((I edited my post, but I'm still requesting permission to release the destroyer with an awesome portal effect looking thing))

Drogan was standing around in the darkness, seeing distant flames, and hearing sounds of combat. Something off to his left, surely no bigger then a dog, coming closer. He checked his gun, loaded, ready. Something pale stumbled out of the overgrowth, its eyes locked onto him, and its jaw dropped open, and a hoarse moan escaped its lips. Drogan grinned, he could use this as a weapon. As the thing came at him, he kicked it down, dropping himself onto it and pinning its thin chest to the ground with a knee. He holstered his gun, drew his knife holding the creatures head back with his free hand. He set the knife to the things neck, and began to cut.

  About five minutes later Drogan stood up, he took the suit jacket the corpse had been wearing and wrapped the head (Jaws still snapping and eyes locked onto Drogan the entire time he was cutting) up in it. Head wrapped in a jacket he set off, towards the combat, drawing his pistol once more.

(Assuming due to The Free-nubs exit that Drogan still has amulet.)

Drogan was to say the least, a little confused. He heard shouting behind him and disregarded it, he heard a fwoosh of spontaneous combustion, and smelt a deep earthy smell of decay and rot, and suddenly knew that something was raising the dead. And some idiot was fighting it with fire, probably a flaming sword. The heat of course made the blade more effective, but the fire itself was useless, it only made the dead more deadly. Flesh burns slow. Bone burns slower. But to each their own. Drogan reached for his gun.
((Mel, requesting permission to unleash the Destroyer with some cool looking effect thing))

Half-Life 2 wrote:

First im new here**

Second i didn't take over

Im ****ing tired of all your complaining so go get a god damn life
and **** your permit to

You realize that you brought this upon yourself, its simply due to the fact that you attempted to pretty much take over the plot, and kill the continuity with the whole race swap thing after making three or four posts.

   Im assuming you a little older then a ten year old due to our avid use of a four letter word, though then again this is the internet and im probably wrong. But if you are older then ten, show some common sense, and dont freak out due to something that you caused, dont tell people to get a life because they were in an online RPG, which you yourself were on.

  That being said, you have to get used to criticism, which is what "all our complaining" was, we all put up with comments on our posts, because sometimes we miss a detail and THAT being said, I personally welcome you to try again, but show a little restraint with your characters, I meant none of what I typed was meant as personal attack towards you.

**Edited spelling.

Drogan rose quickly, though not of his own accord, with the bearer's mind incapacitated, the amulet gained an embodiment. Drogans eyes turned black and his head snapped to the right. And off he went, moving much quicker then before and reaching the tomb of the Destroyer rather quickly. Soon it would awaken.

Drogan's mind burst into awareness, though he now had absolutely no control of his body, his thoughts were his again and he speculated upon what had happened and where exactly he was going. He also wondered at the wolf he had seen and clashed with briefly. And he wondered how he had managed to keep his hat. Such answers, he assumed, would come in time.

((Eh what the hell))

Drogan ran as if all the demons of hell were behind him and closing fast. The Amulet seemed to make him aware of every crack, every single pebble, every thing he could possibly trip on, anything in his way. Crossing a intersection, he had a sudden impulse to jump, which of course, he was powerless to resist. He did. Milliseconds later there was a car under his feet, the driver screaming in surprise. He was close now, the burning beacon in his head turned into a burning firestorm, ripping him forward on his own legs. He was less then a quarter of a mile away, Drogan could almost see the gate.

(pulling a val)


These words tore through Drogans mind at a hundred miles per hour, looping and repeating in every language spoken by man, past and present, and some which the human mind would never be able to comprehend and the human tongue was incapable of pronouncing.

His perception was both narrow and wide at the same time, drawing him towards the amulets single destination and moving him through the side streets, over fences and through buildings in what seemed to be a futile attempt to lose his followers. The call of the amulet over-rid these impulses to lose his followers, which at the moment were all that Walter Drogan's mind was capable of manifesting. The rest of his mind was telling him to run fast, lauf schnell.

And run Drogan did.

((Sorry about that, deleted post, was confused. this should go before post #66))

Drogan was still chasing after the runner, and had managed to get ahead of the others somewhere along the line. The man they were chasing was just ahead, and he darted into a store. Drogan followed, close on his tail.

Judging distance was something Drogan was good at, but considering that he was sprinting as fast as he could he wasn't exactly sure of the distance. Nevertheless he dived, and he managed to catch the runners ankle, and trip him up. He rolled with the runner, pinned him, and began to pry the amulet that seemed so important out of his hands. The moment his fingers touched it his mind was filled with a dull buzzing, and the runner snarled something about releasing the master. Drogan disregarded this as a mental attack and pulled the amulet free of the runners hands.


The voice roared, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, and the buzzing in his head grew to a roar he was lost in. His preception narrowed and he seemed to rise and fly forward untill a large rock in the forest came into view. A voice called out from that rock, and he was helpless to resist.

Drogan rolled and stood up of the ground, and began to sprint.

Drogan was severely regretting not bringing the Thompson,and had been ever since someone put a gun to the back of his head. Then a giant set of bones came to life and a bunch of goons teleported in and next thing he knew he was chest deep in crap, and you cant tread that like you can water.

He fired off  another round, shooting one of those guys who teleported into here in the face. He turned his head in time to see someone jump out of the window, and that someone was a werewolf, so naturally, Drogan followed.

Just as he was reaching the other side of the street, and still shuffling his cards, Drogan heard gunshots. He came quite close to dropping his deck from supprise, but instead he gathered them up, put them in their box and returned it to his pocket, and drew his pistol and knife. Now he needed a way in.

This problem was solved by a service door which had been propped open, he slipped in, allowing the door to close behind him and moved into what shadows there were, not wanting to be caught in the middle of a knife, or gun for that matter, fight. He continued through the halls, drawing closer the the snarls of werewolves.

He came into a hall, on the right side it seemed as everyone was focused on a wolf holding something in its mouth. Drogan grinned, and aimed. "I dont know what's going on at the moment," He yelled, "But I was hoping one of you fine citizens would be able to clarify things for me. Im new in town."

Drogan walked through the city. For the most part he was ignored by what pedestrians he came across, but he did draw a glance due to his outdated outfit ocasionally. Even the small amount of pedestrians he came across were proving to be a distraction, however, as he had not fed in quite some time, the warden fed him enough to keep him alive, though only enough to do that. He could smell the blood of each of them, and was just waiting for one to be alone, so he could shove them into the nearest ally and feed.

An old man passed whith someone who could only be his daughter, then a large dark-skinned man who looked like he would strugle much more then Drogan would like, and finnally a young woman who seemed to preoccupied looking at the ground and listening to music to notice anything before it was to late. As she came up next to him, Drogan slammed into her, stunning her in the process, and pulled her into a dark alley.

About fifteen minutes later Drogan stepped out of the alley and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. He straightened up his jacket, looked to the left and right, and continued to walk.

After a short while he came to what seemed to be a museum, the lights inside were on and it seemed that there was something going on inside. He could smell his kind, overshadowed by the heavier much more obvious scent of werewolves. Drogan grinned to himself and pulled the deck of cards out of his coat pocket, Jokers and Aces flashed in and out of view as he began to shuffle, walking towards the museum. "Might as well drop in and say hello."

"Sixty years. First really publicized criminal ever to walk through these doors, and first to come in during my career as a guard here. I swear they were all cheering for him. Every last one of them. All the thieves and murderers, rapists, cop-killers, everyone. They worshiped him. Most of them are out on parole now, some others got killed. Couple of them are still here. And their cheering again, you know why Samson?"

"No sir"

"Their cheering because that bastard Drogan is getting out today. And I swear to God, he hasnt aged more then a year."

*Please allow me to introduce myself*

They were cheering, the same as they had sixty years ago, all of them. The guards were scowling, the two escorting him through the cell block looked straight on, their faces blank, but he knew they were angry, he knew they were afraid. Drogan could smell their fear. Closing in on the gate that so many had only passed through once he looked up, into where the wardens office was. He could see the old man's scowl as Drogan made his way to freedom. The Warden was, or had been, one of the Silver Knights

  As he walked the chains around his wrists and ankles clinked, ten more steps until these guards, who he knew for a fact had still been in diapers while he was killing and stealing from men who were stronger and smarter then they ever would be, could take these chains off. He passed the threshold, a door slammed shut behind him.

Guard number one bent to remove the ankle-cuffs, while Guard number two did the same with he handcuffs. "Approach the counter, dirtbag." Guard one grunted.

Drogan grinned at him, and stepped forward. The clerk at the counter wordlessly pulled a bin from beneath his side, and placed it on the counter. Drogan took the bin, marked with his name and his prisoner number and set it on a bench which sat on the right side of the room. He pulled the garments out, inspecting each of them. They were in perfect condition, the same as they were when he was put into this building. He removed the orange prison issue jumpsuit, the same thing he had worn every day for the past sixty years, and began to dress in what had been his usual fashion. The pants, shirt, tie, waistcoat, coat, though he refrained from putting on his overcoat, on the grounds that it was quite warm. That being done he looked to the bench once again, and noticed something wasnt there. He turned to the clerk.

"You forgot something. Wheres my hat?"

The clerk looked up sharply from the newspaper he was leafing through, and then quickly looked under his counter again, he came back up a moment later, and handed a a black fedora to Drogan, wordlessly as always. Drogan grinned putting on his hat. "Thank you."

Outside was beautiful, even more so because of how long it had been since he had seen it without being behind a fence. He had crossed the threshold, There was a single walkway, leading out the open gates. And at the end, were his people, in the same 1940 Standard Tudor. Jonah riding shotgun, dressed differently then he had last seen him , but mostly unchanged like himself. Roland was behind the wheel. and Michelle was in the back, behind the drivers seat. Drogan climbed in, and picked up the deck of cards which had been on the seat, waiting for him.

"Where to, boss?" That was Roland.

"Im sure things are a little different, what do you think?"

"Marley's Point, not that far from here."

"Is there a coven?"

"Yeah I think so, im not sure how many strong."

"Hmm, do you think they could be a problem?"

"Never know for sure boss, but we can try to steer clear of them and if need be we can make things messy."

"Ok, lets get out of here before the warden decides to have his snipers do a little target practice."

And so the engine started, and Drogan left Murk Valley Correctional Facility behind him.

Name:Walter Drogan.
Age:230, appears to be about 28
Species: Vampire, regular
Weapon:Thompson Submachine gun, 45 caliber revolver. Large knife.


(82 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Were talking marines here. the Forerunners are gone. I think a 9 foot tall man in powerarmor with lightning fast reflexes could shoot a guys arm off before he managed to push said button


(6 replies, posted in Role Playing)

After the chat was updated Valthonin noted that we could do one of those table top rpg type things, as there is a dice roll system, so if you find something like that then you could do what you were talking about


(144 replies, posted in Fans)

BFFC therealmccoy wrote:

I got Ghostbusters for the PC and it's still really damn good.

fun game. i it have for the 360


(2,636 replies, posted in Role Playing)



(57 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Jonas was in one of the transportation variants, he refused to call them warthogs or pumas, on the account that he had never heard of either of those creatures. The closest thing he could think of was a Corellian sand panther. He actually thought that would be a good name for a light reconnaissance/attack vehicle such as this. The Panther. There was no way he was going to call it the puma anyhow, or the warthag, or worthod or whatever the sergeant said.

He looked down at his new gun, slug-thrower, optical scope, burst fire only. He was holding what could possibly be one of the worst rifles in the history of projectile firearms. It looked prone to jamming, the scope was slightly limited with just one magnification factor. There was no room for any sort of suppression, you couldn't change the fire mode. It was nice and light but that meant it would be a little fragile and might not make a good club if the need arose. At least he still had his rippers.

Can we be done nitpicking?


(2,636 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Lots of things.


(2,636 replies, posted in Role Playing)

C-3PO who desperately wanted that kind of attention from R2 D2 who was with...


(57 replies, posted in Role Playing)

The only issue i can see is that your not really trying to participate in the story line. Your just making up your own and expecting us to follow it. If you want to do that then starting an RPG is a better option as opposed to setting a character loose in vacuum and expecting everyone to jump onto their ships in order to save someone they have no connection to and dont know about.


(57 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Jonas pushed his way though the crowd, he didnt know why he had to get up to the Czerka staff, they could just as easily send coms to every one or just read their lists out. One of the staff was checking the list, and Jonas got the distinct sense that he was scared.

"And you are?" he said, looking at Jonas with forced disinterest, he probably was afraid the mercenary would hurt him for looking at his jaw funny, as Jonas had his helmet and arm sections retracted. and probably did look rather intimidating.

"My name is Jonas." Jonas said, and he would have grinned at the way the employee reacted to his voice, if he still had a jaw.

"Jonas.....?" The worker trailed off, asking for a last name to search by.

"Just Jonas."

"Ah" the worker muttered, keying something into his console. "Your assigned to the assault on the echani stronghold at the ruin. Report to the West gate by 1500 local time. Thats in about 30 minutes and its a two minute walk. The rest of your fire team will assemble there for transport."

Jonas turned and walked away, pushing through the crowd again and heading out, looking to see who he would be working with on the way.


(57 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Moments before the doors opened, Jonas began to feel a slight touch of nausea, the hairs on the back of his neck raised and his eyes felt as if they were being drawn to the door between the Czerka facilities and the main hanger. It slid open and a lone figure stepped through. Jonas was quick, as was every other mercenary in the room, suddenly every ranged weapon in the room with a line of sight was fixed on this man, who had walked into the room wearing Mandalorian armor. A group of security guards showed up behind him and there was a brief exchange, ending with the big tough security guard taking a shot, missing and somehow not starting a huge volley of gunfire in his direction. All he did was light the mercenaries cigarra, or whatever it was. Jonas laughed slightly, as did most of the others, but he was relived. As the Mandalorian made his way to the other mercs to be briefed and given a mission assignment, Jonas turned back,  holstering his pistols.


(57 replies, posted in Role Playing)

A small icon lit up on Jonas's view screen. He blink clicked it and the message opened up. He had been directed to proceed to the primary hanger. He changed his course and a short while later he arrived.

There were actually quite a few mercenaries in the hanger, and there were some ships as well. Jonas briefly considered bringing in the Maelstrom in, but decided against it, the ship was a little larger then most, and he didnt want to risk it being hit if the Echani or the Mandalorians decided to do a little bombing run. The ship would stay in orbit where it could quickly reach him if he needed support or extraction. He made his way to a stack of cargo crates, and wondering why he didnt do it before, triggered the auto-pack sequence on the parachute he used and handed it off to the nearest Czerka worker.

He returned to the crates and retracted his armor. He took a deep breath, the air making a slight hiss as it passed through his mechanical jaw. If he had a set time limit he might have been able to see a mechanic about his eye, but he didn't know when or even where they would be briefed so he would just wait here for now. His eye was behaving quite well at the moment though, which he was relived about.


(57 replies, posted in Role Playing)

((Hey, um its good to know that you guys all like firefly, but an actual post here and there would be nice.

Subing for Mandal cause hes gona be out of communication for a little bit))

Traya was looking over some of the files that had came up. Czerka Corporation and the Jedi task force had sent out an active request for mercenary aid there had been a few inquires and a few actual acceptances. She had a couple of files on the inquires, and two full on the acceptances. One of them was a human, not that remarkabe, except in that he seemed like he knew what he was doing from the file, a definite hire. He could easily pass for just some spacer if you just looked at him, which Traya guessed was valuable in his line of work.

The other however seemed to be an Echani, which was odd considering the nature of the assignment. She studied that file for a moment, he had some pretty bad luck from the looks of it, jaw missing, augmentative eye. Not much chance of going unnoticed. He looked rather intimidating due to the various disfigurements, she wondered if he had been as unattractive before a grenade blew up in his face, or he got on the wrong side of a man with a vibrosword, or tried to shave a wookie. The final image of an angry wookie ripping of a mercenaries jaw  was quite frightening and she decided to quit looking over the files. She leaned back and started thinking about the padawan that had been captured.


(2,636 replies, posted in Role Playing)

by quoting the author of this thread.

PresidentJuggernaut wrote:

Boba Fett was entering the atmosphere of the planet Coruscant, when suddenly

he began to wrestle a panda


(2,636 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Made boba fett a plot element