Now he'd seen everything.  Werewolves had been hard enough to believe at first, and he inevitably ran into vampires, which also introduced him to magic.  But he never thought he'd see the day where he was in a graveyard, being attacked by zombies.

"Fantastic."  He regretted having butted into the group's conversation when he'd first arrived, but his frustration had gotten the better of him.  As it stood first impressions didn't really count for much when one was assaulted by the hungry dead.

He drew Fate and Destiny, and barely managed to choke back his yelp of surprise.  The blades were on fire.  But they weren't melting.  That was good... he guessed.  There was no more time to think.  On the bright side, he didn't have to worry much about missing his targets; there were plenty of zombies to go around.

His gunblades sang through the air, leaving blazing arcs behind them as he slashed and stabbed at the hordes of zombies, losing himself in the fight.  it was simple action and reaction, no thought... everything was run by instinct.  And he could feel the beast inside trying to get out with every moment that passed.  As if he didn't have enough problems already.

The zombies had managed to cut him off from the others now, and were driving him into a very large gravestone, carved in the shape of a robed and hooded angel.  He slashed at the two nearest, not killing them, but slowing them down, and igniting their rotting flesh.  There were too many.  Black jumped back, planting the soles of his feet against the statue, and springing off, arcing over the crowd of zombies.  He landed on the shoulders of one of the undead, and sprung off, slashing at the groping hands of the unfortunate landing pad's companions.  He used this method of undead-leapfrogging to get past the crowd, and closer to the group of people who weren't trying to kill him.

"So.  Anyone got some great plan for taking out the hordes of undead?  As fun as it is to slash their limbs off like some video game or another, aren't we wasting a bit too much time on 'em?"  Anything further to be said was cut off as a zombie landed a hefty blow as Black came up from rolling away from another zombie's attack.  He landed on his back and slid a good distance coming to rest in front of a pack of rotting corpses. 


The zombies closed in.

Black swore softly as the Peterbilt, now containing parts of the hummer crew  sped off.  One would think a vehicle of that size would be easy to follow in late night traffic, but as luck would have it, various drunk drivers and road hogs made it less than  ideal.  He was fortunate though that the combined scents of one werewolf, two humans, and the exhaust of the truck managed to remain quite... unique. 

As such, he was able to follow without having to completely panic... even thought the truck did have a decent head start on him.  What was with him and running into the worst possible situations at the worst times?

You almost lost them there.  When will you realize the full potential of your true self?  As a wolf, you could track their scents to the ends of the earth and back!

"I will not use this curse in such a way."

I find it funny, Morgan, that you are willing to use it to the limited extent that you do, but are not willing to go any further.  Surely you realize that in this company, you are the most disadvantaged.

"As I am in no company, this fails to concern me.  And as for the others, why, it is but one other wolf, like me, and two humans; armed, to be sure, but only two."

And you think you can take them?

"What?  No.  I was just responding to your ... I don't intend to fight... never mind."

The argument continued in that way as long as Morgan held the scent.  Eventually, his tracking paid off.  Up ahead, he saw the parked truck; it appeared to be empty.  Black parked his cycle, and took Fate and Destiny from the saddlebags; slinging their sheaths over his shoulder, and securing them to his back.

A cemetery.  Quaint.  He heard voices up ahead, and headed quietly in that direction, enduring more snide comments from the Voice instructing him to accept the change and all its power.  he saw the source of the voices, and reflexively snarled.  The two humans were there, as was the male lycan.  Across from them stood another lycan, whose scent was familiar, and two creatures that smelled, well, like death itself.  Vampires.  Quite the diverse group.  The female lycan was speaking.

"... is Ronsom, and Emeline. Two vampires who also want to fix this universal problem we have."

Morgan assumed this 'problem' had to do with the strange teleporting caster creatures.  His common sense told him to walk away, leave this town, and not get involved.  but rarely had he listened to the voices in his head.  So he went with his gut impulse, his instincts.  And he spoke up.

"I ride into town, and nearly get run over by a Hummer being hijacked by a vampire, and immediately get attacked by teleporting magi.  I've had a long night, and none of it particularly pleasant.  So I have to ask.  What exactly is going on in this place??"

Well, having strange creatures pop out of thin air hadn't been high on Black's "this is what I expect to happen tonight" plans.  Then again, those plans rarely went down smoothly.  He fired a round at one of the creatures, missing, but causing it to jump away from him, giving him time to sweep Fate around, and remove its head.  Apparently, the vampire-threatening werewolf had decided to join up with the occupants of the Hummer.  In the current situation, Black didn't blame them.  He killed another minion that had tried to 'port in behind him, and growled low in his throat.

Go on, do it.  Embrace the change.  Become what you need to so that you can kill these pests.  Show them true power!

"NO!"  Black leaped over the hummer, and killed two more of the creatures, fighting not only against them, but against himself, and the monster beneath his skin.  It was then that he heard the sirens approaching.  They would ask too many questions that he did not want to answer; he had to get out of there.  The Hummer crew was crowded behind a pickup truck, one of them on a motorcycle.  So far, everything seemed to be hinging on them, for what reasons, Black didn't know.  Whatever the reason, these magical creeps made this personal... and the hummer crew were in the best position to give him an explanation.

He sprinted the distance to his bike, and revved the engines, just in time to narrowly avoid getting hit by a Peterbilt truck.  This just wasn't his night for riding...

One of the figures had a gun.  Figured.  Morgan brought his gunsword to rest beside him, in the other person's view.  it wasn't a threatening gesture, but it showed that he didn't have any surprises up his sleeve.

"My name is Gre-- Morgan Black.  I just got into town.  What is going on over here?"

As he said that, someone growled behind him, snarling, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take off your sorry head and be done with another of your wretched kind."

Morgan turned to look, immediately cursing himself for turning his back on the jumpy guys with guns.  There was a man in tattered pants holding a scimitar to another figure's neck.  The hostage appeared pale and kind of twitchy.  The swordsman appeared... feral.  Wait.  He smelled like a werewolf, musky and animalistic, with a barely checked rage.  Black's grip tightened on Fate but he would rather he find out what was going on in this messed up town before he started firing blindly.  So he slipped to the side, in such a way as to keep the Hummer crew and the newcomers in his field of view.  And that was when he realized it; there were two werewolf scents...and one of them female.

Black was having a very difficult time trying to keep pace with the Hummer, which was weaving sporadically and at breakneck speeds through the streets.  He hadn't had this much actual fun in... a very long time.  Up ahead, the Hummer slammed into a a roadside store, Chinese, from the look of it.  Black braked and swung the bike around, tires screaming in protest at the shift of direction and momentum.  He propped the cycle on its kickstand, and withdrew Fate from its saddlebag, checking to make sure that it was loaded with eight bullets.  Black stalked toward the overturned Hummer cautiously, muscles tensed and alert.

He could see a couple figures struggling out of the wreckage, grumbling to themselves, one of them calling another one Squire.  He supposed that that was his name.  Keeping Fate casually at his side, but in a way that would be easy for him to draw it up in case of an attack, he advanced.

"Hey," he called, "is everyone OK over here?"

Black roared into town, glad to finally have put the horrors of his past behind him, and to have the future before him.  It was a relief to put the whole werewolf problem behind him. He had just finished the thought, when two things happened.  The first was the smell of werewolves and blood.  the second was a peculiar tickling in his head.  It was almost primal in its nature, a sudden desire to return to his master's resting place and let him- No.  That wasn't right.  Black had no master...

He heard the roar of the Hummer's engines just before it barreled  around the corner.  He pulled hard to the left, narrowly missing the side of the vehicle.  Morgan wheeled the bike around, and shot off in pursuit.  He didn't know what was going on, but he did see the vampire imbedded in the Hummer's hood, clawing towards the driver.  If the creature got to the innocents inside the vehicle while Black went about his business, he'd never forgive himself.  He gunned the engine and accelerated after the fleeing car.

I've heard a lot of good things about District 9, but have been unable to see it yet. sad  I cannot wait to do so.

(The only possible problem I have with this is the silver bullets used for eight bullets.  Would proximity to the bullets, shielded by a gun’s magazine/chamber and a sheath cause harm, or would he be only harmed if the bullets were lodged in his body?  If this doesn’t make sense, just continue reading the post.  If there are any problems, let me know, and I will edit accordingly.)

Name: Morgan Black
Age: 113
Species: Regular Werewolf
Gender: Male
Weapons of Choice: He wields two of these, named Destiny and Fate: (The gun’s barrel for mine is longer than the one in the pic, but the image is close enough.  It has eight shots  per gun)
Appearance:  (He doesn’t wield the guns, but other than that, he’s identical, maybe with a black T-Shirt on under the coat, but not necessarily)
Mode of transportation:
Personality: Despises werewolves, and really dislikes vampires.  He’s a “lone wolf†, without a pack, and likes it that way.  He is incredibly bitter, and may be slightly psychotic, as he consistently hears the Voice in his mind, the aspect of his personality that nags at him to fully accept the powers of a werewolf.


Morgan Black stared out over the lengthy expanse of the highway.  He was miles away from everywhere, in the middle of nowhere, and all because of one man.  In truth, it wasn’t actually a man, but a monster, especially in Black’s mind.  This creature had killed his parents when he was 13, and cursed him with his life.    And he hated him for it.  Black had followed, no, hunted, this thing across the country for the better part of his life, always frustrated by the creatures ability to stay just one step ahead. 

As he kicked the cycle to life, and roared down the highway, trench coat flapping behind him in the wind, his mind wandered back to the early days, the days where he did not realize the true nature of his curse. 


His parents had taken Morgan on a little trip into the woods, for a family outing, the day had been crystal clear, sun high in the sky, but the forest had even then seemed dark and foreboding.  Nevertheless, his parents brought him into the forest.  They had had fun, with Morgan playing by the banks of a stream, watched by his loving parents, oblivious of the time.  When night fell, they remembered that they should have been on their way home hours ago.  They packed up their things, and made their way back through the forest, dry twigs snapping underfoot, and the wind whistling in the trees. The birds had gone silent, as the diurnal ones slept, and the birds of the night awoke.  Then they heard the howls.

His parents urged him to run faster, and he did so, motivated by a primal fear.  That was when the creature leapt out of the trees at them.  It was a wolf, but far bigger, and more menacing than anything they had ever heard of or seen.  The worst part of it was the cunning, almost sentient gleam in its eyes.  But there was little enough time to examine the beast. 

It snarled, and leapt at his father, tearing into his chest and throat, spraying Morgan’s mother with blood, unheeding of her screams as she ran for her life.  After making certain the Morgan’s father was dead, the creature attacked his mother, easily closing the distance between the two, and tearing into her back and neck.  It then gorged itself on the two corpses, while Morgan watched, traumatized.  His breath came fast, his heart racing enough to shatter his rib cage, but he couldn’t move out of fear.  The creature stiffened, and saw him.  It leapt upon him, powerful jaws biting hard on his shoulder, just as a revolver sounded in the woods.  The creature let go of Morgan, and fled into the night, sated by its meal.  Morgan thought he had been lucky to survive when the game hunters found him.  He hadn’t known then what he would become.


Black blinked back the memories, fighting against the tears of rage and sorrow that trickled down his face.  He was closing the distance between him and the creature.  Whatever happened tonight, this nightmarish chase would finally be at an end.


When he first changed it was when he was alone, visiting the very woods where his parents died, on a night of the full moon.  He was terrified at first, but slowly became entranced by the ability.  He was a smart child, and soon realized the change coincided with the full moon after three months.  So he went out of his way to avoid human companionship on those nights, running free in the woods, hunting deer or other game to satisfy his hunger.  He thought he had his gift under control.  He was wrong.

He was in his 20’s now, old enough to attend university.  He went into zoology, hoping to learn of what sort of creature had attacked and killed his parents.  He was not prepared for the realization that the information about the creature came not from scientific books, but books of myth.  Everything he already knew was confirmed when he read the legends of the werewolf.  It also explained how he could change into a wolf under the full moon.  He was confident though, that he could keep the beast under control.

It was in his fifth year of university, and he was out with some friends, having finally allowed himself to socialize with others, now certain he could prevent himself from hurting them.  They wanted to explore the woods out by where mysterious disappearances had been happening, out of curiosity.  He knew it would be a full moon tonight, but he was confident that he could get his friends back home, and away from him in time.  He also held hopes that he could hold off the transformation if worst came to worst. 

He didn’t get into the exploration as much, as he was reminded of the night his parents died, despite the requests of his friends.  And that was when it all went out of control.  His friends had gone down to a stream, entranced by the possibility that the kidnapper (what they thought caused the disappearances) used the stream to hide the scent of the victims.  Then Morgan felt the change coming on.  He was scared, so he ran as far as he could from his friends not wanting to hurt them.  But they, loyal to the end, went after him, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

The next ten minutes were a blur, coming into clarity as Morgan came under control, and saw the mangled corpses of his closest friends, his hands stained with their blood.  That was the exact moment he knew that his abilities were not a gift, but a curse.  He changed his name that night to Morgan Black, Morgan meaning terror, nightmarishness, or monstrousness, and Black for the colour of the night.  His new life began that night.

For the next few decades of his life, he honed his tracking and fighting skills, doing research to find the areas with the highest werewolf concentrations.  When he felt he was ready, he began his hunt for the creature that ended his old life, and began his cursed one.  He had managed to get his gunswords custom made by an old blacksmith/gunsmith, using .44 caliber rounds.  Because of his werewolf given strength, the additional weight of the blade was not a significant factor to his aiming and shooting.  With the weapons in hand, and inner resolve he began to seek out the creature that had turned his life into a walking nightmare.


He saw the exit sign to his right, and left the highway in a roar, not wanting to slow down now that he was so close, but not wanting to draw the attention of the police.  He saw the forests to his right, and could practically smell the wolves inside.  He slowed down, and brought his bike to a stop.  Morgan used nearby foliage to conceal the vehicle, and drew his gunswords and their sheaths from their saddlebags on the bike, strapping them on his back.  With the sheaths in place, he drew both blades, and entered the gloomy woods.

This one is older than you, and more experienced, Gre– Morgan.  Eight silver bullets in one gunsword wont be enough to deal with him and his guards.  If you want to truly end him, you have to embrace the powers within you.

“NO!  Once he’s dead, I will have no more use for this curse.â€Â

Curse?  This GIFT gives you the strength to avenge the deaths of your family.

“But it was I who killed my friends.  With this curse.  No.  I will use it to kill him, and then I will find a cure.  Even using it now disgusts me.â€Â

You are blinded by your rage, Morgan.  When he is dead, the cloud will be lifted, and you will see this gift for what it truly is.

“I just want my life back.â€Â

Morgan shut out the Voice’s complaints, and scented the air.  He could smell the creature; the scent was unmistakable, even after all these years.  There were others like him, cursed, but they actually reveled in it.  He didn’t have enough silver to kill them all.  But he didn’t need to.  If he injured them enough, they would not be of any significant threat or hindrance. 

Remember use, all eight bullets.  You know how much they burn, even from here.  You don’t want this pain any longer than you need.

He began to jog, using the creature’s scent as a beacon.  He could feel his senses pick up what normal humans could not, and could feel the exhilaration of  the hunt course through his veins.  His prey was close, and he would bring him down and devour –

No, he had to keep control; he couldn’t let the monster out now, not so close.  His legs pumped, and he ran through the woods, the wind in his face, and his mind focused on what he had to do.  Already he could hear the creature’s gravelly voice.  And then he entered the clearing, and saw the wolf before him.  The creature shifted, standing upright and becoming a half human, half wolf monster.  He was surprised.  He had not run into any guards, nor were there any in the immediate area.  That made things easier.

“I was wondering if you’d ever make it.† It snarled.

“You should not have used such useless underlings.  They’re dead now, in case you’re curious.â€Â

“I can’t say I’m not surprised.  Like father, like son.â€Â

“You are NOT my father!â€Â

“Oh, but I am.  I brought you into this world, and I gave you true life.â€Â

“You cursed me!  Because of you, my family is dead, and my friends are gone.â€Â

“And I’m supposed to feel sorry for your little sob story?  Please.  We are hunters.  I hunted.  I have no regrets.â€Â

“Then you won’t mind dying.â€Â

“You?  Against me?  You should be asking yourself the same question.â€Â

“Oh, I am perfectly ready to die.  Are you?â€Â

Black leaped at the wolf-man, swiping his blades down before him.  The wolf-man hopped back, and slashed at Black’s face as he landed.  Black backflipped away, and kicked the creature in the snout.  He followed up with a quick thrust of one blade, while sweeping the other one across from the left.  The creature twisted to the side, the thrust grazing his fur, but meeting the slash full-on.  Its hide was thick, and the blade bit hard, but did not score a fatal blow.  Black pulled his blades back, and prepared for another attack.

The wolf-man was faster than he thought, and sprung, knocking Black down, and landed a powerful punch to his gut.  Black danced back, and fired the gun loaded with the silver bullets.  The bullet grazed the diving wolf-man, and vanished into the trees.  The creature’s momentum threw it at Black, the collision smashing both of them into a tree.

The wolf-man’s claws left deep cuts on Black’s chest before he managed to kick it off of him.  It handsprung away, landed, and jumped at him once more, jaws agape, and claws ready to rend.  Black didn’t try to dodge the attack.  Rather he lunged to meet him, both blades extended.  The wolf-man didn’t have time to alter its trajectory.  Black’s blades impaled the creature, up to the gun’s barrel.  Black swung the skewered beast into a tree, and grimaced at the pain in his chest from the creature’s frantic clawing.

“You have got to die.â€Â

He then pulled the trigger of both guns, again, and again, and again, until each gun’s eight-round chamber was emptied into its belly.  Black yanked the blades out of its stomach, and let the creature slump to the ground.  Seven silver bullets was plenty enough to kill him.  And without their presence gnawing at him, even from within the gun’s chambers, he felt stronger than he did coming in.  His chest burned like fire, and he knew he was bleeding badly. 

Black cleaned his blades quickly, and sheathed them.  He sprinted back to his bike, hoping he got to the bandages fast enough.  He got to the bike, removed his coat, and whipped open the saddlebags, snatching the bandages, and wrapping them tightly around his chest.  He popped a pain-pill, and put the coat back on.  This took about four minutes.  Black placed the gunswords and their sheaths in the saddlebags, and fastened them.  He then took off, the motorcycle’s engine roaring in the evening air.

A left turn, followed by a right took him to the highway.  The creature responsible for his curse was dead, and his unnatural life stretched before him like a shadow.  He would find a cure for his condition, and preferably sooner than late.  So wrapped up in was he in his thoughts, that he did not notice the sign to his right, informing him that he was 52 miles from Marley’s Point. Had he known, he would have turned around, and never looked back.  He was 52 miles from where his life had changed forever.  With any luck, it would be where his life changed again, for the better…


(737 replies, posted in Role Playing)

All right!  Boba Fett himself was in charge, and Ma'ryk adn Ralin were going to kill them some PK's.  In his bounty hunting days, Ma'ryk had heard many tales of the famous bounty hunter, and he could honestly not tell which ones were exaggerated or not, having looked at the legend.

Now, sitting secure in the cockpit of the Stingray, Ma'ryk gazed out at rhe expanse of space looming before him.  He had practically lied in the YT-1930 craft, and it was as familiar to him as his own armour.  This wouldn't be the first time he took it up to aid his fight.  Luckily, the ship held together perfectly. He smoothly joined the formations of Mandalorian fighters as they systematically began wiping out the PK bombers.  He noticed one break away from the pack, whether to escape or take out another target, he didn't know.  He banked off in pursuit.

The bomber's pilot was not bad, and managed to stay just barely out of the Stingray's targets.  Ma'ryk fired off a cluster missile, with negligible results; only one missile actually hit the diving bomber, and even that blow was absorbed by the shields.  Then the bomber pulled into a U-turn, and came straight for Ma'ryk, its blasters blazing.  Ma'ryk dove under the bomber, bringing his quad lasers to bear, and letting loose.  He was successful this time, overwhelming the shields, and forcing the bomber to retreat.  This time it was child's play to immobilize the bomber with his ion cannons, and finish it off with his standard cannons.  He was rewarded with the explosion of fire in his viewscreen.

He checked his readouts; minimal damage to the ship; all systems still well into the green.  If things went this well contiually over Mandalore, maybe he'd be able to make that appointment to Korriban after all.  He smiled beneath his helmet, and flew back to join his vode.


(737 replies, posted in Role Playing)

((I'm back.  Let me know if I mis-interpreted what is going on; I'm a little hazy still))

Despite his misgivings about the Jetiise, Ma'ryk had to be impressed by their latest performance.  Throwing a bomb back at it bomber, without even touching it; now that was something.  He didn't care much about their philosophies, but that power, that was tangible, something to either fear or respect.  And in these days of war, power like that was welcome, if it fought for his side.

He had spent much of the battle alongside Ralin, now commander of the Mandalorian forces.  Ma'ryk was never one for the spotlight, and he had managed to stay relatively unnoticed off the battlefield.  On it, he was not so lucky.  His sniper had been destroyed in an earlier skirmish, and he had lost his blaster rifle.  As a vibrosword isn't much of a long-range combat weapo, he had to scrounge around on the battlefield for a replacement.  Fortune smiled upon him, and he had been able to find a fully operational Golan Arms FC-1 Flechette launcher, which allowed him to actually fight back for a time, albeit not being suited for long range.  A further search after the fight had yielded a modernized and upgraded Mandalorian Ripper pistol.  Since its former wielder was not getting any use out of it, Ma'ryk took it.  His final issue; the long range weapon deficiency, was solved with teh discovery of a Verpine shatter-gun sniper, which he took up when he saw it.  With his vibrosword at his back, alongside the shatter-gun, and his new pistol in his hip holster, ((the Flechette became his primary)) he was ready to take up the fight again, and had been doing so for a while now.

The Jedi were taking off, it seemed, leaving Mandalore to fight its own battles, the way it had been doing for millenia.  A nearby explosion shook him out of his reverie, and he took cover quickly.  The battle for Mandalore wasn't over yet.


(54 replies, posted in Role Playing)

"We were around at the wrong time.  At least, I was."   Zach replied.  "I was on night-patrol overhead when it happened, so i'm a witness."

"Witness to what?" Eva looked slightly puzzled.

"We don't quite know.  Well, I don't really.  Griggs?"

"We mercs were, ah, running escort to one of CCP's pet projects.  Very hush-hush.  Along the way, the pet projects kinda got loose. The driver was killed, and a buncha SF's came outta the truck and ran for the hills.  Turns out their delivery was about six ceatures.  They were fast, strong, and real tough; took about a full clip of ammo apiece to bring one down.  The other five are still out there.  After we sort of cleaned up their mess, the SF's came back, and tried to eliminated all witnesses.  We didn't like that.  The other merc squad didn't make it, but we made sure that the SF's didn't either."

"Me, I just flew overhead, and happened to catch the breakout at the beginning.  One of the SF's spotted my spinner, and called it in."  Zach put in.

Eva just nodded, looking thoughtful.  Zach took the prime opportunity to devour more of the beef stew.  When this was all over, he'd make himself a regular to the place; the food here was fantastic!  As he chewed, light bulbs went on in his head.

"Hey, guys, I've got an idea.  I know a place, where, as I said earlier, I can get us a ride.  What if we rode up to CCP, and did some digging.  You know, for more info on those creatures or something.  Try to get some answers, or even just a couple more pieces for this messed up jigsaw puzzle. What do you say?"


(54 replies, posted in Role Playing)

The mercs applied a tourniquet, which stopped the bleeding from his shoulder wound.  He had been in such an adrenaline rush, that he had forgotten all about it.  He sat down, across from the mercs, and they asked what his name was.  Zach barely had time to say, "Name's Zach.  And y--" when the door opened and two figures entered. 

They started talking to the proprietor, and Zach only caught the words, "investigator".  Apparently, so did the three mercs.  The whipped out their guns and leveled them at the strangers, with Zach following suit, aware of how small and weak in comparison his pistol looked.  While the two groups stood off against each other, he heard yet another voice. 

There was now a woman holding two pistols out, aiming at the investigators.  He was too confused to pay too much attention, but was relieved when the proprietor, Vinnie, his name was, relieved the investigators of their weapons.  And even more surprised when the investigators claimed to be looking for the woman.  By this time, Zach had been thoroughly confused, so he did the only thing he could hink of.  He holstered his pitsol, sat down, took off his helmet, and picked up a menu.  All this chaos in one night was making him hungry, and from what he had heard the mercs talking about, this place served some great food.  And the best part was, he could eat, and still try to pay attention to what was being said across the way from him.


(23 replies, posted in Fans)

Congrats Mel, and good luck!  Or as complete nerds would say, "May the Force be with you".  (I guess that makes me a nerd tongue )

That line says it all.  Period.


(48 replies, posted in Fans)

No kidding.  Besides; there're enough games out there where you play as some sort of super-soldier, or genetic experiment which gives you immense power.  I for one am glad about the shift towards playing just a relatively ordinary (in comparison) soldier.  (ODST's are hardcore, yes, but they're a LOT closer to standard soldiers than SPARTAN's)

And I still feel that Boba Fett's face is the T-visor.  It's the one everyone knows.  Plus, as nice as it is that Traviss is focusing on Mandalorians, I don't like having their cool mysterious air removed...the were cooler, for me, when they were rare, unique, and thoroughly awesome warriors.


(48 replies, posted in Fans)

Go Starcraft!  Sorry.  I'm kinda hopping back a while, to the Halo 3 short gameplay thing; I played it on Legendary Co-op, and it took me over a week to finish the game.  Also, I love the armour customization capabilities tha Halo 3 has.  And is anyone else here looking forwad to ODST?  Looks so cool.


(152 replies, posted in Bounty Hunters)

There is no such thing as overkill, so I'd get a gun with a massive yield.  Actually, probably not.  I'd go for something of Verpine make, completely silent.  Maybe a sniper, or an assault rifle.  Who knows.  But it'd definitely have to be customized for my own personal touch; no standard issue stuff for me (I just have to be unique tongue )

And as for the accuracy issue, I have no idea (must do research), but it would depend heavily on conditions, I would think.  Don't take my word for it though; I am no firearms expert.


(361 replies, posted in Film and Television)

Personally, I don't think the series is all that bad so far.  it isn't fantastic, but it is way better than the previous Clone Wars cartoon, with Jedi mowing down whole armies of droids.  I haven't kept up to date with it though; no idea what's going on.  (Plus, I hate the Azhoka more apprentices for Anakin please)


(23 replies, posted in Fans)

I have way too much real life work to do, and only recently have had time to get back here.  (And I am not even ging to go into the bloody computer losing Internet access problems...Hate them)


(6 replies, posted in General)

A prime example of this being Jango Fett (I'm almost sure this has been said before, but I'm too lazy to analyze every post tongue )  Upon seeing how popular Boba was with us fans, Lucas built on it by making Jango, if for nothing else than to throw in another guy in a T-visor.  I like Jango, but I preferred Boba before he had his mystique unveiled.  Lucas never would have made Jango a character if Boba had been less popular.  I think that's what I am trying to get at.


(54 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Zach parked the spinner in the hangar, and exited the vehicle with glee.  He hated those things.  But that thought was quickly banished as his mind replayed the carnage he had seen that night.  Thousands of questions whirled aorund his mind, but the only one he focused on was "why".  He walked through the hangar doors, and calmly strode down the white-paneled hallways, mulling over what had happened.  As he walked past the chief's office on his way to the locker room to turn in his uniform, another officer strolled out, slamming right into him.  Zach cursed under his breath; it was Toby.

"Hey Eagles, you got a call.  CCP.  Big stuff.  Someone's in trouble."  Toby grinned maliciously, and Zach was glad his tinted visor prevented Toby from seeing his expression.

"Lay off."

"Heh.  Anyways, they want you at their main office.  Like, now."

Zach sighed.  "Fine."  Luckily for him, the offices weren't far away, and he could easily walk the distance.  This was good; he so enjoyed a good walk.  And so he did.  He walked right out of Police HQ, and onto the dimly lit nighttime streets.  He was aware that he still wore his uniform, but he didn't care too much; potential muggers might be put off at the sight of it, and he really didn't want any more action tonight.

His path trailed lazily through a labyrinth of streets and alleys, and eventually, xiting a narrow, shaded alley, he came within sight of the CCP main offices, in all their shining glory.  He took a deep breath, and started towards them.  As he walked, he noticed a spinner sitting outside the entrance, with  small group of CCPSF's loitering around.  He almost paid them no attention.  Until he saw the size of their guns.  And the fact that none of them had safeties on.  Paranoia engaged, he also realized that they were simply acting casual, much like a cat will act lazy while waiting for a mouse to wander near it.  Maybe it's because of those creatures., he thought.  And then he heard one of them talking to his squadmate.

"When do you think this CPO-3913 will get here, anyways?  I need to head in soon.  Gotta take a leak."

"Can it.  Order were to wait for him, and then make sure that the witness doesn't tell anyone what he saw...ever."

Zach froze. CPO-3913 was his serial number, he got it when he entered the Academy.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that they were waiting for him to come, and then shoot him.  He was still fairly close to the building, he'd be noticed very quickly, especially with his uniform, with the serial number conveniently stenciled across the back.  So he followed the only course of action he could think of.  Casually turning to the left, he simply continued walking, as if that was his goal all along.  He tried not to act like a fugitive or criminal, but sometimes acting too casual can give oneself away.  And it did.

One of the CCPSF officers lazily leaned against the spinner, and nearly fell over as he recognized the number on the back of Zach's uniform. he called out to hus buddies, ad shouted over at Zach.  "Hey!  You there!  FREEZE!"  Zach increased his speed slightly.  "I said, STOP."  Zach broke out into a full run, and he heard gunshots behind him; there went the whole 'come in peacefully' solution. 

As he ran, Zach unholstered his gun, and fired a couple shots over his shoulder....only to hear the gun click.  "Dang safety..."  He flipped of the safety, and turned ever so slightly to get a shot off at his pursuers, only to feel what could be escribed as the equivalent of a sledgehammer smash into his shoulder.  The force of the blow spun him around, hard, slamming him right into a wall, leaving a small crack in his visor.  He staggered to hisf eet, and fired back, wincing as a bullet plowed into the wall beside his head.  With this exchange of fire done, and the tell-tale sounds of reloading weapons, Zach continued his mad flight away from the equally mad CCPSF's.

"I need to find cover, NOW," he thought.  "Looking for a door, looking for a door, come on, where's a flipping door?!

His prayers were answered, and he saw an unlocked, and slightly ajar door up ahead, to his right.  Without bothering to think of what lay beyond that door, he flung himself inside.  Flattening himself against the wall, he heard the pounding footsteps of the soldeiers as they continued following what they presumed his flight path was.  Zach allowed himself a sigh of relief.  And then he saw what, or rather, who else was in this room.  Staring at him as if he was some sort of alien or something, were no other than the three mercs he had seen earlier, shooting the creatures.

"Of all the miserable--What the heck are they doing here?"  He groaned internally; out of the frying pan, the saying went.  Now it was time to see how hot the fire was...


(54 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Zach hated pulling night shift patrol duty.  For one thing, Maintenance never seemed to keep the Force's spinners very clean, and secondly, they were the most stubborn, obnoxious machines in the history of hovercraft.  But this sort of thing was to be expected.  When you're the only somewhat clean cop (okay, so he used CCP's Stimpaks a couple of times, who hadn't?) on the Police Force, you weren't exactly everyone's best friend.  And Zach could swear that Toby, one of the other cops, had it in for him.  So here he was, fighting the mechanical version of a mule, nearly grazing the tops of buildings as he meandered across his patrol route.

Looking out over the lit cityscape, though, his personal angst towards the machine was dropped.  He could have sworn he had heard a- There it was again!  Gunfire.  Sounded bigger than Police grade handgun caliber.  He forced his Spinner in the direction of the firefight.  When he got within visual range, he brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt.  What the heck is that thing? he wondered.  It was definitely not human.  And there were, it seemed, a small group of very heavily armed individuals unloading their ammunition into it.  Zach sat there, frozen with indecision.  Should he report this?  It wasn't really covered in the academy; What to do when encountering hotile nonhuman lfie forms.

Before too long, the decision was taken out of his hands; the creature, whatever it was, dropped to the ground dead, and the armed figures approached it.  He could see a group of CCPSF's approaching the fighters.  What was going on?   Creeped out, and thoroughly disturbed, Zach could only think of one thing to do; get to HQ and report the incident to the Sergeant.  As he fought the Spinner's controls to do so, he noticed on of the CCPSF officers watching him fly away.  He was too scared to care.  Again, he thought, What was that thing?

Name: Zach Eagles

Age: 27

Occupation: Beat Cop

Background: Normal guy, normal life.  Graduated university, specializing in mechanics and engineering.  He applied to get training as a Merc, but didn't make the cut, and wound up joining the Police Force.  Doesn't much like Mercs because of this.

Appearance: Tall-ish, dark brown hair, and steel-grey eyes.  Lightly tanned skin.  Usually wear dark clothing, such as blacks and deep reds when not in the standard issue uniform.
((Imagine that, but blue-ish))

Personality: Overall honest, which puts him at odds with most other cops.  He is sarcastic when confronted with unpleasant situations.  LOVES to tinker with technology, especially firearms, and has personally modified his personal sidearm.  Doesn't trust other people much.  He also has purchased a large stock of Stimpaks for increasing his physical attributes (Agility and strength, primarily), and as such is quite dependant upon them due to prolonged usage.

Weapon of Choice:


(138 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Cale couldn't believe the vigilante.  First he attacks an unregistered meta (which wasn't all bad), but he then turns around, sides with the same combatant, and orders them to search the mall, while he takes all the fun hunting down some fleeing people for some reason.  That, and there was something naggingly familiar about the figure.  Had Cale hunted him before?  Could be; a lot of metas had been able to slip through his organization's fingers, what with the full scope of their powers not being fully factored into any predictions and scenarios.  Maybe that was it.  If so, Cale would have to review records, so as to get a better understanding as to which powers he'd have to take precautionary measures against, if he was to have to face off against this vigilante.

Zach turned to Mimik, deciding that it would be best to introduce himself efore they went on the wild goose chase throughout the mall.

"Well, suppose I'd better introduce myself here.  I'm Zach.  Zach Cale.  Is there anything I can do to help?"  In times like this, Cale was glad of the way his mask distorted and altered his voice.


(138 replies, posted in Role Playing)

Zach stood where he had entered, dumbfounded.  So 'Gez' knew Mimik, then.  In a way, Cale found this slightly ironic.  But then, there was a problem about the Bloodhawk character holding Mimik at....needle-point?  Who in turn had a gun pointed at him.  If it wasn't such a serious situation, Cale would've laughed at how much it reminded him of Pirates of the Caribbean.

"Now, c'mon guys.  As the only non-combatant here, I can honestly tell you that this situation looks ridiculous."  Cale gave a half-grin.  "I mean, can't we all just get along?" 

The others, almost in unison gave him an odd look.  Cale shrugged; okay, that wasn't the answer.  Maybe if he found out why the two metas were fighting, and what Bloodhawk's abilities were, he' be able to put an end to this chaos.  So Zach decided to stop talking, and continue watching.