to modify attacks made in this way, provided you can explain how it is relevant to your style.
    - Contempt of Distance (Constant) - Your movement action can take you to any point in movement range, provided the path is unobstructed and there’s a target to hit at the end of the move. You could thus dash straight to a rooftop or balcony without navigating the physical route there. Foes too far away to reach in one round can be pursued over multiple rounds, but they must be attacked once reached. This pursuit can even extend into the air, supporting the you until you defeat the enemy or choose to disengage, whereupon you land safely at a point below.



  22. The ghoul child leapt up on to the mighty warrior, its massive talons dug deep into his flesh as it clamped to remain a hold of him.  The great warrio bellowed in pain as all sense and reason fled form his eyes and they were consumed with the intense desire to crush his enemy.  Its fanged mouth opened wide to bite into the flesh of his throat and as its head lashed forward a mighty fist kept it from it's mark, slamming ito it with the force of a battering ram.  The pale creature cocked to one side, shaking off the impact with a childlike moan and a shake of it's head to get its bearing.  It lunged again and a mighty fist punched it a second it a second time.  It shook off the blow with several blinks of its eyes to shoo off the dizzying spots.

    The child's eyes swelled up with fear at the realization that the large man had a grip on its ankle.  Dread winced and screamed in agony as he tore the child undead from his body and proceeded to slam it all about.  The walls, the floor, the ceiling, no direction was safe from the violent flailing of the indomitable champion.  Sated that the fell beast had had enough he savagely flailed it against the floor a few more times and threw it down, stomping on its head with a primal grunt.  Gore splattered as the wound made the foulest of sounds.


    Attack: Roll(1d20)+6: 19,+6 Total:25 (Critical Hit)
    Damage: Roll(1d3)+4: 2,+6 Total:8 (x2 = 16 damage)


  23. My hero...

    By the gods, you have a dagger, use it!

    Eventually Dread will stand aside and demand others begin holding their own.  There is no written law that says Sorcerer's can't roll around in the muck and fight.

    Dread was impressed with your use of fire... now he is rolling his eyes.  Hang your head in shame Kobold!  SHAME!  SHAME!

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