thinking about breaking the forum for old time's sake :)
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Topic: [POS WORLD EVENT] {INVASION} <RP> 17 horsemen of the junkheapocalpse are here to  (Read 2821 times)
Permalink  •  June 05, 2018, 01:47:49 PM


POS guardpost alpha-theta-gamma log entry:
 [06 / 05 / 2018] Garibald Gamer Here. Things are growing dire on the eastern front. Two days ago a dark cloud formed roughly 100 miles to the northeast and has grown steadily since. It is now approaching this station. I have dispatched a scout to contact the central authority, but I am not holding out hope. To be frank, we have no received word nor order in many weeks. I feat that this strange omen is not the only of it's kind. POS watch over and protect us.
-end log-

Garibald Gamer grimaced grimly, gazing gloomy ground-wards. A deep shadow had covered everything east of the station he manned with his troupe, and it was quickly scaling the log barricade at the base of the tower he stood upon. He brandished his mag-light and aimed it towards the black mass, but the light only penetrated a few feet before being swallowed in darkness. "Hank, you'd better come out here. Bring the swords too, I've got a bad feeling,' he hollered over his shoulder.
Hank, a towering middle aged man, stepped out from inside the inner tower office and sighed. He tossed Garibald a long sword and took a defensive stance. The two men remained steadfast as a wall of deep darkness swept over them.

Meanwhile, in the old POS capitol city, Rick Spade looked up from the paperwork scattered across his desk. An outcry had erupted outside on the street. He could see smoke rising at the edge of his window. He sighed deeply, because he was a very cranky old man, and retrieved a revolver from his desk drawer. A trio of shadows sprinted past the frosted glass of his office door. He opened it slowly with revolver scanning the hallway when he saw them. A scrambling horde of rats, but bigger, came spilling into the hallway and crashed towards them. He let off a shot or two before reconsidering and taking off in the opposite direction. A second pack met him coming from the opposite end of the hall and he took a sharp right towards the stairwell and hoofed it to the roof. The sound outside was deafening. Shouts, explosions, screaming. He scanned the city and saw fires springing up in every ward. He fished his Nokia brick out of his jacket pocket and saw that the signal was completely dead. "Christ," he muttered, "I'm too old for this shit."

Tabitha Duckboot picked up the lunatic man by his neck and flung him into the river. He thrashed wildly as the rapids pulled him under. She turned to look back at the caravan and saw a handful of wild men clamoring over the wagon. One was strangling her coachman with an insane fervor. She steadied her rifle and put a slug through his forehead, but the coachman was long dead. Her comrades were scattered on the riverbank in various states of combat with the strangers. She had no idea where they had come from. She ran quickly towards the closest melee when a chilling presence stopped her in her boots. A huge man, at least 12 feet tall, had crested a nearby hill. He let loose a guttural roar and the wild men all stood quickly and ran towards him, falling prostate at his feet. His skin was white, whiter than snow, and his pure black eyes scanned the area. They stopped in Tabitha, "You there, come to me side." She felt a powerful compulsion to obey, but resisted. He smirked, "No? Then die," and he lept into the air. Tabitha lept backwards but the shock-wave from his landing, just a few feet away, sent her flying. He swept his massive hand across the earth and clipped her legs, launching her into the river. As she went under she saw the wild men spreading across the countryside and the man turning towards her squad-mates. She screamed and then the world went black.


stake mistakes (dan deacon reference)
  • stake mistakes (dan deacon reference)
Permalink  •  June 06, 2018, 04:42:39 AM

This one is going to star with my oc vivian. shes basically a witch who breaths live into little dolls that she makes. well ill let u find out in the story but heres my rp sine up sheet

Name: vivian dixen
Boy or grl: grl
Hair color: black
Eyes color: blu
Cloths: Flowing green sun drese and witche hat
I.Q: Ok this is rly such bull shit bc the iq doesnt measure real intellegence wich is im possible to quantefy w/ simple number's and graphs
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 200lbs
Boob size(girls:) LoL Not telling!
Weapon: Her collection of little Doll's and her magic along side her ball and chain wep but shes not as strong in combat as in the eldridge ways of the magical
Biography: vivian use to be a pos poser but she went on a long joruney for self discovery. she has been left slightly insain due to secrets that no mortal mind was intended to know but shes still basically a nice and happy go lucky peson and shes also still very emosonal
Pic if u got one: lets see if this works C:\piccys%20folder\CoolPic\Vivian13.bmp
Fav things: Anime and home stuck
Doesnt like: When capitalits oppress ppl


From a nearby embankment, an unlikely crew witnessed the nigh-deadly fracas that had led to Tabitha's inglorious dunking into the river by one amongst the bestial hordes, inducing her inconstant crew to full retreat. Emily Jane, 16, nodded at the Haymans Ben, 15 and 21 respectively, as if to say, "This woman's at the far edge of peril. If there's a time for us to be heroes, now is most certainly it!" Anti-Hero, a sullen youth barely pushing 14, stood apart from his compatriots, thinking dark thoughts, thinking bloody thoughts.

The cruel melee they'd just watched would send most witnesses hollering into the hills for their mommies, but it just so happened that there was nowhere this crew felt more comfortable or at ease, than in Melee.

The witch, who had only recently breathed feeling into this latest batch of eidolons, observed these proceedings with anxiety. Her eidolons had life, heart and mind all their own, but they were still little more than crude ghosts, gasps of dying memory. Emily Jane was almost a complete fabrication, romanticized and demonized and projected over blocked-out memories, the younger Hayman resembled nothing so much as one of Jigglysama's early-period scrawlings, and Anti-Hero... well... Anti-Hero was sort of a emo dick, with none of the complexities of his real-life historical counterpart.

This was a second trial-run of her powers. She had become quite nervous after the last one, which had gone horribly due to her erroneous supposition that weak memories would make good eidolons, since they were disposable. It had taken her nearly being torn apart by a pack of shadow-maddened marauders after the evisceration of her Yaoi Bunny and her 2005-era GimeChronoBreak for her to realize that weak memories wouldn't cut it against this caliber of threat.

Now these, these were powerful memories... but the witch's mind was so weak, and her memories so irretrievably soiled with sugarcoating and bittering agent. She fretted to consider that she was sending these treasured memories to their doom. As if to give an answer to her fears, Emily Jane turned, and for a moment fixed her arresting gaze upon her. Even though it was a memory borne along her own breath, that expression and the young woman who wore it was an unknowable mystery, and whether it held concern, pity, or sorrow, Vivian could not tell.

In the next instant, the older Ben leapt into the water unhesitatingly. It was only a trifle for this swaggering man, this selfless uplifter of people, in his jaunty makeshift Prinzhorn Dance School t-shirt and festooned with his many ascots, to scoop up the swooned Tabitha and bring her ashore opposite from her assailants. The black-eyed giant bellowed and made for the water with his gang following along like grade-schoolers. Their advance was halted at swordpoint by Ben the younger, with his Phrygian cap and his eye tattooed with a gleaming yellow star. During the standoff, Ben lashed with his blade at any stray limb that approached, intimidating the giant and exsanguinating a couple of lesser mooks. However, this strategy proved to have a critical error. The very second that the giant's blood was first shed, it howled in agony and began to rampage at the sight of its own ichors leaking from its wound. Ben attempted then to dodge the giant's blows, weaving askance of the danger in an intricate, frenzied safety dance, but one clean blow was all it took to leave Ben sprawled out in the riverside clay.

No sooner had Ben fallen than a pair of blood-red eyes appeared just off to the giant's side. From the direction of the eyes, a cold, pitiless voice:

"yougan cleaver."

Instantly a massive molten blade came crashing down onto the giant's skull, splitting it and searing it through. The giant's shriek was piercing. Unthinkably, the giant moved after Anti's gruesome killing tool had buried itself into its skull. It swiveled around and snatched Anti up in its massive hands. Even as the giant stared into his eyes, and screamed its foul breath into Anti's face, Anti was unmoved, and seemed to have not the slightest inkling of a fear of death. And this was why it was that the one who saved Anti's life would go unthanked.

But saved his life would be regardless, for Emily Jane had stayed above the fray, eyes shut, mentally unpresent. She tapped into the flow, and gathered her power. And with the time bought by Ben and Anti's frankly ridiculous risktaking, Emily Jane reached apotheosis.

Apotheosis, in this case, meant doing a magical-girl transformation sequence in which she came to inhabit a full Tiny Snow Fairy Sugar cosplay that was accurate but also had her personal spin on it.

Then she attacked.

The bodies of the madmen withered in the light of glory that Emily Jane shed upon them. It was kind of like in Illusion of Gaia, where that celestial light comes down and turns people into horrible, tragic ghosts, but it was also different.

Freed from his assailant's grip, Anti tumbled a few yards away from his crumbling foes, watched as the light bled the life out of them... watched as the shadow leaked out of them... watched as the shadows amalgamated once more and, becoming a hand, swatted at Emily Jane, who seemed to make no attempt to dodge the blow that sent her careening to the ground.

Anti's Yougan Cleaver had left him temporarily bereft of energy. Ben was unconscious and the older Ben was more of a merrymaker and confidante than a fighter, and now Emily Jane had been half-martyred. Inside, Anti seethed at his own helplessness, and felt an intense desire to rebel against the very confines of his existence.

Vivian, who used to be known as Wendy and had many forbidden names besides, similarly felt helpless as she watched the shadows on the verge of destroying her memories entirely. Was this it? Physical reality, and mental inner space, would they continue their ceaseless disintegration til shadow swallowed all?

Then a powerful memory struck her.

Memories... memories of...

Of Rick.

To be certain, her head was filled with Ricks, many Ricks, most of whom were consistent among each other, and all of whom she loved in her way. But there was only one Rick in her mind who was not an old man, not yet a gruff, gentlehearted old gunslinging sleuthfella. A Rick who, in his singular embodiment of the concept of righteous violent punishment, was unparalleled, a Rick with the heart of a hellbent avenger, a fervent conqueror, a ruler pledged to thousand-fold steel.

The King Rick.

Vivian pulled out a poppet from her purse and with great immediacy breathed her every last molecule of air into the face of the limp little doll. The doll warped and shuddered as it was rent asunder and made anew in the image of a memory of singular magnitude.

Thirty feet tall he stood, with his cocksure, brotherly grin, his cascading tresses and his flowing trenchcoat. No shorter was the endlessly lengthy katana he produced from the ether. The only short thing anywhere present was his terse declaration of purpose.

"Violaters shall be met swiftly with the BANKATANA

In a single stroke, he cleft the shadow in twain, the darkness dissipated, and sunlight poured down once more upon the riverbed.

Vivian wept. How powerful her memories were! What incredible strength they possessed within her! To show up decades later at her side and overwhelm the encroaching darkness, to stow alongside her so that she might never be alone!

Then she inhaled hard, like she was hitting the world's most massive bong of weed, bigger than any toke mankind has ever seen. The memories became vaporous once more and trailed their way to Vivian's windpipe. They waved at Vivian as they went back into her lungs to pass once more through her blood-brain barrier. She picked up her poppets, not noticing that one was missing, and plopped herself alongside the insensate Mrs. Duckboot. Although her memories of first-aid instruction were hazy at best, and the world was still being swallowed by bleakest shade of unknown origin, Vivian now had a feeling that everything was going to be just ducky. It was the moral of the story.


Meanwhile, in the old capitol, the real Rick Spade sneezed as if he were being talked about. Then he opened the door in front of him and stepped beyond the threshold. The real Soap Roman poured anxiously over printouts of forum posts outlining rumors of the strange shadowy threat and regarded Rick only with a grunt. And, after pulling her head away from her work to regard the third and penultimate attendant to their meeting, the real Mia Kris peered over the top of her frames to get a better look at Rick. This was actually a very bad idea, because you actually see better if you just look at stuff through your glasses.
Permalink  •  June 06, 2018, 02:15:58 PM

Deep in the shadowy recesses of the deeply recessed shadows far from POS, a grotesque man shouted and gestured wildly, sending shadow creatues charging off in every direction. As he commanded a batallion of winged creatures to take flight he stopped with a sudden jolt. One of the horsemen had fallen in battle... ”Impossible...” he thought. The assault had only begun 7 hours ago and one of their best was already felled? He closed his eyes intently and mentally reached out into the ether.
Ah, so Monvenogil, which was an annagram of Evil Gonmon, had perished. Sure, he had the strength of 500 men, but surely his... mental capacities were amoung the weakest of the horsemen. Well, a pity, but all was still well as long as they had secured the capital city. He gathered himself and resumed the rapid fire orders. There was much to be done.


Garibald wrenched his hand from the maw of a massive shadow aligator with a scream. Dark spheres of blood rose up from his skin. He shouted, “Hank, cover me, for god’s sakes!”

Hank sunk his blade into the ribs of a shadow kangaroo and turned to kick the shadow aligator away from Garibald. The creature bounced off an ornate buttress and fell to it’s death on the battlefield below. Garibald got to his feet with a shudder and looked out over the scene. Thousands of warped creatures swarmed the countryside as peasants fled towards the capital. It was surprisingly bright inside the shadow, as if a massive red sun was illimunating the land, but no source of light could be seen. Hank silently pointed towards the horizon where a foul shadow whale was making a beeline towards the tower. Atop it rode a pale woman with a wicked scimtar clutched in her hand. “There’s trouble,” sighed Garibald. He knew a mid-boss when he saw one. “Let’s go Hank, there’s work to do.”
Permalink  •  July 27, 2018, 05:10:25 PM

Hank closed his eyes for a brief moment of rest before facing the billowing clouds once more, but immediately opened them again with a start. He had a sudden strange feeling, as though something sinister had surprised him in a parallel dimension. It was as though... time had jumped, and he somehow felt as though nearly two months had passed in the last few seconds, but he could see that everything was just as it had been a moment ago. Could be an effect of the dark forces, he thought, but probably nothing.

He filed this thought away regardless, as strange things had become more common in the days leading up to the attack. Just two days ago, the postal service, one of the few government agencies still at full strength, suffered a bizarre incident where a full quarter of the capital's mail became laminated seemingly on its own, creating the worst of headaches for the postal administrator, Geromy. He had to explain the delay in delivery, which was unprecedented, to the public on the state-run news radio, which made him break out in all manner of bodily secretions. He was never a man for public speaking, and it was frankly a mystery among the entire post office how he had come to be the administrator in the first place. Some people are just better at interviewing, I suppose.

At any rate, Geromy was nervous as a rule, and all this business about impending attacks and dark lords or whatever made him wet himself nightly. He had taken to wearing diapers to bed, but they never seemed to quite hold it all in. He had been hoping that they seers and scientists were all wrong, that it was just a weather balloon or something, but now it looked like it was coming right to his doorstep. He stepped onto this very doorstep this day and promptly wet himself again.

"Shit." Going to have to change again, he thought to himself. A child who had been playing with some rubble and broken rebar across the street stared. Geromy quickly went back inside and toward the bedroom but was suddenly interrupted by a loud crash down the hall. It was impossible for someone to break in, his house being wedged between the walls of two other buildings which were made of brick. Could one of the cats have fallen off the play-swing...? He hustled over to the end of the hall, but upon looking through the door, let out a sigh of disbelief, and also a soft brown log.

There had appeared in the center of the dining room a wide whirling vortex of greenish dust, sinking down into what should have been the floor, but looked to be an incomprehensible expanse below. It seemed to at once be a field of stars, a pool of quicksand, and New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. Geromy, being a man of reason, resigned himself to the unseeable forces dragging him into the vortex. He clearly had no skills or tools that could prevent whatever was about to happen. As he slid down into the swirling madness below, he looked behind him to see one of his cats looking at the brown streak he left behind with disgust. The cat retched and strode away as Geromy fell into unconsciousness, and also the vortex.

Geromy awoke to the stench of what must have been the most putrid dungeon he could possibly imagine. Opening his eyes, he saw it was actually a rather charming private library.

"God, you smell like shit," someone said nearby. "Sorry about the travel arrangements, but I couldn't risk revealing my location."

Geromy looked over and saw that the speaker was none other than the Capital's resident mad scientist, Kejardon. He tried to speak but all that came out was a guttural groan and a little pee.

"You'll be alright in a few minutes, don't worry. Although you're going to have to clean yourself up. I'm not going near that.

"While you're recovering I might as well tell you why I've brought you here. I've been doing some research and as it turns out, this attack we are currently experiencing has been foreshadowed for many years. I had to go back into the oldest of the POS archives to find the details, but the very same thing happened over nine thousand years ago in this very same region of POSspace. The war raged on for generations, but it finally came to a head when the two leaders fought in single combat. The name of the leader of the dark forces was never mentioned, but I was finally able to track down the kname of the knight who struck him down. Geromy. You are the direct descendant of this knight. You are the one who must take on the forces of evil and deliver us victory if we are to defeat these clowns of darkness. What do you say to that?"

Geromy opened his mouth to say something, but only drooled as he passed out again.
stake mistakes (dan deacon reference)
  • stake mistakes (dan deacon reference)
Permalink  •  October 28, 2018, 01:27:25 AM

StarKirby stared down at the video game box in his hands. He stared hard. "Caleb Burpee's Big Slurpee", leered the title in gaudy letters over vaguely incomprehensible and unsettling cover art. He was now completely certain that times of dread were upon him. "the bllodplan..." he muttered with knowing resignation.
Permalink  •  December 06, 2018, 10:25:07 PM

(Off Topic) can I be a goku?
Permalink  •  November 26, 2020, 07:30:22 PM

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