There is a rumble of engines as an MV850 suddenly flies around a corner. Gunfire pierces the air, by the noise alone it is between an AK-47 and a Semi-automatic. The vehicle swerves and stops as a man jumps over the driver's seat, aims his pistol and fires. The approaching car swerves and hits a tree with a sickening crack.
"Bloody hell.." The man stops, trying to catch his breath, knowing better than to just assume that the people who they were chased by are dead.
He pulls off his mask, a baclava with red markings that looked like a fractured skull. He has short hair that is shaven and cut to look like a mock-mohawk. His hair is the same color as his close shaven beard, chestnut brown. His skin is marred by sweat and scars. His eyes are a pretty blue color.
"We gotta go lads, five clicks from here should be a tavern we can bunker down for a night or two. Let's get moving!"
Phoenix looks up and pulls out a small pistol. "What the..."
For Phoenix, it's easy to tell who this is. The man jumps out of truck, his dog tags clinking against each other.
"SOAP?"
The man looks up after hearing his name called, eyebrow raised. "Who the hell said that?.." he looks around.
Phoenix waves his hand. "OI! YOU! OVER HERE!"
He see's Phoenix and a grin break over his face. "Well look who rose from the ashes!" He says and makes his way over "Haven't seen your face in... (GP), how long it's been!"
"A long time McTavish." he then eyes the crashed car. "Wanna explain that?"
He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck "Ah.. that. After you left.. some of us got right mad about how Price was running us. Me, Gaz, and Roach left.. but you know how it is now, getting hunted because you weren't happy with how things were run." He says, looking down at the ground.
"not so crazy now, am I, eh?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“That skull of yours don’t hold no memories?” He pulls out a needle and a piece of string and then stops. “Sometimes I wish my sack head didn’t hold none neither.” The crows caw, a sound of bitter sorrow.
"It holds memories, but I remember nothing about who I was."
He begins to see his button eye back in place, “Well… who are you now? And I ain’t just asking for your name.”
He straightens a bit. "I am Bird King. Protector of wild creatures and the land."
“There ya go. If you can’t remember who you were it’s better to focus on who you are now.” His stitched lips curl up in a smile.
The skull grimaces. "I want to remember though."
He pulls the needle through his face thoughtfully, “I suppose I am in a very different boat. I am made up of memories. I have more remembrances and experiences than any one body has any right to and I have trouble sorting through them all. I often try to ignore the constant waves of nostalgia, Deja vu, and recollections, instead focusing on the present.”
"Then you are lucky."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
There is a rumble of engines as an MV850 suddenly flies around a corner. Gunfire pierces the air, by the noise alone it is between an AK-47 and a Semi-automatic. The vehicle swerves and stops as a man jumps over the driver's seat, aims his pistol and fires. The approaching car swerves and hits a tree with a sickening crack.
"Bloody hell.." The man stops, trying to catch his breath, knowing better than to just assume that the people who they were chased by are dead.
He pulls off his mask, a baclava with red markings that looked like a fractured skull. He has short hair that is shaven and cut to look like a mock-mohawk. His hair is the same color as his close shaven beard, chestnut brown. His skin is marred by sweat and scars. His eyes are a pretty blue color.
"We gotta go lads, five clicks from here should be a tavern we can bunker down for a night or two. Let's get moving!"
Phoenix looks up and pulls out a small pistol. "What the..."
For Phoenix, it's easy to tell who this is. The man jumps out of truck, his dog tags clinking against each other.
"SOAP?"
The man looks up after hearing his name called, eyebrow raised. "Who the hell said that?.." he looks around.
Phoenix waves his hand. "OI! YOU! OVER HERE!"
He see's Phoenix and a grin break over his face. "Well look who rose from the ashes!" He says and makes his way over "Haven't seen your face in... (GP), how long it's been!"
"A long time McTavish." he then eyes the crashed car. "Wanna explain that?"
He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck "Ah.. that. After you left.. some of us got right mad about how Price was running us. Me, Gaz, and Roach left.. but you know how it is now, getting hunted because you weren't happy with how things were run." He says, looking down at the ground.
"not so crazy now, am I, eh?"
"I am sorry mate.. we should've taken what you said more seriously.." he said and turned back to the two men who are hefting bag from the car "Oh lads! Bloody hell! I didn't need no service maids today. If y'all were doing that, just tell me! I'm still in tiptop shape!" He says and runs over.
One of the men, wearing a black baclava that is printed to looking like a generic yellow smiling face, makes eye contact with Phoenix. "Oh hell no, we have to be near the baby brother again?" He grumbles. The other elbow's him "Shaddup. Complaining ain't gonna help."
There is a rumble of engines as an MV850 suddenly flies around a corner. Gunfire pierces the air, by the noise alone it is between an AK-47 and a Semi-automatic. The vehicle swerves and stops as a man jumps over the driver's seat, aims his pistol and fires. The approaching car swerves and hits a tree with a sickening crack.
"Bloody hell.." The man stops, trying to catch his breath, knowing better than to just assume that the people who they were chased by are dead.
He pulls off his mask, a baclava with red markings that looked like a fractured skull. He has short hair that is shaven and cut to look like a mock-mohawk. His hair is the same color as his close shaven beard, chestnut brown. His skin is marred by sweat and scars. His eyes are a pretty blue color.
"We gotta go lads, five clicks from here should be a tavern we can bunker down for a night or two. Let's get moving!"
Phoenix looks up and pulls out a small pistol. "What the..."
For Phoenix, it's easy to tell who this is. The man jumps out of truck, his dog tags clinking against each other.
"SOAP?"
The man looks up after hearing his name called, eyebrow raised. "Who the hell said that?.." he looks around.
Phoenix waves his hand. "OI! YOU! OVER HERE!"
He see's Phoenix and a grin break over his face. "Well look who rose from the ashes!" He says and makes his way over "Haven't seen your face in... (GP), how long it's been!"
"A long time McTavish." he then eyes the crashed car. "Wanna explain that?"
He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck "Ah.. that. After you left.. some of us got right mad about how Price was running us. Me, Gaz, and Roach left.. but you know how it is now, getting hunted because you weren't happy with how things were run." He says, looking down at the ground.
"not so crazy now, am I, eh?"
"I am sorry mate.. we should've taken what you said more seriously.." he said and turned back to the two men who are hefting bag from the car "Oh lads! Bloody hell! I didn't need no service maids today. If y'all were doing that, just tell me! I'm still in tiptop shape!" He says and runs over.
One of the men, wearing a black baclava that is printed to looking like a generic yellow smiling face, makes eye contact with Phoenix. "Oh hell no, we have to be near the baby brother again?" He grumbles. The other elbow's him "Shaddup. Complaining ain't gonna help."
"and the baby brother can hear you both and still nail you both in the skull with a service pistol."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“That skull of yours don’t hold no memories?” He pulls out a needle and a piece of string and then stops. “Sometimes I wish my sack head didn’t hold none neither.” The crows caw, a sound of bitter sorrow.
"It holds memories, but I remember nothing about who I was."
He begins to see his button eye back in place, “Well… who are you now? And I ain’t just asking for your name.”
He straightens a bit. "I am Bird King. Protector of wild creatures and the land."
“There ya go. If you can’t remember who you were it’s better to focus on who you are now.” His stitched lips curl up in a smile.
The skull grimaces. "I want to remember though."
He pulls the needle through his face thoughtfully, “I suppose I am in a very different boat. I am made up of memories. I have more remembrances and experiences than any one body has any right to and I have trouble sorting through them all. I often try to ignore the constant waves of nostalgia, Deja vu, and recollections, instead focusing on the present.”
"Then you are lucky."
“Buddy, luck is the one of the only things I ain’t got a lick of. We all have different burdens to bear, mines just a little different than yorn.”
There is a rumble of engines as an MV850 suddenly flies around a corner. Gunfire pierces the air, by the noise alone it is between an AK-47 and a Semi-automatic. The vehicle swerves and stops as a man jumps over the driver's seat, aims his pistol and fires. The approaching car swerves and hits a tree with a sickening crack.
"Bloody hell.." The man stops, trying to catch his breath, knowing better than to just assume that the people who they were chased by are dead.
He pulls off his mask, a baclava with red markings that looked like a fractured skull. He has short hair that is shaven and cut to look like a mock-mohawk. His hair is the same color as his close shaven beard, chestnut brown. His skin is marred by sweat and scars. His eyes are a pretty blue color.
"We gotta go lads, five clicks from here should be a tavern we can bunker down for a night or two. Let's get moving!"
Phoenix looks up and pulls out a small pistol. "What the..."
For Phoenix, it's easy to tell who this is. The man jumps out of truck, his dog tags clinking against each other.
"SOAP?"
The man looks up after hearing his name called, eyebrow raised. "Who the hell said that?.." he looks around.
Phoenix waves his hand. "OI! YOU! OVER HERE!"
He see's Phoenix and a grin break over his face. "Well look who rose from the ashes!" He says and makes his way over "Haven't seen your face in... (GP), how long it's been!"
"A long time McTavish." he then eyes the crashed car. "Wanna explain that?"
He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck "Ah.. that. After you left.. some of us got right mad about how Price was running us. Me, Gaz, and Roach left.. but you know how it is now, getting hunted because you weren't happy with how things were run." He says, looking down at the ground.
"not so crazy now, am I, eh?"
"I am sorry mate.. we should've taken what you said more seriously.." he said and turned back to the two men who are hefting bag from the car "Oh lads! Bloody hell! I didn't need no service maids today. If y'all were doing that, just tell me! I'm still in tiptop shape!" He says and runs over.
One of the men, wearing a black baclava that is printed to looking like a generic yellow smiling face, makes eye contact with Phoenix. "Oh hell no, we have to be near the baby brother again?" He grumbles. The other elbow's him "Shaddup. Complaining ain't gonna help."
"and the baby brother can hear you both and still nail you both in the skull with a service pistol."
Soap has to stifle a laugh. "Sergeant Romero and Lock. Don't mess with him, he means every word." He says and hefts a bag over his shoulder.
Lock rolls his eyes behind his mask, grumbling. Romero chuckles a bit.
“Buddy, luck is the one of the only things I ain’t got a lick of. We all have different burdens to bear, mines just a little different than yorn.”
"I suppose." he says, frowning
He finishes his sewing and taps his button eye, “I am truly sorry for your lost life, friend. You don’t look like someone who has to worry about the end of your days though, are you?”
“Buddy, luck is the one of the only things I ain’t got a lick of. We all have different burdens to bear, mines just a little different than yorn.”
"I suppose." he says, frowning
He finishes his sewing and taps his button eye, “I am truly sorry for your lost life, friend. You don’t look like someone who has to worry about the end of your days though, are you?”
He shakes his head no
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“Buddy, luck is the one of the only things I ain’t got a lick of. We all have different burdens to bear, mines just a little different than yorn.”
"I suppose." he says, frowning
He finishes his sewing and taps his button eye, “I am truly sorry for your lost life, friend. You don’t look like someone who has to worry about the end of your days though, are you?”
He shakes his head no
The scarecrow shoos some crows off a stump and sits down. He uses the rest of his string to repair a few tears and rips in his cloth body. “All memories fade and fall to pieces.”
"not so crazy now, am I, eh?"
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"Then you are lucky."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"I am sorry mate.. we should've taken what you said more seriously.." he said and turned back to the two men who are hefting bag from the car "Oh lads! Bloody hell! I didn't need no service maids today. If y'all were doing that, just tell me! I'm still in tiptop shape!" He says and runs over.
One of the men, wearing a black baclava that is printed to looking like a generic yellow smiling face, makes eye contact with Phoenix. "Oh hell no, we have to be near the baby brother again?" He grumbles. The other elbow's him "Shaddup. Complaining ain't gonna help."
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"and the baby brother can hear you both and still nail you both in the skull with a service pistol."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“Buddy, luck is the one of the only things I ain’t got a lick of. We all have different burdens to bear, mines just a little different than yorn.”
"I suppose." he says, frowning
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Soap has to stifle a laugh. "Sergeant Romero and Lock. Don't mess with him, he means every word." He says and hefts a bag over his shoulder.
Lock rolls his eyes behind his mask, grumbling. Romero chuckles a bit.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
Phoenix clicks the safety on and off, an old nervous habit.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Soap notices and tilts his head "Are you all good mate?" He asks quietly.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"are you sure the ones following you are dead?" he whispers back
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
He finishes his sewing and taps his button eye, “I am truly sorry for your lost life, friend. You don’t look like someone who has to worry about the end of your days though, are you?”
"Not sure... I'll go check." He nods, picking up his rifle and pistol.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
He shakes his head no
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Phoenix walks with him, safety off.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The scarecrow shoos some crows off a stump and sits down. He uses the rest of his string to repair a few tears and rips in his cloth body. “All memories fade and fall to pieces.”
*back again, had to write four essays for my history professor*
Thirteen is looking for Lore.
Nainai is doing background research.
Eito is in town, passing out small tokens carved of black stone and evangelizing.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*new life goal...host a rave in the Paris Catacombs*
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*Mass Rave Site*
*Moshuary*
*Cacophacombs*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*You are a genius*
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*Aren't catacombs another word for tombs?*
What's life without a little war to spice things up? Anyone who worries about the little things should notice the bigger picture.
I am (As drummerboy stated) The master of many faces, The unseen puppeteer, The illumination, & The unnoticed influence.
Favorite games series: Dark Souls. Shirtless Solaire. Best best game series of all time: Paper Mario. Fight me about it.
Etiam im librum scribo