Kobold King

Well if it helps, Lightwards could take Whittle prisoner and kill C4 instead, reasoning that Whittle would be easier to contain.

Yeah... about that, if you have no objections Lightwards was going to kill Whittle pretty quickly.

Surviving members?

"See I've been hearing round town that everyone's been all impressed by some new necromancer and his floating castle of dinosaurs," the man called Stitch boasted, "but ya see I've been here for a lot longer than you and I don't think the town's big enough for two Necromancers, and while one needs some sparkly cannibal monster to make his castle float. The other-" Stitch's brow furrowed for a minute, before he lifted entirely into the air and high beyond the reach of the raptors. "Well the other can float just fine by himself." So they think I'm weak. Lightwards felt his eye twitch, and his heart begin pounding once more. His alliance with Funtimes was meant to give him an upper hand. All it had done was make him a laughingstock, even to cretins as laughable as this. I don't have time for this, he decided grumpily. As if in an idle movement, he pinched a piece of dried blood from his coat. "Yes, you can float," Lightwards admitted sardonically. "That is most impressive. And my honest congratulations for the ability to control thread--I'm sure the Portland knitting club crumpled like leaves before a storm when faced with your might." Stitch's face contorted with indignation, but Lightwards ignored him. "While you're still here," he continued, "Thank you for raising yourself to a convenient allosaur feeding height." Without any more ado, he tossed the scab high into the air, pushing his power into it as he did. It soared through the air, gaining in mass as it flew. Halfway to Stitch, the scab had taken the skeletal form of an enormous dinosaur, flesh, scales and feathers still sprouting over its half-finished frame. The half-animated dinosaur began arcing back to the ground, but it was still high enough. In a single lunge of its neck, the alloaur seized the startled Stitch in its jaws, banana-sized teeth skewering through his torso. The allosaur's legs grew back just as it fell back to the ground, creating a booming, shaking sound that reverberated across the Museum. As loud as it was, it could only begin to mask the dying shrieks of the man called Stitch, as he and his bloody threads disappeared down the dinosaur's gullet. Lightwards smiled, leveling a gun at the other Epic. "I do not steal," he said softly, "because every corpse in this city is mine. And I need no glittery abominations to dispatch such trifling threats as you. Now tell me. How many others are attacking my fortress?"

Oh, it's fine. I wasn't mad or anything. (I was a bit concerned that Arsenal's reaction was too melodramatic, so if I sounded dejected or anything, that's why. But like I said, I wasn't mad and I was pretty sure this was just your addiction to Imgflip talking again. )

Thanks. I'll be honest, I still get irrationally nervous every time I post an RP post. Kind words and criticisms are always well-appreciated.

This xkcd pretty much sums up Sanderfans as a whole and the Reckoners RPG:

I'm still not sure how you haven't overtaken my rep, Twi.

"Yessum?" Scribbler responded. She tilted her head and feigned innocence, causing Arsenal to grind his teeth together even further. Never had he hated a single word as much as he now hated 'Yessum.' His eyelid twitched like a flea-bitten cat as the girl continued in her smug little voice. "Oh dear, mix up the laundry? You need to be more careful or it might happen to your pants next time." His temple feeling like it was about to explode, he opened his mouth to lecture her on the proper way to interact with her superiors... And then Reader began to speak. "Arsey, Arsey, Arsey," the trapped man whispered, his tone as mocking as it was amusing."You've been breaking rules yourself, haven't you old friend? By the way, Scribbler, love the new nickname you and Edgey have given him." Reader watched him with a half-smile, smugly superior until the end. "You have gone quite outside your bounds. You've broken the basic rule that our Lord and Commander Vondra has given to us. I can't help it; I can't turn my powers off. But you... you've taken every possible excuse you can to conjure up some new piece of technology.” Arsenal stared in building fury as Reader grabbed the bars of his crate, rattling them as his rant rose in tempo. "Just now, you've created four pieces of unnecessary tech, and for what? To imprison me? To humiliate me? I've been humiliated today more than you can believe. This is nothing. You're only humiliating yourself Arsey. What happens when I tell Vondra about your plans to start going against his will? You're breaking his rules and thinking of disobedience. You speak of order, yet you yourself are the biggest threat to breaking it." The room was silent, everyone present hanging on Reader's words like a congregation before their preacher. Their eyes flickered from him, to his crate, and to Arsenal himself. "You have nothing on me, Arsenal," Reader finished softly, shaking his chains. "You deserve imprisonment even more than I do." Arsenal stared at the man in the crate for a long while, seeing red with fury and indignation. He somehow managed to maintain a calm exterior, exhaling deeply even as his mind spun with outrage. I deserve imprisonment? I do nothing but protect this town! And Vondra... I have the same goals as he does, even if he can't see it. What Vondra doesn't know can't hurt him, but could save the lives of every soul in this city. Which is why, Reader, I now have to kill everyone in this building. He turned his back on the dog crate, heading at a brisk pace towards the door. It would be a tragedy. A great blow to our town security. But so long as anyone even suspected he wasn't fully loyal to the commander, he'd be incapable of defending the city as diligently as he needed to. Sacrifices were to be made, and he for one wouldn't mourn the loss of the foreign Epics and the ones that did nothing but disrespect him at every turn. Once he left the building, he'd barricade it from the outside. Then it would be burned to the ground. He'd gun down anyone who managed to survive himself, and then he would tell Vondra the tale of invading Epics who'd slaughtered some of the city's most important assets. There would be security reform upon security reform; anything to prevent another disaster of this magnitude. He firmly gripped the handle of the exit, intent on putting this plan into motion. There was no turning back now that he'd thought it; not with Reader in the room. It was time to take matters into his own hands... “Sir, if I may.” Arsenal froze, turning back to face the town doctor. Baxter Game stood hesitantly beside him. "Go on," he growled in reply. “I’m aware that both Reader and Scribbler have stepped over bounds," Game continued, "but it seems to me that disciplinary methods for them can wait. I know that what Reader says is just meant to aggravate you and that endangering The Dalles or its order is something you would never do, something I’m sure commander Vondra is just as aware of as I am. Meaning that nothing he’s saying right now is of any real consequence.” Arsenal hesitated, as if the wind that pushed his determination along was suddenly dying into a breeze. “The new arrivals on the other hand should be provided for at this moment," the doctor went on, apparently oblivious to how close he'd come to being incinerated alive. "It might also help to actually show them what this town is like, without giving Reader a chance to give them the wrong impression.” Arsenal nodded, lost in thought. Game was right--no one in the room actually suspected Reader's testimony was true. No one in the room knew about his private weapon caches, or the plans he'd formulated for cementing control of the city, or for opening trade routes with Khione. No one here suspected that he'd be willing to kill every single one of them. Except... "Reader," he barked. "You are to be confined to quarters until further notice, and assigned only basic rations. Remain respectful of town authorities, and I promise that is the worst that will happen to you." He met Reader's eyes pointedly, hoping the omniscient Epic would decipher the true meaning of his words. Keep your mouth closed, and I will not bury you in a shallow grave just outside town limits. Turning brusquely from Reader he locked eyes with Scribbler, scowling at her with every bit of fire his eyes could muster. She should be suspended from the Guard until she matured. But seeing her there with her hands on her hips, remembering her defiance from earlier, he set his jaw and decided on a different angle. "You," he ordered sharply, "will be spending the night restocking the city's food and medicine supplies. I will contact your parents to tell them that you'll be late home." As late as I can possibly manage, he added internally. Maybe depriving her of family will remind her that she's a soldier and should learn to act like one. He swiveled his head towards the rest of the clinic, as if daring them to provoke him again. "Is there anyone else that wishes to catch my attention, or shall I have these men escort you to temporary quarters?"

Darn it Slowswift. Stop making me imagine the Avengers as Epics.

I love David Strathairn, but I'm not sure if he could pull off the menace Prof needs to convey in certain key scenes. I haven't seen the other two actors you mentioned in anything, so I can't comment on them. Welcome to the forum! Clearly you've technically been here longer than I have, but it's good to hear from you.

I will upvote it the very second I have upvotes to give again.

12 megaritas. Which kinds of sounds like an alcoholic beverage, now that I think about it...

Since Voidgaze is objectively the cutest living thing in Oregon, I propose that cuteness be henceforth measured in "ritas," "kiloritas," and so forth.

Fair point. I'd say that it was because she's exceptionally cute when compared to those around her, but that would only be accurate if she lived in Astoria or Salem. She shares The Dalles with the likes of Edgerunner and Scribbler. So... I don't really know how this whole cute!Autumn business got started. Now I'm wondering about the relative cuteness of Jordan MacKenzie, that female soldier that was guarding Autumn back at the butcher shop.

I don't recall any mentions of it before my Vondra post, actually. She's a freckled redhead who's blushed on at least a dozen different occasions in one day, though, so I don't think it's far-fetched that she's seen as cute by some of the Guards.

"...swearing can save your life." --TwiLyghtSansSparkles, 2015, where impressionable young children could hear her. Thanks. You know, sometimes I have a hard time writing Lightwards because I feel like I'm balancing two different characters: memetic grumpy Lightwards and canon dangerous Lightwards. The most well-received posts of his seem to be when I accept the fact that they're one and the same individual, and write him accordingly.

Portland post up. "In Which Lightwards Proves He is the Bigger Necromancer."

Lightwards expected one of two things: either outright defiance or a begging plead for mercy. Either would have failed to please him, of course, and either would have led to the unmasked Epic's swift demise. Instead, the Unicyclist broke into a hectic and frenzied stream of curses. From the plain man's lips came nothing but garbled sentences of the foulest, most vile language Lightwards had ever heard. Words that had either never before been mixed in the same curse, or had been thus mixed only in such vulgar cesspools of language that he'd never even come across the notion that they could be mixed. Bewildered by the seemingly neverending stream of obscenities pouring from the prisoner, Lightwards cast questioning glances at the other Epics in his company. Lucentia, as usual, seemed unimpressed. Nighthound was smirking, though whether he was directing the smile at the cursing or at his newest pet slitting her arteries was anyone's guess. And then there were Aldo and Cricket, who were apparently impressed enough to be holding a pair of "10" signs the magician seemed to have pulled from his pockets. After the deluge of expletives was over, the Unicyclist finally pulled himself together, gritting his teeth and glowering as he answered the original question. ""She," he hissed, "is too dumb to plan anything." Still shocked out of his initial fury, Lightwards monitored the plain man's face. If he was lying to cover his mistress's involvement, he was making a good show of it. The mixture of emotions on the Epic's face seemed genuine; anger, contempt, hatred. And a hearty dose of fear. Not merely a fear of being killed; a deeper fear. The kind of fear only Epics knew, and the kind none would admit. A smile tugged at Lightwards' lips. I believe I've chanced upon your weakness, you atrocious pile of insanity. He opened his mouth to give a fresh ultimatum, only to be interrupted by a hollering voice from somewhere by the Museum's entrance. "HEY LIGHTWARDS!" a man's voice shouted. "GET YOUR OLD NECROMANTIC BUTT OUT HERE!" Get my what out there? His anger began flooding back to him, and he felt his hand clutching around the pistol at his belt. "Watch that one," he instructed Aldo as he left, gesturing at the Unicyclist. "Make sure that if he fights, it's for the right side." "Yes, sir," Aldo saluted, pulling a saber from his pocket and raising it on high. Cricket yawned, but she gave the Unicyclist a light kick in the ribs to show she'd heard. With that out of the way, Lightwards determinedly turned into the dark forest and marched to the source of the challenging shout, animating a trio of raptors to walk by his side. They stalked behind and ahead of him, swishing their tails back and forth in anticipation. Before long he stepped in front of a pair of Epics standing in the halls. The first was an older man with a tidy beard and a flannel shirt, like some sort of sophisticated lumberjack. The other was a slightly younger man, a smug look etched on his face and the word "Stitch" stitched in brazen thread across his shirt and tie. Around them were slumped, slouching men. They were only barely standing, as if invisible strings were the only things preventing them from falling to the floor. It took only a glance for Lightwards to realize they were only puppets to an Epic's will--by the look of them, they didn't even possess the small amount of autonomy his own Warriors had. Lightwards walked within their view, the eyes of his raptors flashing dangerously in the darkness as they circled the intruders. He himself looked the one called Stitch in the eye, stepping beside him. From this close he could tell that the puppets around them were dead corpses, their eyes closed and beginning to smell. They were almost laughably shallow when compared to his own necromantic creations. "You called me to you," Lightwards said softly, speaking slowly to convey the menace he was feeling. "You know my name and the power I call my own." Without warning he reached out a hand and gripped one of Stitch's automatons by the arm, reanimating it and bending it to his will. Bloody thread burst from its skin and was violently expelled from the body, as Lightwards' new Warrior took his place beside his new master. "What, then, gives you the confidence to think you could call me out here, with no more respect you'd use for addressing a vanilla, in the late hours of the night?"

I don't think I understand what you mean. Do you mean by tricking her into going on a diet and putting a chocolate cake in front of her, so she has to fight her own willpower?

This is worse than I thought. I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce Victoria Vici, whose power is instantly winning every fight she gets into.

DARKROSE uses PLANT HER SIGNATURE BLACK ROSES LITERALLY EVERYWHERE. It's, um, super effective. MOBIUS uses THROW EVERYBODY INTO A POCKET DIMENSION AND THROW AWAY THE KEY.

KOBOLD sent out SUNBURST and DARKROSE

Well in the one Mirrorverse fic I started, Autumn had Reader's power. This was largely because I think it'd be deliciously ironic if the kind-hearted Glass gained the ability to forcibly extract secrets from those she should be helping, and be corrupted enough to enjoy doing it. ... Sometimes I think I'd make a good Calamity.

If it's not arrogant for me to label myself as "Epic Space Dragon," then there's nothing wrong with "George R. R. Martin of Zombie Caribou Stories." It is fitting in every way.