Crusade 2

“Yesterday, the sun was shining, the animals spoke and the world was right.  Today, the sun is gone, the animals are in hiding and nothing is right.”

-Agi-Tume, Illietheril Runner

“I was watching Laakasa in the night sky, when she disappeared.  Why Tak’gaar, has Laakasa disappeared from the sky?”

-Chakk, Korogin gha’tok initiate

“As we moved into our positions above the Om’rhak hamgar, the mountains roared and the hills shook and the night sky disappeared.”

-Mutaag, Herg warrior

“I thought something was different when I got up and the sky was gray and thick clouds hung in the air as far as I could see.  I knew something was wrong when I arrived at the gates of Nairn-vel-toth and nothing remained, but a giant hole in the ground.”

-Burke, Merchant

For centuries on end the wise and generous Mairhzba governed the land and peace reigned over it.  All across the Empire the people lived in harmony with one another.  The Mairhzba and its vassals traded freely with distant lands and there little was needed by anyone.  Markets throuought the land boasted all manner of trade goods and brought in visitors from across the continent.

Artists and scholars thrived and literacy was common among even the poor.  The works of great philosophers such as Suh’tan were available to all and formed the basis for many of the laws of the land.  Doing good to one another was considered to be the paramount law and respect for each other stemmed from the need to follow age old dictates of politeness and decorum.  In all life was good for the people of the Empire. 

Then it was gone.

With the disappearance of the great cities of the Empire the infrastructure of the nation was brought to a screeching halt.  Trade routes lay empty and fields were left to go to seed.  No one knew what to make of the disappearance of the Mairhzba and the attacks by all manner of raiders and marauders left much of the nation in shambles. 

Here and there small enclaves arose that were able to return their protected areas to a semblance of the lost civilization.  The age old mantra of Might-Makes-Right has returned to the forefront and these self-proclaimed leaders of the people prove that every day.  While it is true that most of the new settlements are led by honest men there are a growing number of stories detailing the atrocities and evils perpetrated not only by raiders, but also by those the populace looks to for protection.

The forces of the herg and korogin have taken great advantage of the disappearance of the Mairhzba and their armies and are raiding deeper into what’s left of the Empire every day.  Even age old allies such as the cymean and nemtsa are sorely tested by the loss of the Mairzba and both of these nations have done their best to withdraw from the Empire.  This withdrawal is not done out of spite rather it is from the fear that aiding the people of the Empire will draw the attention of the many raiders that are tearing at the remnants of what the Mairhzba had built.

Already the cymean city of Kar-met-Istan is under siege by a large contingent of barbarians from the north and it is feared that it is only a matter of time before herg mercenaries are brought in by the north-men to assist in the breaking of the city.  If Kar-met-Istan falls it is feared that there is nothing that can be done to stop the barbaric tribes from over-running the entire region.

All of these events have taken place in a year’s time and to say the future is uncertain is as great an understatement as one can make…

Crusade

After taking several months off any serious writing or creating I am back.  I am working on a fantasy story now and am really enjoying myself.  Here is part of it...

Times Before

The great Mairhzba city of Nuan-il-Travir was alive with activity, the five roads leading to it congested with travelers and citizens going about their business.  From the quintet of wide cobblestone paths branched out fifteen bridges that led to the greatest market anywhere in the Empire.  A thousand peddlers hawked goods from across the Empire and beyond from small rickety stalls to sprawling pavilions replete in all manner of finery.  All manner of goods from highly prized spices and incense to hand-made trinkets of questionable value could be found and the deeper one went into the market the more one could find.

Despite the almost chaotic nature of the market the city itself was a marvel of engineering and control.  Large parks full of delicate flowers filled the air with a pleasant smell and the granite statues that dotted the city stood in silent respect to the greatness of the Mairhzba and their Empire.  The city of Nuan-il-Travir, and indeed all Mairhzba cities across the realm were clean and well taken care of.  Extensive sewer systems kept waste from the streets, enchanted crystals glowed at night to keep the streets safe, and members of each cities Guard watched over the people.

Everywhere one looked there was proof of the greatness and majesty of the Mairhzba.  Peace across the region was the rule and even those living on the edge of the Empire felt protected and safe.  It was only as one traveled into the wilds of the frontier that one became threatened by the marauding hordes of the herg and the wandering korogin tribesmen.  Barbarians of all kind dwelled deep in the frontiers many mountain chains and the price of a man’s soul was determined by their skill with a blade. 

Within the empire though, the light of civilization shone brightly and the threats of the wild were used to keep children in line and as fodder for the bards who regaled people with stories of horror and daring-do.  All in all the people were content and compassionate toward one another and even the poorest had enough to get by.  By and large the people of the Empire were fat, lazy, and sated. 

Then in an instant it was gone.

A low rumble deep within the earth and a sudden windstorm were the only warnings.  In one terrible moment every one of the Mairhzba cities vanished, leaving nothing behind but massive craters and scattered ruins here and there.  In the blink of an eye untold millions disappeared and civilization was shattered.  Dark and ominous clouds hung unmoving over the width and breadth of the land and the even the light of the noon-day sun was barely able to pierce the gloom.

For weeks nothing happened.  Farms were left untended, smithies lay quiet, and the people were shaken and stunned by what had occurred.  The Mairzhba were gone.  Their guiding hand no longer led the people or protected them from harm.  Those members of the Guard that remained worked frantically to hold back the tide of fear that quickly overtook the populace. 

The first raiders came from the mountains to the north, great bands of half-naked men covered in sigils and painted in blue.  They quickly laid waste to several settlements across the edge of the frontier before moving east toward what was left of the cymean lands.  Korogin tribes brazenly moved into the fertile hills and terraces to the west and herg platoons overran the meager defenses across the frontier.  Even as the age old enemies of the Empire began to lay waste to the order that stood before and creatures unseen in generations again rose up to terrorize the people.

---

One year, one stinking year since they left us.  One year of chaos and fear, of blood and death.  Personally I don’t get it.  Sure, the cities were gone and the Mairhzba had vanished, but had we entirely forgotten what it was like to take care of ourselves?  It seems to me that our generations under their rule left us far too complacent for such a dangerous world.  Just look at how short a time it took before we were at each other’s throats.

We are fickle creatures unsuited to taking care of ourselves.  I am not at all surprised at the atrocities I have seen in the year since the Empire was destroyed but one cannot blame me for hoping otherwise.  Of course the irony of the fact that I have used my own strength and the strength of those I command to create a somewhat stable region is not lost on me.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that we were abandoned

~From the journal of General Issaks Terellius

 

 

 

Hellbound 4

The Abbey

The building was old, older than any structure deserved to be in this part of the country.  It had weathered hurricanes, blizzards, and everything else God could throw at it, and yet it stood.  Despite its internal strength, the weight of its bones, its outward façade was peeling and faded.  From the outside it looked like nothing more than a derelict old manse, its many-gabled porch sagging under the weight of years, and its paint worn to an indistinct shade of milky gray.

Even the little things spoke of the age of the house.  The rope-pull on the rust pitted doorbell was frayed and held together by nothing more than the assortment of cob webs that covered it.  The double doors were slightly ajar, the right side hanging by a broken hinge.  All one had to do was apply a little pressure and that ancient door would open wide enough to let me through.  A slight shove, nothing more, and I would be in and out of the weather.  But something makes me hesitate, some age-old and primeval fear of opening a closed door, of walking in on something one was never meant to see.  What was it about the unseen that always sent a shiver, a thrill up my spine?

I can make out the sound of the hound in the tangle of cypress trees and marshy reeds behind me, tracking me by the smell of my fear.  It was only a matter of time before I will feel its rotten meat tainted breath on my back.  If I don’t find some sort of cover it would be my ass in the fire.  So, against my better judgment I push open the door as slowly as I can to prevent any kind of noise.  My effort for stealth fails miserably as the ages-old hinges let out a squeal of protest at their jostling.

The noise seems to echo on forever until it is overridden by the sound of the hound tearing through the swamp after me.  If it didn’t have my scent before it certainly knows where I am now.  In a moment I am inside and doing my best to slam to rickety doors shut behind me.  Just as the doors latch clicks home I feel the doors shudder as the hound slams its considerable weight against them again and again.  My last glimmer of hope fades as licking tongues of flame appear under the doorjamb.  Those fuckers in the coven sent a hell-hound after me…now how in the hell am I going to get myself out of this mess?

*

Deep below the main floor of the house, in a hideaway dug from the floor of the basement it stirred.  The thick moldy smell of wet soil and ancient wood filled it’s nostrils as it slowly awoke.  Sleep flees its dream-ridden mind as the creature stretches its body from the cramped crouch from which it slept.  It thinks back to the last time it was awake, the last time it moved its ancient muscles and remembers the war over the slaves.  It remembered the power of life rushing through its veins as it fought against the forces of the great oppressor.  The war was fought on so many fronts, brother versus brother, freedom against bondage, and darkness against the light.  For years it had battled to preserve the souls of the fallen and to protect the sanctity of life only to be forced to retreat into hiding again when the war ended.

Now, after so many decades, it once again felt the touch of darkness nearby.  It could also feel the man’s fear and his life force coursing through its fragile veins.  The creature had hoped fervently that it would never again be forced into battle that it could spend its eternity hidden away from everything, but it was not to be.  It stood and slowly stretched.  After ages of slumber it could again feel the power coursing through its muscles, its mighty wings spreading wide enough to scratch at the walls of the spacious basement in which it had slept for so long.

The darkness would be punished for awakening it…

*

I step back from the decrepit doors as they begin to shimmer with heat.  It’s only a matter of time now before the hound is through them and onto me.  I can feel the long sigh escape my lips as I check the weapons that I still have on me.  Two clips for the .45 and my short sword.  It figures that I would lose the AR somewhere in that blasted marsh.  I could really use some automatic fire to try to drop the hell-hound but that’s just not to be.  This fight is going to be ugly.  I can already feel the beasts sweltering breath through the doors and there isn’t much lead bullets are going to do against its scorching hide.  Maybe, just maybe, I can slow it down with the .45 enough to use the sword but I’m not holding my breath.  Damn things are fast as hell and twice as mean.  Even money says I end up as nothing more than a pile of dog-shit on the floor of this old mansion before the day is over.

What's the Hook?

I can't really sum it up any better than the topic of this post.  In writing the hook is everything in my opinion.  You can be the greatest writer the world has ever seen, but if your idea isn't somewhat original your not going to get anyone to read it.  I don't mean the idea has to be 100% brand new, I mean are there really any brand new ideas anymore?  But it at least has to throw a different spin on the basic topic.

That is where I am at today.  Writing wise, other than a few more character write-ups and some little bits of expanding, I consider Rally Cry to be as done as it is ever going to be.  I think its good.  But I can't find a real hook in it.  I wonder if that is because I have read it sooooo many times.

This seems to be the reason why I change topics so often, trying to come up with something new and cool.  My Nexus setting is pretty sweet, but I can't help if it is too neat.  It takes things pretty far and is pretty extensive to say the least.

So now I am wondering.  Do I do a massive overhaul on Rally Cry, to up it to my current writing style, or do I leave it as it is and work on Nexus for the time being.  It is an interesting question since RC has been submitted for approval to a small games company.  The idea is to self-publish it as a 3rd-party supplement for their product.  Now it is just a waiting game.  Waiting to see what changes they want and waiting to see if it is approved.

In the mean time I write and wonder...

hellbound 3

The Abbey

The building was old, older than any structure deserved to be in this part of the country.  It had weathered hurricanes, blizzards, and everything else God could throw at it, and yet it stood.  Despite its internal strength, the weight of its bones, its outward façade was peeling and faded.  From the outside it looked like nothing more than a derelict old manse, its many-gabled porch sagging under the weight of years, and its paint worn to an indistinct shade of gray.

Even the little things spoke of the age of the house.  The rope-pull on the rust pitted doorbell was frayed and held together by nothing more than the assortment of cob webs that covered it.  The double doors were slightly ajar, the right side hanging by a broken hinge.  All one had to do was apply a little pressure and that ancient door would open wide enough to let me through.  A slight shove, nothing more, and I would be in and out of the weather.  But something makes me hesitate, some age-old and primeval fear of opening a closed door, of walking in on something one was never meant to see.  What was it about the unseen that always sent a shiver, a thrill up my spine?

I can make out the sound of the hound in the tangle of cypress trees and marshy reeds behind me, tracking me by the smell of my fear.  It was only a matter of time before I will feel its sulfur tainted breath on my back.  If I don’t find some sort of cover it would be my ass in the fire.  So, against my better judgment I push open the door as slowly as I can to prevent any kind of noise.  My effort for stealth fails miserably as the ages-old hinges let out a squeal of protest at their jostling.

The noise seems to echo on forever until it is overridden by the sound of the hound tearing through the swamp after me.  If it didn’t have my scent before it certainly knows where I am now.  In a moment I am inside and doing my best to slam to rickety doors shut behind me.  Just as the doors latch clicks home I feel the doors shudder as the hound slams its considerable weight against them again and again.  My last glimmer of hope fades as licking tongues of flame appear under the doorjamb.  The fuckers in the coven sent a hell-hound after me…now how in the hell am I going to get myself out of this mess?

Hellbound 2

The Beginning

If you were to ask me why I got into this line of work I guess you could say it is what I was meant to do.  I mean I was never suited for the 9 to 5, suit and tie kind of thing.  Hell, growing up I could barely hold onto my job at that crappy little burger joint in town.  For the life of me I just always thought I was supposed to be someone else.  I never felt like I fit in at school, sure I tied to play their games, shit I even started on their precious football team, but I never felt comfortable doing that kind of thing.  I was better at being the kind of kid who cut class more often than not and I barely managed to graduate when my time came.

It took me another ten years before I figured things out for myself.  The funny thing is that it didn’t even bother me all that much.  I can still remember how I thought to myself that it was about damn time something like this happened.  I recall all too well how that…thing… had lurched out of the shadows toward me.  I can still smell its blood-and-rot breath and feel its shit caked claws bite into my shoulder.  To be honest it was through nothing more than blind luck that I managed to kill it.  I used that broken two-by-four like I was born to it and must have hammered away at its body for twenty minutes before I stopped.

Why am I telling you all of this?  Well I guess it is so you can make a choice.  Y’see I never had one, like I said it was something I was born to do, but you have the chance to avoid all of this.  You could take the high-road and try to avoid this life, try to remain an upstanding member of society and all that crap.  But the thing is I can tell you won’t.  How do I know that?  It’s your eyes.  You have the same look that I had that day, the look that says you finally understand what’s going on around you. 

Sure sure, you know something now, but believe you me, you have got a lot more to learn before you can start hunting.  Just wait and see, maybe you’re meant for this kind of thing, maybe you will be one of the great ones.  But just remember one thing, if they turn you, if you let them change you into something like them I will be waiting…

Drat

Well, as usual something had to happen to inhibit my work progress.  Between waiting for approval for a project as well as my writing laptop not being able to connect to the internet, I have made little progress on much of anything.  Stupid router took a dump and I wont have money to replace it for a while.

While I am waiting for approval, or denial on my Rally Cry project I have been back to dinking around on my Hellborn setting.  It is nice to work my chops out on something else besides super-heroes for a while.

System wise I finally have one I am happy with for RC, but that all depends on getting the OK to continue.  It is funny though, as I wait I cant help but wonder what the hell is taking so long.  I am not a patient person at best, and waiting is something I am never good at.

Even for Hellbound I am happy with its progress.  The writing, although slow, is good and there is already a system that my friend and I created that fits my needs.  It is nice to have some things working out even if the overall project is on a stand still.

So here I am, unable to connect my writing laptop, so I cant really add anything of substance to this little blog of mine.  Hopefully that will be fixed soon, but time will tell.

What is Rally Cry

In my last couple of posts I have mentioned Rally Cry in great detail, but never specifically detailed what it is.  It is, at its bones, a RPG setting based in the Iron Age of Comics.  During that age the heroes were dark and grim, the villians were often misunderstood anti-heroes, and even the world itself was darker than our own.  I fell in love with that age of comics when I was in High School and it has stuck with me ever since.

Rally Cry details the world of the enar future with a several twists.  The main one of course being the addition of super-human characters, or extraordinaries as they are known by.  Much of history is the same as ours, but the impact of these greater-than-human people have deffinatly left their mark.  The most notable example of this is the destruction of so much of Washington DC as well as New York City at the hands of a vastly powerful extraordinary named Carnal.

There are aliens and lost civilizations as well as all manner of technological advances.  Mankind has made it as far as the mars, and there are several moon-bases where man is thriving.  It is only a matter of time before the species makes it into space.

The primary setting I plan to release will include a general layout of the world, heavy details of the ruins of New York, as well as a number of important extraordinaries.  After that I already have notes for another fleshed out city and a massive alien invasion.  It is moving along well and I am actually happy where things are going and have been for a while now.  A nice revelation for me in the long run.

The Search for a System

So, I have been working on Rally Cry, my super-hero RPG, in one form or another for the last few years.  Granted there have been several looooooong dry spells where it sat untouched for months on end, but every time I come back to it.

The most frustrating part about it is the decision of what system or mechanics do I want to use.  Over the years I have created several different sets of mechanics and I have also had the pleasure of creating a few with my friend Nathan.  But always there is that niggling little thought that the mechanics dont fit what I want to do.

Today I have two systems that I have narrowed it down too.  One, very simple and rules light, the other more mechanically inclined but no less enjoyable.  The choice before me seems to be which one to concentrate on and do playtesting with my other friend Rick.  It is an problem to be sure and one that needs to be rectified soon.

Until then I will continue to expand my setting and work on both sets of mechanics as time, and inspriation, dictate.  The good thing is that setting work is continuing at a decent pace, as is my artwork for it.  I have several pictures inked, and several more drawn and awaiting inking.  I was hoping to put them in color but due to a shoulder problem I am unsure how that would work out.  Coloring, even my rudimentary cell-shading attempts, takes a lot of time and that could be better spent on writing I think.

Time will tell I suppose...

Why Rally Cry

I have often asked myself that very question when writing.  Why do I do what I do, why do I have so many projects going?  The truth is I dont know.  I do know that I enjoy what it is I do most of the time and find it to be relaxing and cathardic in a way.

Why Rally Cry?  Why do another Super-Hero setting in an industry that already supports a good number of them.  The simple reason is because I want too.  Comic books have been a huge part of my life for almost as long as I can remember, and so too has gaming.  Therefore the combination of the two only makes sense really.

The Rally Cry of today is, thus far, my best work.  It is currently going through a rather significant rewrite, which is time consuming but well worth it. It is a dark world, where the shit is deep and the problems are everywhere.  Does that mean its not heroic?  Far from it really.  I think that the darker the world the brighter the heroes can shine.

If you were to look for my source of inspiration you would need to look no further than the Ultimates universe by Marvel Comics.  Is my setting a copy of that?  Well no, but it has many similarities.  The problems are many and the heroes are often only a few steps away from being their own worst enemy.  Does this mean I would allow serial-killer type characters to be played in my games?  No, I wouldn't. 

Regardless of how dark a setting is, the characters that are played are meant to be heroes.  They dont have to be the shining bastions of justice like say a Superman, but they do have to do what is right the majority of the time.  Is this fair to all styles of play?  Of course not.  But it is fair to my goal, to my ideas, and too the genre.

To quote the Great Stan Lee

'nuff said

Welcome to New York

New York City.  At one time just the whisper of its name was enough to send shivers down the spine of those countless travelers who ventured to its shining lights in hopes of making it big.  The Big Apple was known the world over as a locale full of glitz and glamour, virtue and vice.  This is not to say that the city didn’t have its share of problems, but what city doesn’t?

Regardless of its seedier side people flocked to the city in droves.  Everyone from dirt-poor farmer seeking a new start, to sickeningly rich debutantes could be found anywhere doing literally anything.  Life was cheap and for a price anything could be had.  As a center of culture the city enjoyed the very best from across the globe and catered that out to whoever could wrest it from the owner’s hands.

Even before Carnal came to the city it was a wild place.  Street gangs fought for stretches of broken down tenements and slums, while the wealthy would duke it out in extravagant boardrooms.  Money was easy, at least for those willing to kill for it, and allies one day would be bloodthirsty enemies the next.  The media would occasionally report what was going on, but often it was glossed over and pushed back to the end pages of the weekend edition.

Although there were countless reasons to avoid the city, the opportunities that New York offered were more than enough to bring in a steady flow of newcomers.  Some would go on to become the nameless faces that crammed the city streets, while the extremely lucky would actually make it big.  It was these handful of lucky strikes that always brought in more people, each thinking that they would be the next to be ‘The One’.

Death Comes A’knocking

It was an extremely hot and sticky summer day, one of the worst on record, when the madman known as Carnal lashed out at the city.  Reports of the battle for Washington DC had just started to trickle in when the first drones were spotted flying in from the sea-bound horizon.  Wave after wave of heavily armed suits of power armor, each manned by some sort of animated corpse, drove their way into the city, slaughtering everything in their path.

Nothing was safe from the invading horde of attack drones.  Tourist traps, government centers, and all manner of public works were hammered in the opening wave of the attack.  The drones sought out and destroyed any emergency workers they could find in order to prevent them from helping the citizens at large.  The drones were programmed in such a way as to specifically target those people attempting to aid others.  Police, Fire, and EMT workers died horrible deaths, often never realizing what was occurring as the attacks rolled in.

No one was safe from the attacks.  Any sort of gathering of people was targeted including churches, parks, and schools.  Any sort of transportation hub, from airports to transit tunnels was attacked in an effort to prevent people from leaving the city.  Every major roadway, tunnel, and bridge was struck as well, causing untold number of deaths among the fleeing citizenry. 

The destruction of the tunnels and bridges was so extensive that there are still no permanent or reliable ways onto the island.  The central, island portion of the city remains isolated from the rest of New York except by ferry or air after Carnal’s attacks.

Across the island many of the citizens of the city are in a state of fear due to the oppressive nature of life since the island was cut off.  Although there are still commodities coming into the city much of these goods never make it to the general public.  Gangs, super villains, and sporadic drone attacks all keep the neighborhoods here on their toes constantly and fearful of one another.

Rally Cry 4: Meet Bombshell

Bombshell

Name: Annette Williams

Identity: Secret

Origin: Mutation

Personality: Normally witty and flirtatious she can be quick to anger if someone questions her abilities.  Thus far her temper has yet to lead to anything she cannot get out of but she worries that it’s only a matter of time before something gets out of hand.

Description: Annette is a beautiful young woman with flowing red hair and a temper to match.  As Bombshell, Annette wears an updated version of her mother’s costume.  Thigh-high boots, long theater style gloves and a leather vest cover a blue-gray cat suit.  Annette knows her sultry looks can be another weapon in her arsenal and has used them to her benefit more than once.

About Bombshell: Annette Williams is the youngest daughter of Jean Williams.  The elder Williams spent the majority of her adult life adventuring as a member of Freedom 5 as the Blonde Bombshell until she was forced to retire due to injuries sustained in the line of duty.  As Bombshell, Jean was one of the most popular and decorated members of extraordinary society, having received countless awards and commendations from several different countries across the globe.

When Jean was forced to retire the Bombshell legacy was taken up by Michelle, her oldest daughter.  Michelle was never comfortable as a super-human adventurer and preferred to stay back and coordinate her teammate’s actions from relative safety. For years she acted as part of Freedom 5 in this manner until the appearance of Carnal and his drone army.  The mantle of Bombshell was passed down to Annette after her older sister was killed in a running battle with drones in the ruins of New York City.

Annette has taken on the guise of Bombshell with a particular intensity.  For years she dreamed of walking in her mother’s shoes and now it is Annette’s time to shine.  She has been in training herself for the job as Bombshell since she was in her early teens and has already made a name for herself although she has only been active for about a year.  She was a bit put off that she was not immediately offered her sisters position in Freedom 5, but understands that with the threat that Carnal possess the team can only accept the most powerful and experienced extraordinaries into its illustrious roster.

For the time being Annette is happy to act as an independent operative in the New York area, although she was recently contacted by Tempest Technologies as a possible member for the new Fireforce team.  She knows that acting alone is dangerous, especially in someplace like New York, but is hesitant to join a team that she hasn’t worked with already.

Unlike her mother and sister, who gained their abilities through technological means, Annette was born with super-human powers.  Her powers are eerily similar to those used by her mother and it is believed that the equipment Jean used somehow caused the mutation in her youngest daughter.

Rally Cry 3: Crimson's Story 1

The shadows aren’t a pretty place to be.  They are cold, harsh and extremely unforgiving.  I have seen them take everything they have from people too many times to count, and they never give anything back.  Oh don’t get me wrong, it can feel like they love you.  It is easy to let the whisper of the light take you from the embrace of the shadows.  The accolades from the light come easy at times and the glory is something I think we all are looking for to some point or another. 

There is anonymity, a secrecy, which only the shadows can give you.  Personally I would prefer a measure of notoriety, and more importantly fear to the glory that is heaped on so many extraordinaries nowadays.  Glory may get you the big endorsement deals, but fear will give a punk ganger pause, and that moment’s hesitation can mean the difference between life and death doing the job.  I can’t understand why that is so hard for the media to understand.   They are so obsessed with the lives of us extraordinaries that they don’t care what happens to us, so long as it brings in bigger ratings.

I’m not flashy enough for them.  I am happy in the shadows.  They comfort me and protect me when nothing else can.  The fact that the media even knows who about me is an insult to the shadows.  I have been prowling the streets for years now, keeping my people safe from harm.  It is my job to protect the streets and I will not be stopped. 

 
The shadows are my only friends and I will not let them down.

Fuckity

Just a handful of days ago I was excited.  Excited about my writing, excited about getting to tell others my stories, and excited in general.  Today I am pretty much the opposite.  It isnt that I dont want to still bee cheerful, I am just down on myself for some reason.  It seems like everywhere I look people that I respect are doing their thing and getting places with it, while I am stuck here doing nothing with my work.

I have ideas coming out my butt, the thing is right now, and this always happens, I dont like any of them.  The thing is that I don't feel like any of my ideas have a hook.  By a hook I mean I dont feel like my writing has anything new to offer.  Everything feels old and rehashed.  I suppose this is from reading and re-reading my work so many times it feels like my eyes are bleeding.  But what else can I do?

I hate this feeling.  I hate knowing that this will last days as it always does...if not weeks.  There really isnt anything new with how I am feeling tonight, but it is rediculous how much I seem to go through this.  I dont have a creative block.  I am making myself do something writing or drawing related every day.  I just dont happen to see the point right now...

Damnitall

Rally Cry 2

Carnal Knowledge

Just when everyone thought that the hard-times for the world were nearly over tragedy once again struck the United States.  Six months ago an army of necromantic drones, led by a mysterious being known only as Carnal, launched a massive attack on New York City as well as Washington DC.  These attacks were extremely well orchestrated and more brutal than anything anyone had ever witnessed.  The battle for the two cities lasted for nearly a month, and in the end the two cities were left shattered and desolate and the rest of the nation was left reeling.  Today America struggles to cope with the loss of two such important cities while the rest of the world looks on with a mixture of concern and greed.

Washington

“Lincoln, Roosevelt, Kennedy...none of them, for all their foresight, could have predicted what would happen when Carnal came to town.

-Senator Marshal Polt

Considered by many to be the core of American patriotism and hope, Washington’s cultural centers were left in ruin by Carnal and his drones.  When the country began to recover from Carnal’s attacks there was little time to rebuild the monuments and other famous places of the city.  This, combined with the loss of so many governmental jobs, left the city with few options.

Now, with the loss of so much life in the city and across the country, there is little hope left in DC.  There are currently only a handful of efforts ongoing to restore the city to its former state.  Although there is only a limited amount of resources being spent in the city many feel that only once the monuments have been rebuilt and honor is returned to the city, that the nation can truly begin to heal.

 
Despite the severe damage to the city Washington DC is planned to be reclaimed and rebuilt by the Federal Government.  It is only a matter of time before the relief effort kicks into full speed and the city is once again up and running.  The choice to rebuild DC over New York is basically one of finances.  Washington was not devastated to anywhere near the same degree as New York and does not seem to garner the continued attention of Carnal.

New York

“People defiantly aren’t dreaming of going to the Big Apple anymore.  It isn’t enough to have to worry about being mugged by hungry gangers, but one also has to worry about stumbling into a cell of drones while looking for a place to sleep.”

-Rob, NYC survivor

New York, once the glittering gem of society, power, and influence on the eastern seaboard is now a shattered shell of its former self.  Constant skirmishes with Carnal’s drones have left their mark on almost every street and neighborhood in the city.

When the attacks began people fled the city in droves and, considering the inherent danger involved in returning, has left much of the city as a veritable ghost-town, although there are still those that call the city home.  Some people choose to remain out of stubbornness while others stay to protect their assets.  The majority though, stay because they simply have nowhere else to go.

There are still efforts by government and religious services to aid the city, but most have chosen to simply write off the city as a loss and move on.  With so much of the country suffering at the moment the general consensus is to leave New York to its own devices until the rest of the country is taken care of.  The sudden evacuation of so many American cities has left countless homes and businesses vacant, just waiting for the imminent looters to come along.  Surprisingly there were only a small number of scroungers at first. 

The fear of being caught in one of the many running battles was enough to keep most thieves in hiding.  As time has passed greed, and need, have grown to the point where even reprisals by the law or by Carnal’s forces aren’t enough to keep everyone in hiding.  The black market across the US is one of the largest and most profitable of any major city in the world, even after the trials of the attack.  Not only are wealth and luxury items in high demand but so are such things as food and medicine.

 

Kind of Funny

The other day I asked three good friends of mine a simple question, what project should I work on.  The end result being what I already assumed it to be.  I decided to concentrate the majority of my time to Rally Cry, my comic-book style writing project.

Not a week later, at my RPG group, I am regaling the group with some of my ideas and now two of them have come to me with great interest in not on reading my setting, but in also having me run it for them.  I guess the couple Espeth posts on here will tide them over till I get more up.

It feels nice to have two groups of folks, that have never met, enjoy what I do.  It is generally enough for me to just do what I do for me, but sometimes it's nice to be appreciated, especially for something that I love doing.

So the next few posts will bounce back and forth somewhat between Rally Cry and Espeth.  Does this mean that I have stopped working on Hellbound or Mortus Corps?  No not really, they are just going on hiatus for a bit while I see where the other two projects go.

Wish me luck

Rally Cry 1

The World of Rally Cry

Extraordinary: Beyond what is usual, ordinary, regular, or established.

Extraordinaries: A person or being who has greater-than-human powers and abilities.

Our beautiful blue-green world has always been a place where wonders are possible.  From the earliest days of exploration and discovery through today, where sentient super-computers monitor vast technological frontiers, mankind has always looked toward the future and the unknown.  Cape wearing extraordinaries zip through the sky alongside flying cars while those below travel about their daily lives in relative contentment.  The worldwide economy has begun to stabilize after years of depression and the quality of life across much of the globe is on an unprecedented upswing.  Medical advances have gone a great distance toward eradicating many diseases and maladies that plagued mankind for generations and hunger is all but forgotten.

This is not to say the world has become entirely subdued, far from it really.  Despite efforts to the contrary, war and suffering are still common across many parts of the world.  In many of these locations mundane soldiers and weapons have been replaced by extraordinary operatives who fight for their homes, for honor, or simply for the right price.  To make matters worse old enemies have returned and world-wide war once again looms on the horizon.

Brawls between extraordinaries are common, and all manner of madman and evil genius seek to unleash evil plots across the land.  Despite the general public’s overall sense of safety and security there are things lurking just outside of their notice.  All manner of evil corporations, secret societies, and inhuman creature seek to undo the peace that mankind has struggled to create.

Who is Extraordinary?

Originally the word extraordinary only applied to those born with some sort of special ability.  As the years have passed the advent of powerful technologies made it possible for even so-called ‘ordinary’ people to harness great power.  Today the word is used to describe anyone, or anything, with fantastic abilities and powers.

This is not to say that every person who has a special trait is a spandex wearing brawler.  In fact it is believed that there are far more people with powers that do their best to simply live out their lives in peace and quiet.  Even among those who have taken on public lives as heroes, or villains, many still yearn for the times before they journeyed into the life of being adventurers. 

For those that fully embrace what it means to be extraordinary the limits are practically endless.  Everything from government contracts, to corporate sponsorship is available to the enterprising person.  There are those that have gone from unknown street-heroes to world famous media darlings in short order, and these people learn to appreciate the high life and everything it entails.  The only major variable is just how long they get to enjoy their position. 

Unfortunately being a star isn’t for everyone.  The pressures of public life have been known to break people, causing them to go to any ends to maintain their popularity and station.  Added to that is the increased danger of having enemies and upstarts constantly seeking to undo the heroes good works.  Many times this is caused by jealousy and anger that this person has made it while others have so little, but it is all too common for others to attack the hero in an attempt to simply make a name for themselves.

Mortus Corps 5

It has been often said that space is the final frontier.  Well friend, truer words have never been spoken.  No matter how far we travel, no matter how much we claim for ourselves, there is always more out there.  It is something that most folk talk for granted, but if you stop and actually think about the virtual empire that we have carved out for ourselves, and then compare that to what is left, it is enough to really make a person feel insignificant.

It can’t be said that all of our ventures out here have been successful, far from it actually.  I would wager more people have been lost out here in the vast-nothing than anyone could ever count.  This is especially true for those earliest travelers from the Home-Worlds.  I can’t imagine the guts it took to be on those first colony ships to leave the Sol system.  Historians like to tell us that one out of every five settlers died in those days, but I would guess it was closer to three of five.

Why is all of this relevant you ask?  Well the simple truth is that you kids today have no sense of History.  And yes, I meant that with a capital ‘H’.  The thing that irks me most is that you act like everything you see on the ‘net is gospel.  Let me tell you something, I have been studying History for longer than any of you have been alive so you will listen to what I have to say even if you don’t like it.  Do you get me?

“Yes drill sergeant!”

Now when I bring up this subject most people just roll their eyes and think to themselves that I’m going to go off on another rant.  Don’t get me wrong, I can go on and on about the history of the Alliance, but damn it, this stuff is important!  If we can’t even remember where we came from how are we expected to increase what we have?  How can we expand our holdings if we can’t figure out what started it all in the first place?

Don’t worry, I am not going to go all the way back to literal beginning of our history as a people, but I am going to jump back to before the Alliance was formed, back to when there was still life on Earth.  In my years of studying this topic I have compiled thousands of hours of antique footage, and I am going to allow you maggots the opportunity to learn from them…and the first one I catch sleep is going to find them shipped out to the ass-end of the galaxy protecting nothing more than a garbage dispersal unit.  Are we clear?

“Yes drill sergeant!”

I wonder

Today has been one of those days.  I cannot seem to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes.  I want to be creative, I want to work on one of, any of my projects but I can't seem to get anything out.  I would really like to be working on the topic that I submitted yesterday but for whatever reason it is my hardest project.

I have had the basic idea behind the Hellborn setting in my head since I was a Junior in High School and I just have never been able to get it out.  I wonder why that is?  I could blame lots of things but I won't.  It just seems to be something that, as much as I want it, I may never finish.

So here I sit, not getting anything done.  I looked at my other projects and just shrug to myself, wondering when I will be inspired to work on them again.  Even with my drawing I am having a block.  It is very frustrating to be sure.

I hope this isn't the beginning of a creativity block.  I know its only been today, but thats always how they start...with one bad day...

Hellbound 1

Another day, another idea...

Ryson

I hate the rain, actually you could say I despise it.  For the life of me I can’t figure out why people romanticize it so much.  All it does is complicate things, I mean it cuts down on visibility, soaks clothing, and makes things hard to hold on to.  Basically it sucks.  I’ve been standing here in this piss-warm drizzle for hours waiting for my mark to get home, and something tells me I will be stuck out here even longer.  And why is it that they always seem to hole-up in these nasty little pay-by-the-hour hotels?  I mean for Pete’s sake, have a little self-respect and stay at a decent place where I can be comfortable for once.

What is the deal with me always being the one who end up waiting for God only knows how long?  I mean c’mon now, my last mark took three weeks to run down and this one is already on day eight.  From what I hear, Anders never has this problem, but that probably has to do with the fact that he has his nose so far up the Enclaves ass that he gets the very best intelligence they can provide.  As for me, I get stuck with all the shitty jobs, the ones that require the most work.

Fucking rain...

It takes another three hours of standing around in this damn rain, feeling it coursing down the back of my neck and into my coat, leaving me shivering and cold despite the fact that it’s almost ninety degrees out tonight.  Three hours of waiting doing nothing more than standing there in that alleyway stewing and getting angrier as the clock ticks by.

Finally a light goes on in my marks room.  If things stay true to form it won’t stay on very long.  I can feel my adrenals kicking in as I jog across the street into the flea-bag hotel and haul ass up the rickety stairs.  By the time I reach the landing outside my marks room my senses are singing and I can feel my heart pounding deep in my ears.  It’s always like this, the waiting followed by the rush.

It takes three strong kicks with my size-twelve boot to cave in the lock and force the door open.  Three kicks that seem to take forever to do, three kicks worth of eternity for my mark to get ready for me.  I can see the look of terror in my marks eyes as I stride into the room, my .45 in my left hand and a foot-long blade in my right.

It’s a picture you could see at any shitty hotel in any city across the country really.  A half-naked hooker trying her best to cover her goodies while the John does his best to hike up his pants, sure that he’s about to be robbed.  It only takes me a second to take it all in, to see the sweat on his brow and the thick cake of makeup on her face.  It takes about the same amount of time to level my pistol at my mark and fire off two quick shots.

The whores face and head explode in a mess of grey-matter and bits of skull as my bullets slam into her arched brow.  Without as much as a whimper she drops to the floor into a blood-drenched mass.  I glance over my left shoulder to the terrified John, still midway into pulling up his now piss soaked slacks.  In broken Russian I say “Get the Hell out!” before I turn back to the body.

I hear him rush out of the room behind me as I move toward the corpse.  I have seen this trick too many times.  I holster my .45 as I secure my grip on my short-sword.  They always play dead you see.  I guess they mutually figure that if they just lay there I will leave.  Fuck that!  No way am I letting this thing get away on my watch.

This one is smarter than most though.  As I lean over to cut out its wormy black heart it leaps to its feet, its hands gripping my throat in a death-grip, attempting to tear out my throat.  I slam my consecrated blade deep under its ribcage aiming for the core of its being, targeting its heart.  I know that the only way I can stop it is to pop it like some sort of pus filled baseball.

It takes four flurried stabs before I manage to hit my target.  In that time the bitch nearly rips out my trachea.  I fall back onto my haunches as the…thing writhes around on the floor, its smashed skull and gouged chest spurting thick greenish black gore all over the walls, the floor, and me.  It only takes a bit shy of forever for it to stop thrashing around and finally become silent. 

One down…only God knows how many more to go.

Mortus Corps 4

The Space Race

Since the late 2050’s and the completion of the first privately operated space station there has been a sometimes vicious race to be the ‘Best in Orbit’.  All manner of station opened in a matter of decades, from cutting-edge research facilities to pleasure craft designed to cater to the rich and famous.  It seemed that nothing was out of reach for the people of Earth.

The idea that mankind was meant for the stars was only reinforced by the discovery of the first serviceable worm-hole between Mars and the asteroid belt.  After extensive study and a year of careful monitoring the first probe was sent through the worm-hole.  The probe was a total success and it was determined that the far end of the worm-hole was just beyond orbit of Neptune.  Once it was determined that the ‘hole was safe and stable it only took three years for the first station to be placed in orbit around Neptune.

When the Terminus Plague struck the Earth it was only a matter of time before it made its way onto a space station.  It was only due to the stringent and some would say paranoid safety protocols on the stations that prevented an epidemic in orbit.  As the plague ravaged the planet the people above watched and waited for things to return to normal.  It took the massive and world-spanning riots of 2079 before it became apparent that those in orbit must drastically limit ties with those planet-side.

The UOG and Mars Consortium

It was from the ashes of the chaos on Earth that the United Orbital Government or UOG was formed.  The UOG was created from the leadership of the seven largest orbital and lunar stations, and was designed to work in much the same manner as the United Nations.  The original plan was to allow each of the outposts to govern themselves as they saw fit and only receive guidance and nurturing by the UOG.  In theory this form of leadership should have worked out well enough, but as is generally the case with massive corporations and the remnants of Earth-bound nations, the reality wasn’t the same.

The main point of contention came from the people of Mars.  They felt that they were excluded from the UOG due to the back-water nature of their planet and the fact that their settlements were spread out so far across the planet.  Even after an emergency meeting of the newly formed UOG, and the offer to grant their largest settlement a seat on the Board, the residents of Mars refused, and declared themselves free of the UOG.  Dubbing themselves the Mars Consortium, the new government controls all of Mars, as well as many of the mining concerns in the asteroid belt just beyond their planets orbit.

Although there is a quite state of tension between the two space nations, the Consortium and UOG seem to get along reasonably well, and do a fair job of controlling their chosen areas.  There has never been any type of open aggression between the two groups, but it is believed that several of the corporations that make them up are waging a silent war against one another for resources and bragging rights.

People of Espeth 2

Traxbon

There are few people anywhere across Espeth that are as cool and collected as the traxbon.  Although many would say this has to do with their reptilian heritage, it is in fact due to their instinctive attunement to the world around them.  They understand that all things pass and that over-reacting to something is often the first step in failure. 

Traxbon do not recognize individual families as the other species of Espeth do.  To a traxbon the first and most important allegiance is to the race as a whole and to the protecting of its already fragile society.  The loss of two of their most holy cities, along with the deaths of so many of their numbers at the hands of the Dragon King has created a ripple of fear to course through the hearts of this normally stoic people.

The traxbon have not sought to be a political or military power on the continent for many generations.  They are content to merely protect their lands and live lives of general seclusion away from the rest of the world.  This standard of staying to themselves served the traxbon well enough for the last several years, even in the face of the cyclopean advance.  However the destruction of two of their sacred sites, Ta’link and Mi’athua, at the hands of the Dragon Kings forces has led many traxbon to believe it is time to take up arms and go to war for the first time in centuries.

The traxbon are led by the sha’karmet.  The sha’karmet are the priests of the traxbon and among the only ones able to harness magical powers.  All traxbon children are tested at one month of age to see if they possess any form of magical talent.  Those that exhibit magical aptitude are taken from their families and begin training as a priest.  Of those that begin the training roughly three-quarters will fail to become fully fledged priests.  Of those that fail only half will prove worthy of becoming sha’keth, the warlords and champions of the traxbon, while the rest will go on to become servants for the priests and sha’keth.

The sha’keth are among those traxbon who are able to use magical spells but not to the great extent of the high priests.  Sha’keth are trained to combine their magical abilities with martial skills to become masters of warfare and the protectors of the traxbon as a people.  Sha’keth are taught to be totally fearless and to protect the traxbon society with every breath. 

Unlike the other races of the region the traxbon do not have any form of standing army.  There are far too few traxbon for them to be able to front a force suitable for open field warfare.  To make up for the lack of a standing army all traxbon, male and female, are trained in the arts of self-defense and are expected to act in the defense of their home.

“The average traxbon male has a body length of up to eight feet, with females being only a bit smaller.  They possess a humanoid upper body but from their waist down are entirely serpentine in nature.  There are a variety of different coloration patterns found among the traxbon, but the most common are those similar to the natural varieties of snake and reptile found in close proximity to their enclaves.

Traxbon arms are long and quite strong, ending in a wide hand made up of two fingers and a thumb.  Traxbon do not possess any sort of hair but pride themselves on the luster and upkeep of their scales.  Most prefer to wear loose fitting shawls and coverlets made of light materials in bright colors, particularly shades of blue and yellow.  The priests of the traxbon wear loose robes cinched at the waist by wide cloth wraps.  The priest’s robes are decorated in vibrant depictions of the traxbon deities or great moments in traxbon history.”

-From a Poets Observations by Whilmet Darhs