A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: BruceTheCat on 04-10-2015, 10:06:38</h2>
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				Title: <strong>A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>BruceTheCat</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 10:06:38</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size: 24pt;" class="bbc_size"><span class="bbc_u">GM Post</span></span></strong></div><br><div align="center">(http://images.summitpost.org/original/746986.jpg)</div><br><br>There was a distinct chill in the air that morning. The sun was beginning to creep it's way up over the mountain ridge, casting vibrant rays of gold along the rocky landscape that surrounded the large line of human cages. Each placed neatly in a line on either side of a large mountain road. The travelers had all been accused of various misdeeds, some true, others false. Each of them had different origins and motivations. But while the morning dew clung to their skin, metal, or heavy clothing, each had the same thing in common. In a hour, each of them were set to be executed.<br><br>The cages themselves visually were nothing impressive. There were near to 20 of them, lined up next to one another. Each was eight feet tall and the same number of feet across. Providing ample room for them to pace and contemplate their feet. The dark brown signs of rust were evident along the surface layer of the cage bars. Spaced apart far enough individually that any of them could have gotten an arm through, but nothing more. The core of the bars however was something ancient and magical. Strong enough that even the most ferocious of barbarians could not have even hoped to bend them even slightly. Seemingly no amount of strength would have been able to. To top this off, each adventurer had their wrists shackled together by a black metal chain. Like the bars, these shackles seemed impossible to break despite their light weight and strangely small size. The magic users who had been captured would realize to their dismay that while the shackles were locked around their wrists, they would be totally unable to access any form of magic.<br><br>&nbsp;Over the past few days of having been imprisoned, the group may have learned a few things if they'd been paying attention. First, they were in the Skyrim - Home World. This was noticeable by the dialect their captors spoke while drinking and mocking their charges during the evening campfires. A small army of men had made camp around the perimeter of the cages. Vikings from the look of them. They wore fur lined helms and breastplates. All of them male, most with scraggly blonde or dark haired beards. They called themselves the Gate Lords because they "opened the door between life and death". Truthfully, they were a small, unimportant little band of perverts and gluttons who took a special liking to many of the women. They had been hired by the Dynasty to dispose of this special group of prisoners secretly far away from any respectable civilization in the Skyrim - Home World. <br><br>They had been locked up for 3 days until finally the morning had arrived when they were to be executed. The Stormlords rose from beneath their blankets and tents with heavy groans and curses. Spitting or spewing up the heavy ales from the evening before. Until finally, the Camp Master Rowark, an especially detestable man, called out to his men. "Let's get these traitors down to the block lad's. Collect our pay in Solitude once we're done".<br><br><br><span class="bbc_u">Reference:</span><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br>(https://thornews.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/norse-viking-warriors.jpg)<br><br>(http://leychalet.com/germany/images/rothenburg/pic420.JPG)<br><br></div></div><br><br><span class="bbc_u">GM Note:</span><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br>Everyone will be unarmed of any weapons in your arsenal. Any weapons that literally cannot be removed from your body will be ineffective while the black shackles are attached to you. The shackles have been screwed in to your bone/frame, so you will not be able to take them off.<br><br></div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Laughing Hyena</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 10:46:44</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://n8k6e2y6.ssl.hwcdn.net/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/Website_Warframe_PrimeAccessVolt_Ending_AS_002_640x300.jpg?itok=LyhMskZb)</div><strong>Name:</strong> W.A.R<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Status:</strong> Within a Trance, Meditating<br><strong>Notes:</strong> Warframe - Volt<br><hr><br>This Tenno had been caught during a mission and thus now was waiting to be executed. Knelt within the cage with the shackles upon his wrists he simply had remained this way for the several days of captivity. He was within a trance of meditation simply wishing to find peace in the afterlife. Whatever that meant for someone capable of traveling past the stars and the void itself was another thing entirely. However he was not unaware of his surroundings and the plights of others as he paid careful attention to whatever they had to say and what they might say to him or of him. His concerns rested with those they might take advantage of or demean whilst imprisoned. <br><br>Very few words were ever going to pass from behind that helmet of his and his body continued to remain still. Furthermore he had paid attention to whatever stories might have been divulged or talked over during this time. However he would not speak in turn, save for if it was absolutely required of him. About where he might come from or how he had come to be in this situation. They didn't have the whole story of course as the Tenno maintained his near-mute demeanor all this time. Honestly he was surprised he wasn't sold to Alad V for the Zanuka project so he should count his blessings in a sense. Perhaps they didn't know of such an obscured world or it simply meant that they weren't part of the Dynasty. <br><br>It no longer mattered of course.<br><br>All of them now were in the same situation and he would only wait for the end to come. Fortunately the lack of food or water given was not capable of bringing him down nor weakening him so he made sure to give that to any prisoner that might be more famished than himself. What he was waiting on was for one of these three to try something more… bold on the female prisoners. Furthermore from within there was no sounds nor voices to give comfort nor seek him out. This was the morning of their deaths and as it came the vagabonds leader continued to speak up and bark orders. This was their final hour of life. He doubted they would be let out of the cells until the very end of their trek where obviously more would be stationed. <br><br>So be it. He would maintain his silence until death.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vercile</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 11:29:51</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/b5O9W3q.jpg)</div><br><strong>Name:</strong> Gayle Leonhart<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution - Skyrim Home World<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Status:</strong> Restrained &amp; Caged<br><strong>Equipment:</strong> Gunblade (Unequipped) / Griever Necklace (Stolen)<br><strong>Notes:</strong> Attempting to maintain solidarity<br><br><hr><br>The wind whistled violently in the dead of night, light's shining down upon cold wet cobblestone giving it's grey a darker shade. Rain pelting down swayed by the infrequent gusts, who knew it would end like this? A loud squeaking sound gave mention to a light tilting, it's brightness fixating upon a young lady whom stood nearly twenty yards away from an assembled force of soldiers all dressed in blue. Gayle Leonhart, an eighteen year old mercenary stood with knees trembling yet with an unwavering resolve. Ice blue eyes stared plainly through soaked locks, lengthy brown hair darkened and weighed by the weather's disdain. A few grouped strands curled inwards over her chest, snaking down between her ample mounds and giving frame to the shining silver pendant dangling centre-cleavage. The water bouncing off and falling from Gayle's black leather jacket and tight matching pants, white fur dulled while water sank into her dark boots. Turning her head to the left, beside her a body, a friend, a companion. Blood seeping from wounds, fatal it seemed as the rain hastily stole a life's essence. Panning right, another comrade and friend. Wounds similar yet fatal in much a different way, Gayle's fair skin gave an equally fair expression of distraught and loss while struggling to maintain her usual hidden self only turning back once finding success. <br><br>Gayle's eyes obscured by light and rain harboured the sights of her enemy and slowly rising into her perspective, the length of her Gunblade. As her eyes steeled their mettle a tight grip took to it's hilt and with a gentle click drowned out by wind and rain, she was prepared for her final stand. Stilling her weakened state, knees retained her weight while high heels stuck firmly in place, Gayle engaged the Dynasty! Drawing her sword back behind her right side, body fronted, sword parallel to the ground. A flurry of <em>tinging</em> sounds rolling from the blade-edge, a fiery aura surrounding Gayle gripping the attention of all those before her. With a subtle pulling back of her weight, Gayle threw herself forwards in a dash with an immediate response from those whom would end her. It began with a single soldier, their blades meeting before Gayle's furious speed and strength parried it away in throwing him off balance. After which a blinking slice carving through his armoured chest as blood spilled to her right following the cut, continuing with another soldier, and another, and more! It hadn't been long before body count began to pile up, carving without restraint until a loud clang held her blade still. The shock itself had taken her balance away, though only within a brief moment before regaining a guarding posture to see whom had engaged her. In gauging the present circumstances, a strange sword had caught her attack in preventing the last of the soldiers from losing his life to Gayle's onslaught. Her gaze took caution to this new comer and had never seen anyone like it before.<br><br>"Who...-"<br><br>Her own short gasp cutting her off, wide eyed and panicking she barely managed to block an incoming strike. The strength and weight behind it left Gayle struggling to maintain her footing, yet after a brief second in time managed to throw of the incoming attack with a parry. The efforts however didn't at all appear to vex her opponent, with a stalwart presence the Dynasty's puppet struck again much the same way she had done herself to these soldiers. Gayle's arms ceased due to the on set fatigue of battle, unable to raise her blade her eyes met their's in a frantic state and as the blade fell she'd stepped away. Unfortunately it had not been enough, the edge slicing across her face as blood cascaded down her fair flesh and in turn threw her entirety back off balance. While attempting to regain her footing, another attack, a death blow. Gayle managed to pull her sword up this time, blocking it and once again struggling against it. But this time it's power stole her footing, throwing her high into the air. Lips parting and eyes tightening shut, a scream over-rang the sounds of the rain and wind. Clearing ten feet with out a doubt, Gayle opened her eyes just in time to catch the apex of her flight before plummeting back down. Her limp body falling upon the stone, her sword bouncing along before spinning to a halt leaving Gayle unconscious upon the ground. She'd been laid out on her back, a hand resting over her bare stomach as another sat out in a bent position. Her back flat with her hips twisted to the side, one leg over the other while her hair clung to her flesh. Footsteps approached her body, a hand reaching out and clasping the Lion around her neck and yanking it free chain and all.<br><br>~<br><br>Another cold night dawning into a chill morn, three days and three nights trapped within a small cage as the sun of the fourth began to rise over the crisply dew covered plains. A yielding warmth of the sun's rays casting a caged shadow over each captor, stirring a gentle groan and the soft lilting sound of metallic shackle-links grinding gently. Gayle's eyes stirred open as one nightmare transitioned into another, the glow in the distance causing her parting lids to struggle. Laid centre cell curled up with knees tucking into the chest, arms sitting limply behind her back leaving her wrists firmly confined within blackened chains squeezing her arms together to form a "V" shape down from her shoulders to wrists. She considered it a wise idea to remain centre in her cage, distancing herself as much as possible from the bars and lecherous hands leaving only small inoffensive projectiles of food scraps along side cat calls to deal with. Of course the few encounters she did have answers the question as to why her hands were shackled behind her back rather than her front, giving one or two bloody noses wasn't without reprisal. <br><br>Stirring slowly from her slumber Gayle remained silent and still, making sure not to draw any attention to herself in such a disoriented waking state. The vibrant dawn seemed like a glimmer of hope, before any and all signs of sleep dripped away into a cold foreboding realisation that today was the day she died. What followed with this heart-sunk feeling had been all the pains caused by her resisting, bruised wrists, scuffed dirty clothes that matched her cheeks while the treatment over the last few days of confinement displayed their own doings. Her lengthy brunette hair ruffled, dirty, damaged and split, otherwise cherry lips remained dry and cracking, though with all that had happened her gaze remained true in defying her up and coming fate. With great composure and silence, sitting up Gayle had risen from her fetal position before taking to her feet. Closed eyes obscured by frayed hair, stretching out her body while taking in a cool lengthy breath through gently parted lips, resisting the instinctive need to moan as a variety of muscles and joints brought deep embedding pain. Light yet audible cricks and cracks sounded while doing so, before a soft sight revealed her ice blue hues.<br><br>Over the past few days Gayle had predominantly stuck to herself, swapping glances and rudely dismissing greetings and nods from fellow prisoners. She'd no idea who those around her had been, the two closest on her left and right adjacent cells were no one she'd even seen before. She was however still only a youth, an eighteen year old girl fresh into a warring world and whether by fate or misfortune had literally been staring upon her potential grave, if she'd ever get that far. These burly unkempt men were indeed a concern, attempting to push themselves upon a prisoner of war was enough to give consideration to her body after the sentence was carried out. That disgusting reality had been what kept Gayle readily rebellious, while maintaining steeled silent eyes of resistance and on alert for any chance of escape. In the mean time, Gayle had no intention of breaking her silence... unless one of them came into spitting range.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Diesel Heart</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 16:35:47</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/finalfantasy2/images/9/9b/Sephiroth_Render_012.png/revision/latest?cb=20140310141446&amp;path-prefix=de)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><strong><span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: andale mono;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">Sephiroth, One Winged Angel (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=237379.msg11693542#msg11693542)</span></span></span></strong></div><br><div class="floatleft">(http://img09.deviantart.net/9b9a/i/2010/237/0/1/ff7_logo_remake_by_and_reese.png)</div><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Remote Execution Grounds;&nbsp; Encaged and Shackled<br><strong>Speaking To:</strong>&nbsp; Camp Master Rowark, All<br><strong>Mentioning/Observing:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Open<br><strong>Music:</strong>&nbsp; Those Chosen by the Planet (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQrmuBW3Tok)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; Black Trench, Modified 1st Class SOLDIER Uniform<br><strong>Equipment:</strong>&nbsp; Masamune (Inhibited)<br><hr><strong>Summary:</strong>&nbsp; Sephiroth stands with an unshakable calmness while shackled and caged like an animal.&nbsp; At the announcement of execution finally coming,&nbsp; Sephiroth breaks his silence and attempts verbal goads, stalling tactics and discrete manipulation to all parties in proximity.<br><hr><br>Three days worth of being a prisoner, treated like a beast by shackles quickly discerned as more than mundane and not a drip of cold sweat or any physical indication hinted towards concern over this fate;&nbsp; Sephiroth simply stood in the center of his cage with only his head and eyes moving all this time.&nbsp; &nbsp;An inscrutable expression of ice-cold impassiveness met an unnervingly calm stare which stayed on the Camp Master - Rowark was his name - until one of the slavers approached his cage to issue out food which he neither accepted or denied.&nbsp; They were just scraps at his feet for the time being and the impression of inhuman status became more and more transparent as the days went on.&nbsp; If any of his fellow prisoners gave him a glance,&nbsp; they would be given a nod despite no visual acknowledgement of the gaze.&nbsp; The man was perceptive and found the threat of execution seemingly empty.&nbsp; Or perhaps he, like some of the others, silently resigned to this supposed fate and welcomed death in honor.<br><br>Whichever the case was, he was dressed in a flowing black, leather trench that billowed freely as the lower hem caught the wind of the morning air.&nbsp; Matching this was his silken, silver hair that also billowed as if fine gossamer which only brought a contrasting attentiveness to the cat-like, green eyes in the center of darkened eyes.&nbsp; His winter-pale skin became nearly translucent in the wake of dawn, highlighting the eastern half of his outline and bringing notice to the metallic buckles of his chest straps which only covered the exposed pectoral musculature to a minimum degree.&nbsp; His appearance matched his proper, almost aristocratic posture.&nbsp; It was regal but militantly regimented to suggest the background of military service of some kind.&nbsp; Those that could identify him as the One Winged Angel would understand why he was here.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Why is he being Excuted?</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="floatleft">(http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/original/11113/111130081/3560875-1675106202-29895.jpg)</div>Since he awoke cocooned in crystalline Materia, Sephiroth had reflected on the chain of events leading to that moment.&nbsp; All of it brought questions but he understood that he had been drifting in Gaia's Lifestream for an indeterminable amount of time and it left him a changed man in some respects.&nbsp; The friends he had were no longer alive, or so it seemed, and with the absence of what he was familiar about SOLDIER and Shinra Electric Company he felt uneven though he didn't show it.&nbsp; Naturally, the company immediately understood who he was and they welcomed him with both welcome arms and notable fear;&nbsp; he was, after all, the most powerful SOLDIER 1st Class to ever grace the military and was for all intents and purposes a war hero in the wake of the Wutai War.&nbsp; However, his discovery of Shinra being led by a money-hungry President that used Shinra's power to make the company feared was not taken lightly, reminding him of his thoughts of defection predating his 'death'.&nbsp; He answered not to these pretenders of SOLDIER and once they attempted to force him, he quickly reminded them the folly of that decision marking himself an enemy of the world.<br><br>Many of his fellow SOLDIER, still loyal to the company's former alignment but silent to avoid the risk of death or experimentation, joined Sephiroth in his rebellion.&nbsp; Under him, they were successful in liberating Sector 7 of Midgar from Shinra control and fought off wave after wave of opposition while consolidating resources and gathering intelligence.&nbsp; Each battle with Shinra brought more and more to light:&nbsp; history of the Dynasty and the evidence of means of travel to and from other worlds became known to Sephiroth and his men and they had a new objective.&nbsp; The next battle with Shinra would prove to be disastrous, however, and cost Sephiroth a few quality men but the toll of civilian casualty outweighed that loss substantially.&nbsp; Shinra's new sense of fear-instilling was inhumane, he noted, sacrificing the entirety of Sector 7 to squash the rebellion and take with it any and all individuals above or below.&nbsp; His retribution was quickly carried out and they fought through Shinra's Mako-Reactor 1 to find the [Portal] Materia.&nbsp; Ushering his men out first, Sephiroth ensured they would not be followed by destroying the Reactor just before moving through the portal and was introduced to a new world - Olympus.<br><br>The rest is history.&nbsp; Sephiroth domineered his men, gaining and losing many along the way, through various worlds under the Dynasty's empire.&nbsp; His actions at Midgar reached the Universe's ears and at long last, they managed to corner him and lay waste to his rebellion leaving only him alive to answer for the crimes of terrorism, conspiracy against Midgar and inciting public chaos in the Dynasty.&nbsp; His actions spread like wildfire, further encouraging many of the already liberal-thinking associations and individuals throughout the Universe until three days ago where he seemingly vanished and wasn't put on public display to make an example.&nbsp; It seems they wanted him taken out discretely alongside the face of many other individuals who each had their own stories to tell.&nbsp; Stories that Sephiroth made a note, if they survived, to learn.</div></div><br><br>At long last, the day of execution was at hand and Sephiroth's diligent observation of Rowark witnessed the man's third rise in morning before barking out orders to his groggy men.&nbsp; For whatever reason, the Camp Master's words finally broke his impassive expression.&nbsp; The right tip of his lips twitched into a discrete smirk, smug and confident and his silence broke right after.&nbsp; <em>"Loyalty to your Empress is an endearing trait you have, Rowark.&nbsp; Quite the contrast to the more unpleasant ones you have, numerous as they may be."</em> His deep, husky voice boomed out from within his cage yet it carried with it undeniable power and presence.&nbsp; <em>"On behalf of the men I lost leading to this moment, I want to thank you for being the hand to reunite me with the fallen and wish you well in the future.&nbsp; You deserve it but if I may, I pose a question to you."</em>&nbsp; A pause followed, allowing only enough time for Rowark to either acknowledge his speech or choose to ignore it.&nbsp; He had many reasons for it, namely the rationale that if he was the first to speak and goad things, he would be the first taken from his cage which would spare the others, namely the women who have faced detestable acts of perversion over the recent days, more time.&nbsp; In either outcome, acknowledged or ignored, he followed up following the fleeting pause.&nbsp; <em>"Why would they trust a band of ruffians in a remote location with known traitors and prisoners of war who have proven dangerous?&nbsp; Do the shackles we wear give you the confidence to face us without the thought of reprisal?&nbsp; It just doesn't seem logically sound or perhaps the days of famine have left me delirious to what's in front of me.&nbsp; I'm truly not sure and maybe the others don't find my rationale grounded."</em><br><br>The time to begin plotting, stalling and seeking salvation from this fate was at hand and if his observations and assumptions were correct, the necessity to act was now.&nbsp; Rowark seemed at first glance to be a simple ruffian leading other ruffians but he had enough commanding presence to lead.&nbsp; The compliment of warrior's pride followed by the installment of consideration of his men's safety would either seem a challenge or the parting words of wisdom from one accomplished soldier to the other.&nbsp; If he was half the man Sephiroth gave him credit for, it should be taken into consideration or Rowark would prove to the others that these men were really simple barbarians following the orders of another.&nbsp; If it were the latter, then perhaps his fellow prisoners - his current kinsmen - would reach further into the resolve they undoubtedly possessed and await the opportunity to strike.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Mac84</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 16:54:45</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/robotech/images/b/bf/Jack_Archer.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110325082320)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Jack Archer<br><strong>Location:</strong> Skyrim, boonies, in a cage<br><strong>Status:</strong> Restrained, Gagged<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Gayle (M), W.A.R.&nbsp; (M), Sephiroth (M),Open.<br><br>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br><br>Soreness. Complete soreness at sleeping on a rusty cast iron slab for another night. The chill in the air didn't help the cage's occupant none neither as he slowly unfolded from his fetal position to conserve as much body heat as possible. He was clothed in his Pilot/Survival Suit which helped to cut most of the chill from the night, and day. Yet, provided little else in comfort. He slowly rose back up to his 6'2" height, and shook his head. Causing his wild mane of dark blue hair to tussle as he looked around. Yup, still in a fucking cage. He huffed in aggravation around the large gag in his mouth. It was put there on the first night with the "Shitlords" when they started to get drunk, and insult the prisoners.Jack quickly showed that his own tongue was far sharper, and he was much more of a quickwit than they. Something that they didn't take very well. Jack was trying to see if he could get them to open the cage in which point he would try to escape. As a soldier in the RDF, and Veritech pilot, he was trained in Escape, and Evade Tactics. However, He didn't count on one of the guards to throw a paralyzing spell his way so he wouldn't try to escape. Yeah, just his luck that they weren't completely stupid.<br><br>Jack started to walk around the parameter of the cage, inspecting the bars as he had done every day. Trying to find a way to either bend, break, or perhaps dislodge. However, as brittle, and rusty they looked. They were far stronger than they appeared. That, and the shackles upon his wrists, and ankles prevented any quick movement. When it was accepted that his situation has not changed in the least. He turned his attention to his Neighbor, and the one across from her. <br><br>The cage immediately to his left had a woman with a dark jacket, and long hair. She was easy on the eyes, and that was a plus. Hell, if you're gonna die. At least dying with a pleasant view wasn't so bad. He tried to make polite conversation the first say with The woman, but it appeared she wasn't social, and after being gagged. There wasn't much more he could do to try and get her on board in any escape attempts. Then there was that "person" in the cage across from hers. Jack wasn't sure what to make of him. Looked more like a robot than anything. So how were you to execute a robot? Can't you simply reprogram them? It was all too much to think about when your stomach was empty, and your mouth was as dry as the Post Rain earth. <br><br>Jack's head snapped up, and looked towards the Big tent when he heard their captors started to wake, and curse. The Leader calling for the men to get the prisoners off to the "Block".&nbsp; Jack realized he didn't have much time left. He had to think of something. If all else failed, he was not going to go down willingly.<br><br>Though in this late hour, it would appear another decided to speak. A man of pale skin, and long pale hair donning a very long black trench coat. So far, he hardly moved nor said a work the time of their imprisonment. Jack Blinked as he wondered what brought this about. He figured the man already given up. Jack watched, and listened as the stranger spoke with interesting refinement to the Camp Master Rowark. "<em>eh, must be a noble born.</em>&nbsp; Jack thought as he continued to listen, and watch. This could present an opportunity. His eyes narrowed as the long haired man called Rowark's warrior pride into question. A good tactic depending on Rowark's personality. So for the moment, Jack could only watch, wait, and be ready. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ollumhammersong</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 17:56:31</strong>
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				Name: Megaman X<br>Location: Prison<br>Tagging: Open<br>Status: Restrained<br>Notes: X-buster removed. No right arm below the elbow. <br><br><br>He inspected his stump of an arm for the umpteenth time since being taken as a prisoner. It was an odd sensation having it removed for so long. Sure he had removed it himself for repairs and upgrades at times. But that was different, he knew he was getting his arm back. And thats how he thought of his appendage more than just a weapon. It was his arm. A literal part of him and has been for so long. He didn't feel complete without being whole. Pain and physical discomfort may not be something a reploid was capable of feeling. But that odd strain of mental discomfort was unfortunatly not something more advanced and higher functioning reploids were spared from experiencing. <br><br>This sense of discomfort did not extend to the shackles that were literally bolting him to the floor by his ankles and one free wrist. Or to the insults that were hurled at him over the last three days by his guards. They were things that could easily be ignored. What food and water they tried to give him was varely fit for the rats that squeaked and crawled between the wheels of the prison carts. Which was fortunate as Megaman did not need to eat to sustain himself. And he had long ago at the beginning of his imprisonment began a shutdown of most non critical systems. Conserving power where he could and limiting his movement. If an opportunity to escape did arise than he would need all the energy he could muster to break free from his bindings. <br><br>Aside from looking at the bar stump that was his eblow he did waste some small amounts of energy inspecting his sorroundings over the last three days. How strong were his chains? How many people was he incarcerated with? Did the guards have some exploitable routine or habits? Barring some miracle or saviour swoooping down and cutting his chains. Information was going to be key to planning a solid escape. <br><br>When he heard the wretch of a guard captain announce it was finally time for him to be executed he quickly began powering up all the systems that had stayed dormant for the past three days. If he was going to do something he needed to do it soon. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lustful Bride</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 17:57:58</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://sfmlab.com/media/jumbo/VqKIbugB.jpg.750x500_q85_crop.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Miranda Keyes.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution camp<br><strong>Status:</strong> Chained up, bruised<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><br>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br><br><br><strong>"Now Get in and get on your knees!" </strong> One of the various guards yelled at Miranda, as they shoved her to a group of other victims of the <em>'Almighty Empress's' </em> power, or anyone who in general had annoyed the pompous elf. At first she refused to move, until someone jabbed her had with the wooden staff portion of a spear and she fell in. "Sorry, I thought you were referring to your <strong>mother</strong>!" She hissed through clenched teeth as she climbed up into the cage with the others. She knew that she was being taken to go and have her head chopped off, but she was much more focused on being angry that she fell into such a simple trap. Agreeing to meet a potential client by herself at a specific time. She had gotten sloppy and overconfident.<br><br><em>'Of course you fell for it Miranda. You were sloppy, you took down a few Dynasty ships and thought you were ontop of the world.</em>' She thought with a tired sigh, rubbing her face with her hands as she remained piled closely with others. They seemed to all come from different worlds and walks of life, but they all came together for the same reason, they pissed off the Empress. But she couldn't see any of them really being in a talking mood, so she kept to herself, eyes aimed up at the sky and hoping her ship was still out there.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Angie</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 18:58:06</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://media.steampowered.com/steamcommunity/public/images/items/215280/a9849580b47ec9bbd0e7e90f7c31a51b1120e1f5.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Kristen Geary<br><strong>Location:</strong> Death Camp<br><strong>Status:</strong> Made of snark<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><br>Sloppy. That's how this started. She had been sloppy. She knew the Dynasty and the Illuminati had no love for each other. She knew the Templars would use any excuse to lure her out of her ivory tower. And she fell for it, like a dumbass. Templars didn't part with secret artifacts without a good reason. She had gambled, a line of thinking better reserved for the Dragon, and lost. Lost hard too-she knew the Illuminati weren't sending anyone out to save her. They didn't do rescues. It was likely that her accounts were frozen and her login to Illuminati servers were disabled-though, perhaps not destroyed. There was a little bit of hope-if she could break out and stick it to the Dynasty on the way out, she'd be back in. But until then, she was dead to her former masters. <br><br>And she would soon be really dead, if these bastards had their way. There was maybe a way to swing things in her favor...these men, simple bandits, they could be angered. Anger could be exploited. And they were nursing hangovers from last night...she didn't expect to intimidate them, but she wanted to make them get sloppy from anger. And hey, maybe there was a Jayne Cobb in the midst..."You seem to have a hard time controlling your men, Captain." She called out for all to hear. "I always thought the booze was for AFTER cutting off your enemies' heads. Or at least during, but not before-drinking beforehand makes it harder to keep control of your prisoners." Well, if she was going to die anyway, might as well have a little fun. "Oh, make sure the axe is really really sharp-those things have a tendency to rebound off the vertebrae and hit you. I'd <em>hate</em> to see you fine gentlemen get stabbed in the gut while you're finishing off little ol' me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rish</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 20:50:04</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://pre15.deviantart.net/daa4/th/pre/f/2012/066/7/b/ganon__s_fist_by_leo_diamond_by_leodiamond-d4s0igt.jpg)<br><strong>Name:</strong> Ganondorf<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution - Skyrim Roads<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Status:</strong> Laughing softly while remembering his previous execution<br><strong>Notes:</strong> Too Big for his Cage</div><hr><hr><br>The large bulk of a man of 7'6 and 3/4 Quarters in height sat in his prison cell with a thick little laugh as he grinned towards one of the men that was walking by his block. His lips turned up to show the sharp corners of his canines, proving once more that he was in no way human. He was Gerudo! Ruthless, tough, and powerful. That was his people, and he was proud to be one of them. He knew he had gotten himself captured by doing something completely out of character for him. He joined a team in freeing another group of prisoners, not so unlike themselves at the moment. The break in had gone rather smoothly, they had yet to sound any alarms or come across a guard to alert the others. And that was where his gut had clenched in suspicion. He should of followed his instincts and had someone with the abilities to scout go do surveillance for them. But no, for once in his life he had ignored his instincts and pushed along. Walking right into the ambush within the chamber where the other prisoners were held. They had thought and had managed to crush the force waiting for them, not without the others in his team receiving injuries. But they were all alive, and the prisoners had been freed. <br><br>However, the situation was more dire. It had been a setup from the start. And trying to escape now would only result in them all being captured. So Ganondorf did what he did best...he <em>Destroyed!</em> Busting down wall after wall until they had a clear way outside. This allowed everyone to have a clear escape to flee, but it drew the attention of everyone in the building. Fast on their heels the soldiers and magic users alike charged at them. Forcing them all to continue ahead he stayed back to hold them off.<br><br>He kept them back a good while...relishing the battle and bloodshed. The hatred and fear glowing from his foes and the prisoners still captured within the walls of&nbsp; prison feeding him. He was a monster, cutting and rending flesh. But no one can last against an unending onslaught of attacks forever. And he went down, awakening in this cramp cell without his weapons. And his magic sealed. <br><br>Ah, thinking on it...Hyrule was doing this to him <em>again.</em> This time it was just the Princess and not her dear old bastard of a father that delivered the order. <em>"Heh Hah Hah HAH!"</em> The dark glow of his yellow piercing eyes shimmer as he ignores the biting cold that cut into his skin and bones. He could easily deal with little food and water, his home lead to that constantly. But the biting cold was new, and quite the annoyance. "I guess the princess didn't fall far from the tree after all....oh? Wondering who I'm talking about are you?" He looks around at any guys that were looking at him from his loud laugh. His lips curled in a smirk as he decides to answer the looking eyes. "I speak of our dear old <em>Tyrant</em> Queen, always a princess. Never a queen. The Dominion attack must of been the best thing that ever happened to her." And now he was purposely mocking their queen, making it sound like she had only risen into power due to the ancient <em>war</em> and had no right as queen. He may respect her, but by no means did he respect these pathetic worms that believed they would be the death of him. He had been executed before, and survived it. He would survive it again. <br><br>He decides to test the wills of the barbarian ilk that are leading them to their place of execution. Leaning back against the rusted bars he looks at one of them, keeping his expression cruel and amused as he spoke. "I can't help but wonder. Were <em>any</em> of you actually told who you were transporting? Why this had to be lead to a secret location? It amuses me how high you place yourselves despite how easily any of us could kill you if you just got a <em>little</em> too close. " He looks over the men that were walking along the prison cells. "But none of you give a damn if another one of you got killed do you? Just <em>another</em> chance for you to gain power, to grow in strength...oh, don't worry. I'm not insulting you. Its survivral of the <em>Strong!</em> After all, you need that kind of mind if you ever want to lead these men." He didn't care if he made them angry, if he planted the seed of doubt into them. If one of them gained the idea of such a plot and decided to act on it. All he wanted to do was <em>feed</em> their darkness. And to <em>feed</em> on it in return. To gather his strength for the battle he knew was to come from every dark emotion he could around him. Even his fellow prisoners if he could. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>BruceTheCat</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 21:46:21</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/88/63/e7/8863e7781abbf39d40645ae5e38084c2.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Shepard<br><strong>Location:</strong> Cage<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Ganondorf, Other person up for grabs, Open<br><strong>Status:</strong> Waiting<br><hr><br>Shepard had been sitting with his back against the bars and his butt firmly planted on the grating beneath him. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, his cybernetic hands resting gently on top of his thighs. It had been like this for three days. Exposed to the harsh elements of the Skyrim mountains, biting down what could barely be described as food, sleeping in short few minute bursts whenever exhaustion finally overcome his conscious thoughts. Three very long days. Four days ago he'd been an Admiral in the Dynasty military. The signs of that were evident about his body. Shepard had been arrested directly from his capital ship and brought here. He was not even allowed a moment to change into something more comfortable. Left to rot in this god-forsaken cell while still wearing his Admiral uniform. A form fitting black and white suite that buttoned up along the far side of his ribcage. The familiar symbol of the dynasty located above his left breast, while emblems of various medals he'd been awarded during service to his Empress were located above his right breast.<br><br>During the period of captivity Shepard had not said much. He spent the mornings executing his habitual workout routine of pullups, pushups and situps. Using the cage bars around him as temporary workout equipment. The afternoon he filled with attentive glances and looks from his seat there in the corner of the cell. Listening to the guard conversations with mild interest, studying some of the new prisoners who were getting locked up. From what he could gather, most were rebels of one sort or another. Sentenced to death for their blatant crimes against the Dynasty. Fewer, men and women like Shepard, seemed to actually be a part of the military. <strong>”Guess we all go in the same hole in the end”</strong>. He would have laughed at the irony if Shepard had not been so tired. For the past two evenings he simply stared absently up towards the stars and moon, letting his mind wander for extended periods of time to distract.<br><br>The morning had finally come. Already a few of his fellow prisoners were giving the guards a bit of verbal hell. In particular Ganondorf, who Shepard recognized from his span in the military, and the white haired man sitting patiently. <strong>”While you're giving out management advice Ganon, why don't you see if he'll open the cage so we can run through some trust exercises”</strong>. Shooting the mammoth sized Gerudo a weak, jovial grin. It seemed that it was finally time to get this over with. So Shepard stretched his legs and finally stood up. A self-satisfied groan of comfort breaking from between his dry lips. Feeling the kinks and aches from his lower body gradually begin to disappear.<br><br><strong>”Want some help up?”</strong>, asking the person in the cell adjacent to him. Reaching through the bars with his black tinted, robotic digits. <strong>”I'm Shepard, nice to meet you”</strong> <em>(Anybody can jump in as the person he was speaking to!)</em>. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rel Mayer</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 22:59:19</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maf4hx4HYr1r2cc34o1_500.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Lady Sylvanas Runner "The Banshee Queen"<br><strong>Location</strong>: In her shared cage. <br><strong>Tagging</strong>: Revan, Cookie (Mentioned),&nbsp; Gayle (Mentioned), Shepard (Mentioned), Jack (Mentioned)<br><strong>Status</strong>: Frustrated! <br><hr><br>Sylvanas had not slept, she had not ate, and she hadn't smiled for the duration of three days of transportation. So many questions plagued her undead soul, but she stayed relativity quiet. The fools may have taken away her weapons, but they had not taken away the determination to escape. The Queen would have been damned for eternal hell if she allowed these primitive humans to destroy her. The thought made her glowing red eyes ignite even further, as she paced along the outer corner of her cage. Fuming angry about how disrespectful they were to her. Did they not know that she was a Queen? A leader of an undead army that could consume all of these soldiers alive in moments. Then the tough realization began to set in... she was not nearly as powerful of a woman as she was in Azeroth. Sylvanas wasn't sure if it was because she couldn't contact the Val'kyrs or because the magic in these lands were different, but she was only a fraction of how powerful she was before the Legion infested her land with science and new sorts of magic.<br><br>"You fate will be poor and unfortunate, once I get out of here young man," Sylvanas' voice echoed within the daytime, with her gloved hands reaching up toward the bars. Her hands curling around them as she felt a sense of heat growing inside of her palms, smoke and the smell of burning flesh sudden began to fume from her mouth, but Sylvana's plush lips lowered to a disgusted snarl as she continued to taught the solider pacing outside of her cage, "I will kill you first, just to allow you to live in your decaying body with the thirst for flesh, blood, brains. Then I will control your...<em>umph</em>," Sylvanas cut herself off as she bit her bottom lip. Her eyes rolling back as the pain began to surge through her undead body. The cage was no doubt enchanted with holy magics, to prevent Sylvanas from casting her spells or screaming for her escape. The woman was so weakened by holy magic that her dark purple hued skin was burning inside of the metal of her gloves, but she was stating her dominance and it was worth the pain. The bindings of the shackles making it nearly impossible for her to maneuver her arms in the correct way she wanted.<br><br>"... Then you will find your friends, family, or anyone that you love. Hopefully a nice little virgin maiden for your rotting teeth to sink into, and then you will feel what I have felt for... <em>Auggahhh!</em>" she suddenly exclaimed and separated her hands from the bars. The metal of her gloves were molten red, burning her dark skin from the inside, but it slowly cooled as she took a step away from the sides of the bars. Looking weak and disgusted within herself. She had spent so many days studying these soldiers, looking for any sign of weakness, but this land was too primitive compared to her own. <br><br>The dark purple skinned woman let out another groan of disgust as she paced to the other side of her cage. Noting the man in a mask who had been almost silent the entire time, sharing a cell with her. While Sylvanas had stayed dealthy silent this entire time, with the exception of her frustrated outburst right now, she was finally in the mood to see if the man was sleeping or if he was praying to the Gods like the monks of her land. "You..." she said, kicking her boot up into the side of his thigh. Her dark purple cape, with frayed edges, waving in the wind and hovering above her shoulders. Showing off her long purple boots that wrapped around her slender calves before hugging her toned thighs. The darker purple freckles contrasted with her dark hued skin on her bare thighs, before the purple metals of her armored bikini bottoms hid her womanhood. Still, it didn't care to hide the gentle curve of her ass spilling out of the edges of her panties.<br><br>She wore heavy shoulders with spiked armor fraying her enchanted cape even further. A similar looking bikini top hugged the dark purple cleavage spilling out from her chest, but even if she did dress rather sensual, the narrowed look of her eye probably detracted from her sex appeal. The way her pouting dark lips moved only indicated that she was angry, and if he couldn't hear her while she spoke -- he would have been easily able to feel the aura of hate around her. "Wake up! By the way these soldiers are acting, we're nearing our destination and I am desperate for escape," she said, not hiding her statement from the guards. Of course she wasn't going to roll over on her back and get royally fucked to death by these primitive idiots. <br><br>The woman waited for him to finally pay attention to her before she lowered her back, leaning down to speak to him directly as she said, "These people disgust me. They've gagged a poor fellow, enchanted this cage with my weakness -- so I can't even rest my back against the bars, and..." she looked up to a few cages a head of her. "They're even attempting to advance themselves on a young woman. I want to kill them and I need your help," her eyes glimmered with another surge of heat while her perfumed scent of Tiger Lily's left her body and ignited anyone's nostrils nearby. Seeming that when she was working herself up, the gentle smell of flowers escaped from her pores... like an enchantment. "And if you don't help me, I'll have fun controlling your weak body once you die," she added as a final bitch-like statement. Standing up and then crossing her arms under her heavy bust, "For I am Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, and I will continue to be a thorn in the side of my enemies... don't make yourself one of them."<br><br>Sylvanas looked around, and saw that more people were talking. One of them was a familiar looking military man that looked like he had all the plans, and another was the gagged individual she had mentioned prior. The metals on the man with robotic arms indicated that he was a person of power, and she suddenly became flustered knowing that he was nothing to help them escape. No one was.... and then she came to the harsh reality that she too, the great Sylvanas Windrunner, could do nothing to escape at this moment alone. But together, like the Horde once did, they may be able to do something. <br><br>"And why does it smell like fish everywhere!" she growled again, in one last final cry of frustration. Raising her arms in the air so that the chains rattled against the wooden floorboards and jiggling her breasts,&nbsp; as she continued to pace silently in front of Revan.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vaulera</strong> on <strong>05-10-2015, 01:57:43</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammer40k/images/6/68/Sister_of_Battle_Anna_Steinbauer.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150804074745)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Mariel Corbeck<br><strong>Location</strong> Cage<br><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br><strong>Status</strong>: Brooding/praying <br><br><hr><br>Mariel had been taken prisoner a small while back, and stripped of her equipment. That hurt more than the shackles that had been bolted into her arms, having her blessed arsenal stripped away. It was bizarre, not feeling the comforting bulk of her power armour, and even though Mariel was physically very tall, she felt more than a foot shorter. Sitting in her cage cross-legged she was silent, her face twisted into a stone-cold grimace, staring right into the floor of her cage. Rather than her ceramite armour, Mariel was allowed some standard-ish military fatigues, their tight cut showing the large, corded muscles that had been developed in her decades of training and warfare.<br><br>Initially, Mariel had resisted, growling, shouting or smashing at the bars, but soon after she understood the futility of her actions, she had simply stopped and sat down. Never defeated, Mariel was gathering herself, and praying, a rumbling litany passing from her lips and gradually growing in volume. It could have been confused with catholic doctrine if it weren't to the nearly uncountable number of times the word 'emperor' was uttered. Finishing her Prayer, the tall woman stood up and moved closer to the bars of her cage.<br><br>"You heretics will be dealt your justice when this cage door is opened. Bows, blades and men cannot stop the Emperor's daughter. Before I die, I <em>will</em> crush the life out of at least one of you, with your own heretical chains!" Mariel said, in that distinctive, strange, high-british accent that the imperials had. Gritting her teeth, the tall, platinum-haired woman started stomping back and forth, spewing forth doctrine and growling at any of the grunts that walked by.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pink Professional</strong> on <strong>05-10-2015, 02:30:14</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://pre04.deviantart.net/02fe/th/pre/i/2012/244/a/b/darth_revan_by_momogoyo-d5d5cq9.jpg)</div>Name: Darth Revan<br>Location: Skyrim Road, Execution Cages<br>Tagging: Sylvanas, Ganon (M), Gayle (M) Shepherd (M)<br>Doing: Meditation<br>Warnings?: None<br><br><hr><br>Revan had been quiet for most of his time in the cages; sitting in a state of cross-legged meditation for most of the days that he'd been in the cages. He had been in the cages since the prison had loaded up the majority of the dissident forces that made up this caravan of soon-to-be-ex threats to the Empress' dynasty. The more astute might have noticed that he was in the cages even before that. In truth, Revan had been carted around for what was close to a week, pondering imponderables as he attempted to gather as much of his strength as he could muster for what would likely be a futile attempt at escape.<br><br>He recalled the letter in his robe, hidden snuggly into one of the inner pouches and sealed tight. It had been slipped into his pocket by...someone. A guard maybe? It was hard to tell, but surely only a guard would have been close enough to put it into his cloak. Perhaps the more pressing question was who had put so much effort into making sure a dead man would receive the letter? and perhaps more importantly: why?<br><br>One of his 'room' mates had spent the greater part of the last three days pacing back and forth, pouting and whispering and fuming about her fate. He had taken notice of her consistent strength; and also the fact that she hadn't needed to drink, or eat, or sleep. While she had paced, he had watched the others in the little convoy, a curiosity compelling him to try and understand how they moved, and how they acted. The first thing he noticed was the general detestability of the guards. They had been drunkards who abused their positions of power frequently; attempting to taunt and goad the menfolk, and grope and grab at the womenfolk. He had attempted to crush one of their windpipes during the first day of travel, but found himself grasping at the strings of the force; immobile and confused in the immaterial maelstrom of the force. He had known that his connection to the force was weakened recently, but to this extent? It was like his connection to the force had been cut off entirely!<br><br>Soon enough, he realised that it wasn't so much that he was cut off from the force, it was more that his connection to the force was being blocked. The shackles around his hands must have been the source, and that realization soon had him focusing his meditation. What at first had merely been an attempt by him to calm his emotions now changed into him attempting to focus the force around him. He had spent so much time focusing on this meditation, that he seemed to forget to eat, or sleep. Not that the guards had provided him with food, as note had been sent to someone that the Masked man was to be left alone as much as possible.<br><br>For two days, Revan focused on his meditative state. On the morning of the third day, he was disturbed by a general aura around the camp; a certain purpose to the guards, and a tension amongst the prisoners. He watched the scrappy young thing in one of the front cages, who had doled out broken noses to the letches that made attempts at her; he watched as the silent-droid made every attempt to remain quiet; he watched&nbsp; as a loud Green man made a boisterous attempt at goading the guards; and he noticed...<br><br>His train of thoughts were disturbed as he felt a dull sensation slap against his thigh. Slowly and intentionally looking up, his mask moving to portray this change, the mask of Revan glanced up at the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas. He had attempted to ignore her little tryst with meaningless threats and goading. She had claimed to be important, but he could not see how such brash arrogance was useful here. The Stormlords held the keys to their shackles, and all of the cards. Even if one of them was stupid enough to fall for the attempts at infuriation: they would enter the cage, beat the woman, possibly rape her, and then kill her. If the shackles were inhibiting his connection to the force, they were probably limiting other people's skillsets as well.<br><br>When Sylvanas finally finished speaking, Revan was quiet for a moment; then two; and finally a third. He was intentionally dragging out the silence of the cage as she paced back and forth. Perhaps for the first time he took in her appealing, if not confusing, form. His mask hid his eyes, and his amused smirk, as she seemingly grew more and more irate at his silence. The fact she'd declared herself a queen had him thinking that she was used to being listened to. He was intentionally being quiet to set the tone of their brief future together: Revan did not bow.<br><br>Silently, Revan rose to his full height. Fully outstretched, the cloaked figure stood at over six feet in height. He looked down at the Banshee, feeling his bones protest at the sudden movement. He clenched his fists, feeling the metal of the shackles grind against the bonded bones of his wrists as he popped each joint of his fingers. "<strong>We do not have an opportunity to kill the Stormlords, no matter how detestable they act.</strong>" His voice was deep and full as he looked around the clearing that was set to be the site of his death.<br><br>Putting his hands on the metal bars of the cage, he tried to sense any of the strange 'weakness' that the woman had spoken of. He could sense nothing in particular, but he could smell the scent of burnt flesh from a corner behind the Banshee Queen. It was...curious.<br><br>Still, one thing that Sylvanas had said caught his attention. It was nearly time. He could feel the force around him now, filling the area with the touch of it as he tried to conjure up the powers of his blood, and his universe. He could <em>feel</em> the force surrounding him; and yet he still couldn't manipulate it. "<strong>These shackles are what keep me pinned. Remove those, and I could break us out of this cage.</strong>"<br><br>After a moment, he paused; and then added. "<strong>So says Revan. Of no title, no crown, and no allegiance.</strong>"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheBlackThrone</strong> on <strong>05-10-2015, 06:19:08</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130622041203/drakengard/images/1/1d/Angelus_and_Caim.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Caim<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution Grounds - Skyrim<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open, Angelus<br><strong>Doing:</strong> Communicating with his dragon<br><strong>Warning:</strong> N/A<br><hr><br>Fire.<br><br>The former prince's right eye opened as a blue slit stretched across it. The blades of his dark hair waved in the frigid breeze, whipping about his brows as he stared across the cold, cage floor. He had been lying on his side, his wrists joined at his lap by metallic bindings. He was still wearing his Union soldier uniform, but his sword and sheath were not slung across his back. His fingers flexed and curled, and a painful sting shot through his wrists up his forearms. The soldier's teeth came together in a silent hiss and wince of pain, causing his single eye to open wider to observe the chains coiled about them.<br><br><em>Where am I?</em> he wondered.<br><br>He heard soft rodent-like squeaking at his twelve o'clock just beyond his head. Craning his neck, Caim gazed upon the brown hairy backsides of a pair of rats as they devoured a pile of food that had been collecting for awhile. The rats were all fat from having been well-fed for the past few days. The biggest one of the group had clearly been the alpha as it squealed and nipped at those rats that crept too close to its portion. He was thankful for those wasted meals might have saved him from being devoured in his sleep.<br><br><em>How long have I been asleep?</em><br><br>Caim slowly tipped his shoulder behind him to roll onto his back. Through a half-lidded eye, he gazed up at the yellow, sun-bathed sky as dawn crept over the icy peaks.<br><br><em>Caim...</em><br><br>His dark brows rose in acknowledgement at the sound of the familiar voice.<br><br><em>I know that voice...</em><br><br><em>Caim, you have been asleep for three days and I could not reach you until now. You are in danger.</em><br><br><em>Why am I in chains? Why am I here?</em><br><br><em>I do not know. My mind is not as it used to be and neither is yours. However, I know that I must save you.</em><br><br><em>Where are you?</em><br><br><em>I am coming, and I will drench those pathetic humans in a river of dragonfire.</em><br><br>His pupil dilated a little at the realization. Dragonfire. Dragon. Red.<br><br><em>Angelus...</em> he had thought it aloud at first as the name suddenly came to him. His eye focused on the awakening sky. <em>Come to me!</em>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niki315</strong> on <strong>05-10-2015, 07:33:11</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Rozpic035.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Rozalin<br><strong>Location:</strong> Skyrim - Solitude<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Doing:</strong> Letting Zenon rise to the surface<br><hr><br><br>Rozalin's eyes flickered open as the distant sunrise lit the frozen wastes. It could almost be thought of as beautiful were it not for the view being obstructed by bars. The air was frigid, and her clothing felt damp, which only allowed the cold to seep further into her skin. While her resistance prevented any negative effects, it didn't stop it from being uncomfortable. Oh how she longed for a warm bath in a hot spring. Her daydream was blissful but short-lived and a distraction from what was truly important. She shook her head lightly to clear her mind and then looked around.<br><br>As far as anyone could tell, the situation was particularly dire. The indignity of the Empress's treachery led Rozalin into what could be her final moments. An insulting way for the God of All Overlords to be dispatched. Short of fuming inwardly and showing a composed front, there seemed to be nothing that could be done. The shackles and the cages seemed to be unyielding, as some of the other prisoners had proven through their tests. Rozalin was mostly concerned that her magic was countered by their presence. With her weapons taken and her magic suppressed, Rozalin had no means of rectifying her situation.<br><br>Technically Rozalin hadn't even betrayed anyone; to be executed without even making her case was infuriating. She sat in the center of her cage, straight-backed and head up, her skirts flowering out around her. She spent most of the last three days glaring at the guards with lingering gazes as they moved slowly toward execution. Three whole days had passed without even the courtesy of a change of clothes or taking of her last words. They hadn't even brought her food, not that she technically needed it, but more that it was discourteous to treat a noble in such a manner. Rozalin was being treated as a common criminal when she certainly deserved the proper respect due to someone of her stature. Aside from her fellow prisoners, most of whom seemed to be in worse condition than herself, the guards were the only point of contact around. And they were wretched. Humans of the lowest sort. Not even fit for the mana it took to animate them. In fact, the only movements Rozalin made in the last 72 hours were to smack away the hands of the Nords as they tried to grope her or rip her dress. Even bound and helpless, she would not abide further insult. Even a shackled Overlord was something to be feared.<br><br>After countless hours with nothing to occupy her time, Rozalin had noticed a few peculiarities about the situation. There would be no crowd to witness the final punishments, something Rozalin found to be odd. Why would the Empress be so insistent that 20 something prisoners be taken to an isolated land to be executed without witness? What was the point of hiding the executions of traitors? Rozalin was certain to display her force periodically, especially against usurpers, to maintain her control. With the incredible numbers of subjects the Empress controlled it would be a disaster to present them with a weakness. Still this small crew of thick men assembled a selection of highly powerful prisoners in similar cages for execution. And the preparations seemed to be nearly complete. Her fellow prison-mates seemed to also sense the end of the arrangements and began to make their intentions known. If there had been a plan to escape, Rozalin was not informed of it. Most likely, the others around her were hoping that one slip up would give them the chance to break loose. It seemed unlikely that taunting them and goading them would have any positive results. However, having all of the prisoners attempting to escape at once might spread their numbers too thin. If they had expected to break the spirits of these captives, they would need to try a lot harder.<br><br>The captor in charge was rousing his subordinates and happened to utter the word Solitude. It was the main city of this area, but it held a deep rooted connection to her previous life. <span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><em>Solitude. I am a being of Solitude.</em></span> She could hear the words ring in her head. <strong>"No. I won't. I won't give in."</strong> Rozalin would not let these brutes bring out the worst in her. She stared defiantly ahead, waiting for them to prepare for the execution. Besides, there was nothing Zenon could accomplish that Rozalin couldn't accomplish on her own. She rose to her feet and straightened her skirts. She would walk toward her death as an Overlord.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>scribus1000</strong> on <strong>06-10-2015, 05:31:50</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://orig08.deviantart.net/bbf4/f/2014/206/3/1/zero_suit_samus___12_by_sebastianvonbuchwald-d7s8879.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Samus Aran<br><strong>Location:</strong> Skyrim - Solitude - Execution Camp<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open (Samus might not respond immediately to others)<br><strong>Doing:</strong> Calculating odds of imminent death.<br><hr><br>Under normal circumstances, her hair would have been properly fashioned in her traditional ponytail and bangs, with the rest of her looking good to match and then some. Though any given person would agree, normal had gone out the window quite some time ago. Matted dirty-blonde hair, trussed up and tangled out of style, was her current appearance, owed to one of the captors having threaded his fingers through it, over her scalp, and dragging her into the cage by a handful. Two others had whalloped her with clubs, and all three had copped feels in places that Samus would have decked them for if she was physically capable. <br><br>She'd woken up this way on the first day of what looked like her final journey. Now it was the third day, and between then and now she'd not had even a brief respite. She was thankful, at least, that the captives weren't made to exhaust themselves by walking (and thus taking away energy to even consider an escape). The shackles were a surprise, between the constant pain pulsing into her wrists, bone-deep where they must have screwed them in, and the wide-eyed realization that her suit access was completely cut off from her. These weren't the bastards that took her down on her own gunship, but they were prepared and well-equipped all the same. Still, it felt like she was being handed down to another entity...like someone's dirty laundry they didn't want anyone to see. The Dynasty branded her a traitor and slated her for death. Should be an open-and-closed case. So why the isolation? What had turned her and these rather mouthy comrades (many of the group members were wisecracking one way or another) into a hot potato?<br><br>She made a mental note to try and figure out what the shackles were made of for later. If there was going to be a later...that much she was unsure on. As ironclad as her will to fight remained, the facts were still laid out in clear, cold clarity. She had faced dozens of monstrosities, killed terrible, terrible beasts on other planets, had practically saved her galaxy--and here she was, about to be cut down by a pack of barbarians, filthy little cretins free to act on their base impulses thanks to the leverage their roles offered them--she had been able to piece together some background based on what she heard them say. Character is what you are in the dark; these men should have been vampires for all the characteristics they showed. In all honesty, she wouldn't mind the execution as much as she did now if it were in the hands of people better qualified. But this was someone's dirty work, and that usually required someone equally dirty to do it.<br><br>Hindsight actually made these fuckheads look appropriate for this.<br><br>And all that did was further irritate the bounty hunter.<br><br>Samus parted her cracked lips for a moment, tasting air--and some foreign, foreboding tension around her. She had not had water or food for the past two days, her captors hadn't seen any point in feeding the soon-to-be dead. It had been offered to her more than once, yes...but under influence of strong ale and other alcohol, filled with lewd propositions, and never seriously. The last man to say he'd give her water for free when they'd refilled near a river (she did not ask, accept or refuse, only ignored him as she knew it was a joke with an incoming punchline), merely poured it on her head, then reached through the bars and crudely grabbed a breast to make a hearty laugh with the rest of the boys about how this was such a waste. <br><br>The shackles prevented Samus from reaching up, and mashing her fist into his nose like a hammer crushing an egg.<br><br>Now, it hadn't gotten any easier--many of the soldiers or mercs, whatever they were, found the Zero Suit coupled with the attitude to be enticing, and thus Samus never went long without a catcall or taunt of some sort. <br><br>Over the course of this trip, she hadn't said much more than about thirty words. That still held true; for now, the bounty hunter was not even close to giving up, but what energy she had left was channeled to something other than speech. Her eyes were tired, but with a cold vibrance that suggested a coiled, tense woman watching and waiting with an infinite patience. Actions spoke louder than words--and oh boy, did Samus have a lot to <em>"say"</em> to this rotten lot. They would probably put her head to the chopping block and make it roll just like everybody else--but not before she made some of these men hurt.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>BruceTheCat</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 09:20:09</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size: 24pt;" class="bbc_size"><span class="bbc_u">GM Post</span></span></strong></div><br><div align="center">(http://img01.deviantart.net/b063/i/2012/094/4/b/deserted_altar_in_the_daybreak_forest_by_dmsdud-d4v1gfc.jpg)</div><br>“Ya'll gots a lot of fight in ya” Rowark muttered while dragging a set of fingers over the the scar on the underside of his neck. “That's good. Make's what's gonna happen even more fun for me and my boys”. An uproar of agreement and laughter echoed through the camp. Despite the words of each Hero, or the the attempts to intimidate their captors, it became obvious to everyone inside of a cage that the Stormlords did not take any of their idle threats seriously. After all, they were behind a cage and cut off from using their weapons or magics. If they wanted to, one of those soldiers could have walked inside and sliced himself a head off just for the fun of it! But a heavy desire not to have another nose broken kept swords in their sheaths. The men looked but they'd stopped trying to touch. Birds began to chirp pleasantly in the distance, signaling the true beginning of the day. Roward turned his head up to judge the relative time based on the position of the sun, then turned his attention to his men. Nodding his head to the side. “Alright, bring them out. Time to get to the beheading grounds so we can be done with this lot. Them Royal Hunt fucks will be waitin' for us, and I want to get our money”. The band&nbsp; of mercenaries closed in to retrieve each prisoner from their cage.<br><br><strong>The Royal Hunt</strong> was a name that each person would instantly recognize. The term was synonymous in the Video Game world with the Inquisition, Death Squad, or Boogeyman. The Empress during the creation of the Dynasty had created an organization dedicated to the recruitment and training of some of the most deadly Heroes and Villains. Totally loyal to the Empress, the Royal Hunt was her will in the lands where the Dynasty's army could not reach. An elite, hyper skilled order whose persona of power and fear kept even the furthest Home Worlds loyal to the Dynasty.<br><br>One by one, each adventurer was pulled either peacefully, or forcefully from their cage. With a smirk, Rowark curled his lip and let out an ear splitting whistle. Calling the attention of his men and their respective prisoner, then motioning for the band to follow their Camp Leader.<br><br>For the better part of an hour, the mercenaries and prisoners would walk through the forest adjacent to their camp. There was a clear cut path indicating that the Stormlords, or some other large party had walked this trail before. Probably with prisoners set to be executed by the Dynasty as well. For once the Stormlords seemed quiet. Even Rowark kept his mouth shut. There was a lingering sense of dread amongst the Heroes captors. Not for what they were about to do, but for whom they were about to meet. The trail eventually ended at the mouth of a large clearing in the center of the woods. Large rocks jutted out from the earth along the perimeter of this mysterious place. In the center of the grassy field stood a raised, stone platform with two execution blocks set in the middle.<br><br>A chill ran through the air. Much colder and more powerful than anything the men and women would have experienced that morning. Those who were familiar with spell's and rituals could tell that this was a place of enormous power, and the deep chill surrounding the field was supernatural in origin. Figures stood on the platform, and surrounded the enormous stone altar. Standing behind the execution blocks were two figures wearing a set of uniform samurai armor. Both roughly equal in height and size, though their faces were totally indistinguishable behind their samurai masks. It was clear that these two warriors were set to be the actual executioners.<br><br>Standing outside of the perimeter of those jutting rocks were other new arrivals who bore the symbol of the Royal Hunt. One was mounted atop an enormous black steed, his body half turned to observe the approach of the prisoners and Stormlords. The sheer bulk of his armor was startling. His helmet was a crown of black iron, his face a representation of a man's skull. Viscous looking blades rose from his broad shoulders and gauntlets. A massive broadsword was strapped to his leather belt. Rowark quickly moved to enter the circle of stones and approach the large altar. Breathing a deep sigh of comfort before calling out to the Skull Knight. “We've brought them! Payment for keeping them alive and we'll be done.” More knights in equally intimidating armor began to appear from the shadows of the surrounding treeline. Even a mage with the skull of a goat, and the horns of a stag as his helm made it's presence known. All in all, there were 10 of the Royal Hunt fighters. Including the Skull Knight. Twelve if you counted the two samurai executioners.<br><br>Rowark was tossed a bag of gold from the Skull Knight. After a quick bite check, he nodded briskly and motioned for the events to proceed. “Alright, let's cut the head off that bitch who-”<br><br><em>“You and you”.</em> One of the samurai had stepped forward. His calm voice singling out WAR and Ganondorf as the first to be executed.<br><br>“Alright. Guess they're in charge now. Boys, bring those two up”<br><br><br><span class="bbc_u">GM Note:</span><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br>TLDR: You are standing in a clearing surrounded by a Stonehenge like circle of stones. It will be obvious that the Royal Hunt members are not walking inside the circle. There are 3 different types of people here, not including the players. 10 Royal Hunt members, 30 Stormlords, and the 2 Samurai. You will know that these Samurai are not Royal Hunt members because they do not bare the mark of the Royal Hunt.<br><br>&nbsp;Important Notes:<br>If you resist being taken out of your cage, being escorted, or try to run during the walk to the circle, they will punch your character in the face or stomach. If it continues, they will break your leg then carry you. It will hurt!<br>The Royal Hunt is something to be feared in the Video Game Universe.<br><br>Players may choose to notice:<br>The Royal Hunt are intentionally not entering the circle of stones<br>One of the Samurai has two lightsabers on his belt<br><br></div></div><br><span class="bbc_u">Reference:</span><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br>(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ee/74/6e/ee746e02154930b17ec3ffecf697b9b2.jpg)<br><br>(http://icdn1.digitaltrends.com/image/witcher-wild-hunt-1620x1080.jpg)<br><br>(http://www.lightninggamingnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/The-Witcher-3-Wild-Hunt-E3-screenshots-and-artwork-are-impressive-19-1024x768.jpg)<br><br>(http://img2.goodfon.su/original/1920x1080/d/57/the-witcher-3-wild-hunt-7230.jpg)<br><br><strong><span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">Symbol of the Royal Hunt</span></strong><br><br>(https://img0.etsystatic.com/009/0/7077795/il_570xN.442450096_eqcl.jpg)<br><br></div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Angie</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 09:46:54</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://media.steampowered.com/steamcommunity/public/images/items/215280/a9849580b47ec9bbd0e7e90f7c31a51b1120e1f5.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Kristen Geary<br><strong>Location:</strong> Death Camp<br><strong>Status:</strong> Resigned<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><br>While she wanted to fight, she knew it was useless. If there was going to be an opportunity to escape, it would present itself. It wouldn't <em>announce</em> itself, it took a sharp eye to notice something like that. The Royal Hunt was involved-they didn't treat any situation lightly. <br><br>She grinned at Rowark. "Aww, you like me so much you wanted to see my head roll first. I'm so fucking flattered." She looked around. The Royal Hunt weren't the ones handling the actual execution-they weren't even stepping inside. If the Stormlords weren't around, she'd take this as a chance to escape-but 30 Stormlords who could quite possibly enter the circle wasn't something she wanted to deal with. Not without a .44 at her side. <br><br>"Well, it's either you guys doing it or Q&amp;A. If you guys make it quick, then I think I prefer you." She cooperated, and quickly got into position. No sense in delaying it if she couldn't see a clear opportunity, and right now, the waters were very muddy. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Laughing Hyena</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 10:54:43</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://n8k6e2y6.ssl.hwcdn.net/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/Website_Warframe_PrimeAccessVolt_Ending_AS_002_640x300.jpg?itok=LyhMskZb)</div><strong>Name:</strong> W.A.R<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Status:</strong> Walking towards Death.<br><strong>Notes:</strong> Warframe - Volt<br><hr><br>Upon being released from his cage he rose to his feet staring down his captors as he approached within healthy distance and remained there. He did not wish to suffer needless injury and from the sounds of it, the lot of them had forced marching to do. However his eyes do glance over to the other heroes and villains that had been imprisoned here. He had to wonder if any of them would be harassed or whatnot but thankfully it seems the ladies were able to be given a much more respectable distance because of the folly that happened last time. The hike was going to be long and arduous for those whom needed sustenance to exist at peak conditions. Much less anyone whom had been unable to move under their own power. The second one of his own collapses and the Tenno is there to quietly help them back up to their feet. The intention was to make sure they are not needlessly injured nor hurt badly.<br><br>Sharp anxiety comes over him as he wonders if someone would be foolish enough to make a move or such. The Tenno however was quite compliant as he moved. He didn't say anything as the words were hollow threats at the moment. The forest was still bitterly cold yet the one called W.A.R could sense the temperature start to drop significantly. The dread sensed around him came not from him but from the Stormlords. Even Rowark was being silent about all of this, with no mocking and naught else as if they shouldn't be kept waiting .They seemed almost too eager to get this over and done with and he understood why once they got there. The Royal Hunt was waiting for them and it made sense that there would be such a squad hiring such mercenaries. All the more better to maintain plausible deniability for the deaths of those that are to be executed. A death squad was something many a Tenno had upon their hands but it was never so soon upon awakening and never taken for granted.<br><br>Upon being called up specifically, he might have been pushed up by one of them Stormlords. However W.A.R beats them to that urgency and then walks under his own motions as he then simply states. <strong>"Enough talk, let's get on with this."</strong> One of the few lines he would ever say to others. Approaching the executioner in question his eyes behind the visor would remain focused upon the masked form of the executioner in question. The Tenno had no fear whatsoever of his own death and were he from Skyrim, he surely would be housed within Sovengarde. He approaches those whom are to be the ones that deal the fatal blow. He treats this execution as naught more than a simply dignified matter of leaving the physical world. His eyes stay locked upon the one that had addressed them. He stopped short of him and then waited to see what happens next.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheBlackThrone</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 13:07:42</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130622041203/drakengard/images/1/1d/Angelus_and_Caim.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Caim<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution Grounds - Skyrim<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open, Angelus<br><strong>Mentioned:</strong> Sylvana<br><strong>Doing:</strong> Communicating with his dragon<br><strong>Warning:</strong> N/A<br><hr><br>Caim was removed from his cage and shoved along into a chain gang of other heroes and villains, walking to their deaths. There were many characters who he did not recognize. They were all strangers to him--big and small, strong and lithe, and some not even human. There was a dark-skinned woman with pointy ears and he wondered if she was an elf of some sort. Had she been from Midgard?<br><br>Where was Angelus? She had told him that she was coming, but she had fallen silent for the longest of times.<br><br><em>Caim...</em><br><br>Speak of the goddess.<br><br><em>I have not forgotten you. I am watching, and I will attack when the opportunity presents itself.</em><br><br><em>Burn them all</em>, Caim ordered. He then observed the Stormlords and the other intimidating warriors they passed as the gang was led into the magic circle. <em>The men here do not seem the type to know kindness. I expect a cruel fate no different than what I and you will give them.</em><br><br>The soldier silently continued to watch as the first two victims were called forth.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ollumhammersong</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 13:34:03</strong>
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				(http://www.unikgamer.com/characters/face/mega-man-41.jpg)<br><br>Name: Megaman X<br>Location Cage<br>Tagging: Shepard at first, than no one<br>Status: trying to analyze a method of escape<br><br>Megaman looked at the officer, and he presumed this man was an officer of some description based on his choice of attire. Than again with some people he had met, their outfits often could have nothing at all to do with what their dayjobs were. Or even make sense for any kind of job. Some worlds just had very odd customs and fashion standards. Very odd indeed. <br><br>He eyed the proffered hand with a moments confusion. Looking back down to his stump of a right arm and over to Shepard and back to it. Even if he had his buster than it was hardly something he could shakes hands with. And his one free hand was well and firmly shackled and not capable of reaching that side of the cage. <br><br>And it was doubly intriguing for the fact it was mechanical like his own. Which he knew to be uncommon amongst humans. And such prostetics were usually only grafted onto a body when the original limbs were rendered broken and beyond hope of fixing. Which was also something very uncommon. Regardless of which world a person came from. And the black colouring reminded megman of the look of his own hand if the customary blue armour was removed. This mans hands looked like unfinished versions of his own. <br><br>“Megaman, And likewise.” He tilted his head in response to this mans offered introduction. Despite being a decades old machine his voice was similar to that of a twenty something male. “I would shake your hand but....” He waved his half an arm as if trying to reach for the hand. Showing the futility. “It is an appreciated offer though.” <br><br>This mans more perky nature was carrying him through this experience with far more grace than almost everyone else around them. He tuned most of guards insults and jibes out over the last three days but even he found it impossible to ignore some of the other prisoners. There were ranters and screamers and shouters and all kinds of noise makers. All seemingly trying to halt their own executions with sharp comments and angry threats alone. It was entertaining on first day sure. Than on the second day it it quickly grew to be an nusance to listen to. And after that it was just a damned annoying to hear. <br><br>Pushing himself to his feet he sighed as he felt grime and buildup in his joints. For whatever reason he had been allowed to keep his bright blue armour plating bolted to his 'skeleton' frame. Most likely the guard simply didn't know it could be removed and even more likely wouldn'ed know how to remove it if they did know it could be removed. These seemed like technologically primitive citizens from a more technologically primitive world within the dynasty.<br><br>&nbsp;But that bright and gleaming blue was now streaked with dirt and an unfamiliar pale green crust was forming a thin coating around the bottom of his boots that would promise to be a nightmare to scrape away later. <br><br>He took what time he had to test his servos and movement. Nothing seems to have been seized or jammed from his period of inactivity. Which was good. He kept his posture and face neutral as to not give the guards any cause for concern or a reason to raise their guard as he waited for whatever fate had in store for him. There was no sense putting them on edge if he wanted to try and escape. <br><br>“I don't suppose you have any last minute ideas?” he asked shepard as the cages were then opened one by one and their occupants were manhandled out into the open air. <br><br><br>He was lucky enough not the feel the chill of the air as the organics did. Though the overall gloom and dread of the scenery was not lost on him. He decided not to fight his seemingly inexcapable fate and walked calmly with his fellow prisoners to whatever awaited them. <br><br>He tried to take in each of the faces assembled at the execution ground. As a former constable he had far more first hand knowledge with this type of ceremony and these groups of people than others assembled here. He had lead many people to the innapropriately named 'royal hunts' over his decades of service and found it strangely amusing to be brought before one himself. Was that irony? Probably not, that was a human thing he never could understand or could ever identify. <br><br>All those people that went screaming and crying to their deaths shouting and proclaiming innocence? How many did he not believe? How many should he have? He himself was certainly guilty of his crimes right now but what of these others?<br><br>As the first two names were called he focused his thoughts and cleard his mind. He eyed the two samuri executioners carefully. They were definatly intimidating. He had seen such executioners before but there was something different about this pair..... some important that was missing?<br><br>When the realization hit him he fought to keep his face and eyes from betraying him.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Mac84</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 15:59:41</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/robotech/images/b/bf/Jack_Archer.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110325082320)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Jack Archer<br><strong>Location:</strong> Skyrim, Execution grounds<br><strong>Status:</strong> Restrained, Gagged<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> W.A.R. (m), Sylvana (m), Ganondorf (m), Miranda (m), Kristen (m), Samus (m), Revan (m), Megaman (m), Rozalin (m) Open.<br><strong>Doing:</strong> Thinking<br><br>-----------------------------------------------------------------<br><br>Jack leaned against the bars of his cage as he waited for the "Shitlords" to finish whatever the hell they were doing, probably one enormous circle jerk if you asked him. His eyes slowly passed along the others in the Cages around him. He could hear hero, and villain alike trying to needle, and goad the guards into doing something foolish, or stupid. It was heartening to see that their spirits were still up, and that most have not given up hope. Jack had to admit, the snark of the platinum blonde woman in asking to make sure the ax was very sharp was refreshing. Even the other women of the group were adding their various amounts of two cents. Jack liked that. He was worried that the women would get the worst of it, particularly the two with the most "Assets" on display. The blonde with the form fitting blue suit that pretty much left nothing to the imagination, and the Purple skinned one barely clothed at all. <br><br>Speaking of the Miss Purple, Jack watched as she paced her cage, threatening the guards. Sheesh, how cold was she in that? He moved over to the side of the cage closest to them so he could easily hear the conversation she shared with her cage mate. A quiet masked man that like that robot looking guy, hardly moved at all during their travel. Jack wasn't sure if he was alive, or artificial like a couple of the others. Jack turned his attention back to Miss Purple, and saw that she was definitely "miffed" about the situation as she stormed about her cage. Jack had to admit, he enjoyed watching her move around. He leaned against the bars as he watched. Though as she mentioned about "Gagged a Poor Fellow", Jack's eyes opened wide as he quickly looked around to see if there was anyone else gagged. Seeing none, he smirked behind his gag. <em>Aw, she is thinking about me. I'm touched.</em>. Had he not had the gag on, he would have probably engaged in some shameless flirting with said Beauty. <br><br>She would go on, and declare that she was a Queen, Jack couldn't help but remember something the late Admiral Gloval once was heard saying about Senator Russo after the Senator made a surprise visit. That pompous midget truly felt he was God's gift to politics, and that the "regular" people were beneath him, and his ilk. A sentiment that was shared by many int he UEG at the time. Jack sighed as Gloval's words echoed in his mind "At the end of the Game, the King, and Pawn both go in the same box." <br><br>Jack turned his attention away before Miss Purple's cage mate could respond. He looked to a monster of a man that barely fit his cage as he started to speak honeyed words that he tried to drip like fine poison into the ears of his captors. Jack raised an eyebrow as he listened. Whoever that large man was, the boys at Psy-Ops would have loved to get their hands on him, and have a nice chat about his methods. Jack could see he was trying to plant seeds of doubt, and greed within weak minds that craved power, and wealth. Jack was thankful that man wasn't talking to him. That deep voice seemed to exude a power that can sway multitudes. <br><br>It would appear that time was not with them, nor their tactics seemed to be working as Roward laughed, and talked about the fight in all of them, and because of that it was going to make their execution more satisfying. He would then quickly order the guards to get the prisoners out of their cages so they could walk to their deaths. Though at the mention of the "Royal Hunt". A sense of dread, and fear flashed in Jack's eyes. He knew of the Hunt. Everyone did. They were the Empress's taskforce for doing her "Dirty Work." This was not good, so not good! The chances of his, or any of their escape was quickly shrinking with each passing moment.<br><br>Jack tensed as a couple of guards approached his cage, and opened the door. He thought about running, or resisting, but decided against it as it would only be a waste of his energy. Energy that he might need later. So he slowly stepped down from the cage onto the frigid ground. His pilot boots crunching against the snow. The bolts through his wrists causing bolts of intense pain to course though his arms. He would fall in line with the others. Standing just between a young woman in a Victorian style dress, and Blue person that is missing Most of his right arm. <br><br>They walked them through the woods down the beaten path, and Jack found himself constantly looking up through the canopy of trees, and to the blue skies above. He could feel his soul yearning to be up there in the sky. Ripping through the clouds at supersonic speeds. Jack was a pilot. His soul was born to soar the heavens, his hand upon the Flightstick, and HOTAS. However, it looked like Jack won't be able to return to the skies. A mirthful chuckle slipped passed his gag as he thought about his chiefest rival. <em>Well, Kiyora. Looks like you are not the one to kill me as you once swore.</em>. Not that she had a chance anyways as Jack killed her in the skies over his own world in a duel. He remembered her Queadluun Rea as it burned, falling from the sky like a meteor. <br><br>After about an hour, Jack noticed the Trees started to clear around a large clearing with ominous standing stones reaching up out of the ground like skeletal fingers that are trying to grasp at something. In the middle of the ring of stone was a large alter in the middle with what looked like two Samurai warriors in full armor, waiting. There, to greet the procession outside the ring of stones was a large dark armored person astride a black steed. The Skulled helmet succeeding making him even more intimidating. These three individuals only added to the already oppressive weight of the air that seemed to hang over this place like a death shroud. <br><br>Jack watched as the Shitlords started to disperse, but not one dared to enter the circle. It would appear that they were hesitant, perhaps afraid of entering the circle. But why? Was this something Jack could exploit? Roward approached the horsed knight, and spoke with respect as he requested the money promised. To which the mounted person obliged, tossing a heavy looking bag of coin to the leader whom tested it while more Royal Hunt Members started to appear from the trees. Jack's eyes scanned the parameter, starting to become a bit desperate to find an escape for him, and as many as he could bring with him as more, and more Royal Hunt Members started to appear. <br><br>Roward tried to suggest that The platinum hair woman that gave him so much snark be one of the first to go, but it would appear that the Horseman had other plans, and pointed to one of the robotic looking men, and the monstrous dark skinned man to be the first to fall victim to the blades of the executioners. Jack had to think of something, and fast. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lustful Bride</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 17:11:40</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://sfmlab.com/media/jumbo/VqKIbugB.jpg.750x500_q85_crop.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Miranda Keyes.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution camp<br><strong>Status:</strong> Chained up, Snark activated.<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Caim<br><br>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br><br>As much as Miranda would have loved to give the huntsmen some attitude, but she didn't fancy having her face broken in by a giant metal fist sent in from Skeletor. Through the ride in the cell towards their execution, Miranda had listened to others speak, listened to theirs plans. And to be honest, even a plan that might end in their all dying was better than going along with this game. If there was even the slimmest chance of escape then she was going to take it, and maybe spring some of the others with her.<br><br>"So this is the <em><strong>'Royal Hunt'</strong></em>? I can't say I'm impressed, why go trough all of the trouble when you could have cut our heads off already? Where's the <strong>hunting</strong> part? I was looking forward to something Akin to' The most dangerous game'. But if your so scared we might escape then by all means, do it the boring way." Miranda said, as if not even bothered by the situation she was in, channeling the spirit of a Mr. Johnson in order to get his sense of humor. <br><br>While she pretended to look around in boredom she spotted Shepard who seemed far too relaxed for this and Caim, who looked like he was trying to escape from his body. With a gentle nudge she bumped her elbow against the boy and got his attention.<br><br>"Don't worry. It only hurts once, like losing your virginity." She said, trying to cheer the boy up. But completely unsure of what could do so when they were minutes&nbsp; away from certain and inevitable death. Though she was thankful she wasn't having her brains sucked out by a giant slug somewhere. There were always worse ways to go.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rel Mayer</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 19:16:11</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maf4hx4HYr1r2cc34o1_500.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Lady Sylvanas Windrunner "The Banshee Queen"<br><strong>Location</strong>: In her shared cage. <br><strong>Tagging</strong>: Revan, Shepard, Samus (m), Caim (m), <br><strong>Status</strong>: Giving hints. <br><hr><br>Her cage-mate seemed to be a man of little tolerance and serenity within his actions. To the brush of her foot finding it's way uncomfortably into his thigh -- he only seemed to be slightly unnerved. Sylvanas knew that if their situations would have been opposite, she would have snapped his neck right then and there. Fortunately for both, one was the more down to earth of the two. While he spoke and provided her no solution of escape, she could feel blood boiling into the fronts of her purple cheeks. They turned a dark burgundy color as her bright red eyes flashed a angry look at the masked man, and she was about to unload a rant directly at his face... until he introduced his name and lack of titles.<br><br>It was a small moment like this which made Sylvanas realize, once more, that she was far away from her home. Things were different here and expecting people to kneel before her and treat her like the queen she was... well, she would have been delirious. The sides of her plush darkened purple lips curved into a smirk and she crossed her arms under the swell of her heavy breasts. Tilting her head to the side and then with her echoing voice speaking, "Revan, the man without a title... You know, I've heard that the quiet mouse roars the loudest when awoken," her smile grew wider, "Even louder than the lion... or maybe lioness in this case. Your mask makes you mysterious, Revan, what else are you hiding with your lack of notoriety?" <br><br>She clicked her wet tongue against the roof of her mouth, and uncrossed her arms. The rattling sounds of the chained shackles hitting the ground beneath her as she bent down, breasts falling forward to the gravity, showing the dark slit between the purple plush mounds. Her clawed glove hands reaching out to touch his mask and attempt to pull it off slowly, curiosity beginning to allow the fire in her eyes to die as the small color of violet began to emerge from the flame...<br><br>But then there was an abrupt stop and Sylvanas felt herself falling backward. Loosing her footing and tumbling to her back until her boots flung high in the air, the cape slipping between her freckled thighs and landing on her bare stomach, and even one of her breasts threatened to escape the falling. The bright red flame of her eyes igniting once more as she fumbled with her cape. Standing up and noticing that her cage door was opening, not to mention they were on different ground. She had been so distracted conversing with Revan that she didn't even notice the different smell in the air. Or the way the ground pulsed with life beneath her.<br><br><em>Oh yes...</em> she thought, <em>I can work with this. If I can somehow use this magic... I may be able to escape. I just have to play their game and wait for my prime opportunity.</em> Another smirk ignited her face as she stood up. Following the Stormcloaks as they ushered her out of the cage and hopped down to the ground beneath her. A chilling running up her spine as she felt the familiar presence of magic, knowing that she needed to corporate and wait. Then also discover her surroundings, her eyes flickered from the circle of stones that was void of Stormcloaks, and then her perceptive eyes looked to their executioners ... one of them having two swords that lacked blades with technology that looked similar to worlds like Samus, Revan, and Shepard. She had been studying everyone in the party long enough within the past three days of not sleeping and eating, and she wasn't going to let a fragment of information like this slip away and not use it to her benefit.<br><br>At first, her eyes were looking to Shepard, someone she had shared adjacent cells with before the transportation. Even if he was one among them, she already felt as if he had the quick wit of deduction to allow them to escape. "Shepard!" she called out, remembering his name, " Do you think the technology that allowed you a set of fake arms could replace your head when they <em>burn</em> it off?" Sylvanas raised both of her hands to the hood of her cape. Flipping it off of her head and allowing the straight locks of her dark grayed and blonde hued hair flutter in the wind. Her eyes finding the markings on the ritual stones and reading the old magical language: <br><br><div align="center"><em>Evil may not enter this circle so long as life is sacrificed according to the old ways</em></div><br>"Do you believe in evil?" Sylvanas' chain slipped across her body as she tucked a bit of her hair behind her long elven ears, speaking to everyone around her. Eyes glancing at watching was Caim was looking directly at her in curiosity. She flashed him a grin and continued on with her speech, looking at his confused state and feeling a familiarity of death -- even if he was beating and alive. "Evil is alive and well. Feeding off of our fear and living off of traditional ways... at least that is what Arthas had lead me to believe," she said rather out of place. Cryptically, but she was attempting to let the others be aware of what was written, without causing too much attention to herself or the stormcloaks. <br><br>"At least I already know what I look like when I'm dead. What do you think?" she asked the Stormcloak who was holding her in her place, as W.A.R and Ganondorf walked to their execution, "Will my dead body look just as inciting as it does on the floor now? Or would it be better if you removed my armor and shackles, so you can really get a good look before I rise again in ranks, again, in the undead world to destroy you?" Sylvanas smirked and her tongue swelled, saliva pooling into her mouth as balled a wad of spit, before she opened her lips and spat directly in the face of the guard. Grinning and laughing waiting for her punishment as a distraction. "Hurt me... I insulted your honor. I must be worth more than a sword detaching my pretty head from my body," she purred into to the Stormcloak guard's ear, feeling the ground pulse beneath her of magics ... dead bodies and the souls of her banshees threatening to awaken. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rish</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 23:25:13</strong>
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				<br><div align="center">(http://pre15.deviantart.net/daa4/th/pre/f/2012/066/7/b/ganon__s_fist_by_leo_diamond_by_leodiamond-d4s0igt.jpg)<br><strong>Name:</strong> Ganondorf<br><strong>Location:</strong> Execution - Execution Block<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Shepard, Samus, Windrunner, Jack (m), Rozalin (M)<br><strong>Status:</strong> Walking to his excution<br><strong>Notes:</strong> Towering over the little men</div><hr><hr><br>Ganondorf fed greedily upon the dark lusts and the bloodshed these waste of air all practically screamed for. It was delicious, dark, and nourishing to his body. Restoring some of his strength and power that he had lost from the lack of 'normal' food he had been able to feast upon in his confinement. He had been doing this throughout the entire journey. But now, when they were so close to being executed. The greed, and dark twisted emotions of these stormcloak's sang so much darker to him. Aaaaa, how he loved the dark hearts of humanity. They never changed. But no matter how much he fed he could still not feel any chance on the shackles that bound his power. They did not weaken, shoot him with pain for empowering himself. In fact it was more like these shackles forced his powers into somekind of stasis. Frozen until he could access them again. Useful...but why would they only bind and not completely seal their powers? He knew they could. He just needs to gaze upon his triforce to remember this. <em>Perhaps...we serve some 'use' and the queen wants us to survive? Mhm. Best keep an eye on any 'saviours' that come our way'</em>. His thoughts were shaken as a voice, a familiar one called out to him. Turning his head he was surprised to see Shepard, of all people, bound and chained with a prison cell as well. Lips curling into a smirk he called out to him. ""Ah, if it wasn't <em>Shepard</em> in the flesh. Heh, to think the one Princess ordered my force to take down your ship, in a fit of paranoia, along with several other orders. And my refusal to follow that womans wishes would end up with us on the <em>same</em> chopping block. Quite a coincidence, no?" &nbsp;A soft chuckle came from the large man as he gazed upon shepard. "But I can't help but wonder. Were you a actual traitor to the Dynasty like the Princess suspected, or has her sanity left her like I thought?"<br><br>He felt them come to a stop with a slight shake of the prison cells they were in, turning away from Shepard he caught the eyes of a gagged man that was looking upon him as he turned back to focus on the location they were on. His eyes had been on of ponder, hm. Most likely a man thinking of how he could use one such as he, they were all no doubt thinking of the same thing. Who could they use to help them survive. What distractions could the others serve to help them survive while the others could be used as bait to ensure their survival. <br><br>As the creaking of old steel echo's out as their doors were opened and all of them were forced from their cells he caught sight of another surprising, but not unwelcome sight. With his deep voice floating through the others he called out to Samus. "My, if it isn't the bounty hunter who's flexibility always astounded me in the arena of Smash. You sure did pack quite the punch back there with your armour. But tell me, how good are you in combat without your suit?" He recalled fighting her plenty of times, and hearing of the fights she played outside of her suit. But when battling him he can not recall her stripping off her suit to attack him. <br><br>The tug of his chains leading him away from the group and towards his execution brought him away from Samus, annoying though that may be he had wanted to speak more to them. But he couldn't really delay what was happening. And truth be told, he had no wish to delay it. For he knew what was coming, and the excitement of those around him and the dark memories of fear and <em>hate</em> brimming in this land had long since restored him to his full function. But the words of the one who smells of death, much like his own skeleton minions...and the ancient writings of the stones before him slowly brought his lips into a curl. His feet taking the first steps up towards the place his head will be removed from his shoulders. But still, his posture and confidence did not fade.<br><br><em>"Heh Heh...hahaHA!</em>" Laughter sprung from his lips, his face turning to to the undead woman that whispered her dark voice while her body sang with the temptation of death for all those who could not hold their lusts in check. "Is it not amusing that you speak of evil, when like I you walked and more than likely ruled over such beings in your past. But tell me, with all your power, all of the darkness that seeped into your being. When the time comes, will you be a creature of evil, or a creature of darkness?" &nbsp;A soft chuckle leaves his lips once more as more steps were forced from him up to his fate. A few jabs in his back doing nothing more than making his feet walk as they had been. ""Your beauty will last for eternity. But will your heart and soul? Or have you given up all that was light from your time among the living, and drenched them in the madness of darkness already?" He had no care for the undead woman in truth, but to spread confusion among those that were guiding them to their deaths. And to distract them from others when she was making herself such a huge target by spitting into the very face of her captives. Why, bringing even more attention to her would no doubt be beneficial to the rest, no?<br><br>Another whisper of Dark Energy, confined though it was, whispered to him. And his last look towards the group before he was taken to the block for his execution was to glance at Rozalin and cast two bright, but curious yellow eyes upon the princess dressed woman. Hm...she reminded him a little of Zelda herself, in style if nothing else. The Darkness within her was a curious feeling however. How many here did not fit into the classic fold of 'good'? Shepard, Himself, and the undead queen were already three. And Samus could be considered to be within the category with herself being a mercenary, but how many of them were truly not all 'good'? A curious thought to ponder as he stepped along.&nbsp; &nbsp;
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pink Professional</strong> on <strong>08-10-2015, 02:46:58</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://pre04.deviantart.net/02fe/th/pre/i/2012/244/a/b/darth_revan_by_momogoyo-d5d5cq9.jpg)</div>Name: Revan<br>Location: Skyrim Road, Execution Cages -&gt; Execution Circle<br>Tagging: Sylvanas, Pretty much everyone else (M)<br>Doing: Arming himself, observing the other Prisoners.<br>Warnings?: <br><br><hr><br>Revan could not hide a light chuckle as the Banshee Queen referred to him as a mouse. As far as descriptions went, it was equal parts foolish and fantastic. Few in his 'scape would call Revan anything so meager as a mouse. A rat? Maybe, but a mouse? Never. Truth be told, Revan liked the description in this circumstance. It suited him somewhat; quiet and reserved, yet sly and quick at the right time. She thought herself a lioness in this situation, the first hint of her hubris. Not only did she underestimate him, but she seemingly overestimated herself. If she were a lioness, as she thought, she was an already broken one. Cowed by holy magic, and declawed by the shackles on her wrist. She did not have the appearance of a melee fighter. She lacked the over-defined muscles of a warrior. No, this one was more lithe, more agile, more flexible, more supple. Her step was more that of a huntress than a queen. He smirked underneath his mask. What secrets did this woman truly hide? <br><br>Revan's body language was notably relaxed as Sylvanas sat herself closer to him; ignoring her suggestive motions and watching her face for signs of...anything. He watched as she leaned in closer, exposing herself somewhat in order to reach out for his mask. There was a slight shift as Revan prepared to rebut her from removing his mask, but soon enough it was the carriage stopping that had her upended. Watching her fall backwards onto her plump backside was an unexpected delight, and he had to work hard to stifle the giggle that would no doubt throw the Banshee queen into a fit of rage. In an attempt to spare her dignity, he rose silently and offered her a hand up. "<strong>My mask is not so lightly removed. Not unless you wish to see something scarier than a mouse.</strong>"<br><br>As the group made their way through the forest, towards whatever killing ground the Stormlords had set up, Revan found himself wondering just what kind of schemes his fellows were concocting. He had focused much of his attention on Sylvanas; mostly because of her engaging him, but she didn't exactly make it hard to pay attention to her. No, it was the other members of the little band that garnered his attention now.&nbsp; There was a woman in a strange, blue suit that caught the eye. Her platinum blonde hair had him slowly placing her as Samus Aran, A bounty hunter that made many from his galaxy weep with envy. To see her captured was surprising. If she was half as good as the rumours stated, that means she must have been tricked, or pissed the wrong people off. Then there was the other more technologically advanced member of the party that he slowly managed to place a finger on. It was the whispers of others that finally broke the silence, and Revan found himself watching Commander Shepherd from a distance. He could have sworn Shepherd was on the Dynasty’s side? The final person that Revan recognised was less a specific person, but a member of an organisation. Mariel Corbeck, although he knew not her name, was obviously of the ‘God-Emperor’s’ army.&nbsp; He didn’t know enough about her world to place her rank, or regiment, but it made sense that such a fanatical worshiper of someone else would clash with the Dynasty.<br><br>As for the more fantastic elements of the party, Revan was uncultured as to who they were, or why they were there. Some of them looked in between the more fantasy and the more advanced cultures, such as the gagged man, and the blue boy, or the two venom-filled women. Then there were the truly fantastic ones, such as the large, boisterous ogre-like being, or the white-haired one. He had no idea who they were, or what they could do; but that was hardly a bad thing.<br><br>&nbsp;After he’d taken in his fellows, Revan found that the walk provided him further time to manipulate the air so that the force was thick and ready. It took little effort to mimic his meditative state, and within minutes the woods were replete with the force once again. To non-force sensitive, it was an unrecognisable change, but to Revan; it was like reloading a firearm. He felt empowered by it, even if the shackles inhibited his ability to function as a manipulator of the force.<br><br>Slowly, with the group trudging ahead, Revan thought that perhaps his plan would work best if sprinkled with a dash of opportunity. Looking on the ground, he spotted a small pebble, about the size of a man’s fist. Rather rapidly, Revan collapsed onto one knee above the pebble. His hand and cloak covered it, as he quickly hid the rock inside his robe. A sharp kick from a Stormlord, followed by being dragged up by his scruff, soon had Revan back on his feet, now armed with a sizable bludgeoning weapon. He would have to wait for his opportunity to use it. Now was not the time.<br><br>Slowly, Revan and the others approached a strange stone-circle, with a number of the Royal Hunt in readiness. Seeing the Queen’s elite was a blow to his plans of escape. He listened helplessly as two members of the party were called to a chopping block. Standing at the scene of the killings were two Samurai; one of which had his Lightsabres, worn like prized trophies. For the first time, Revan felt a cloying anger in his gut. To think that an honourless hack like this samurai would lay claim to <em>his</em> weapons was infuriating! He longed to break the man in half for his crimes.<br><br>As quickly as the rage came, it passed. Revan calmed himself as he focused less on the black, and more on the grey. His eyes lingered on the women, who were trying to distract of get a raise out of the guards. He edged closer to Sylvanas, the one who most aggressively taunted the Stormlord: If he made a move on her, that was when he would strike. He’d club him over the head with the pebble, steal his weapon and cut open his shackles. From there? He would do his best to muster his fellows; perhaps. <br><br>It was hardly a good plan, but it was the best he had.<br><br>Hopefully, he would act before anyone else lost their head; figuratively or literally.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vaulera</strong> on <strong>08-10-2015, 03:48:52</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammer40k/images/6/68/Sister_of_Battle_Anna_Steinbauer.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150804074745)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Mariel Corbeck<br><strong>Location</strong> Cage<br><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br><strong>Status</strong>: Praying for Strength<br><br><hr><br>As Mariel was pulled out of the cage, she didn't actively resist the cowardly and traitorous men, but instead walked along with them, slowly muttering her Latin incantations and biding her time. Largely unconcerned with the different heroes milling about her, likewise bound. Instead, her eyes and senses were straining to assess the shackles that were bolted into her wrists. Would they be heavy enough to stave in a helmet or a skull? Would they hold up to the bite of a blade, or would they fail her in her time of greatest glory? Mariel didn't feel death, nor did she shy away from it, and it was mirrored in her expression. Not amused or mocking, angry or perturbed, but ironclad, staring straight ahead.<br><br>The appearance of more enemies did little to dissuade her, regardless of their levels of skill. Determined to die a death worthy of the god Emperor, Mariel watched carefully the others. If she could work together with them, perhaps they could kill more together than they could apart. A man in a mask picking up a stone, a heretic muttering strange words with veiled meaning and a myriad of treacherous weaklings. "Be true with your words, or be silent, Slaaneshi heretic. Your words are poison to the souls of the pure." Mariel said to Sylvanas. To the rigid thinking mind of Mariel, Sylvanas exhibited all the signs of being a Slaaneshi daemon. Purple skin, seductive words and far too much skin showing for her armour to be effective. <br><br>Then, finished with her chiding of the far-too-flirty woman, Mariel started a prayer as she waited for her companions to act. Given the opportunity she would strike, and do it with her emperor's blessing, her lips rolling over the words of the traditional Sororitas battle-prayer to weaken evil and provide her with strength. It was entirely psychic, the miracles performed by the battle sisters, but none of them could possibly know that. Instead, the psychic energy was manifested by their immense faith in their god figure. Of course, the shackles meant that any psychic power her unwavering belief had was nullified, but it made little difference to a lone sister.<br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Battle Prayer</div><div class="spoiler_body">"A spiritu dominatus,<br><br>Domine, libra nos,<br><br>From the lighting and the tempest,<br><br>Our Emperor, deliver us.<br><br>From plague, temptation and war,<br><br>Our Emperor, deliver us,<br><br>From the scourge of the Kraken,<br><br>Our Emperor, deliver us.<br><br><br>From the blasphemy of the Fallen,<br><br>Our Emperor, deliver us,<br><br>From the begetting of daemons,<br><br>Our Emperor, deliver us,<br><br>From the curse of the mutant,<br><br>Our Emperor, deliver us,<br><br>A morte perpetua,<br><br>Domine, libra nos.<br><br>That thou wouldst bring them only death,<br><br>That thou shouldst spare none,<br><br>That thou shouldst pardon none<br><br>We beseech thee, destroy them."</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>BruceTheCat</strong> on <strong>08-10-2015, 03:51:32</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/88/63/e7/8863e7781abbf39d40645ae5e38084c2.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Shepard<br><strong>Location:</strong> Cage &gt; Clearing<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Megaman, Ganon, Sylvanas, Open<br><strong>Status:</strong> Waiting<br><hr><br><br>Shepard gave a nod of recognition, even smiled a little, when Megaman waved the mechanical stump of his hand to indicate that he could not shake back. At least there was room for some humor. He liked this guy already. The guards started to approach, opening the cages and roughly yanking out different prisoners. Preparing for the forced march ahead. Right around that time Megaman asked him whether he had any last minute ideas. <strong>“Just one, but I don't think they are going to let us go if we ask nicely”</strong>, exchanging a laugh with the cyborg in the cell next to him. <strong>“Just keep an eye out. This is going to be a long morning”.</strong><br><br>Shepard went with no incident. The second that the guards unlocked the metal door housing him inside this temporary hell, he raised up both of his cybernetic arms and digits to indicate that he was not hiding anything, and had no intention of attacking the Stormlords if they entered. With his escort, he proceeded out in to the camp, then slowly down the forest trail towards whatever destination the Stormlords had in mind to execute their hostages. For the life of him the Commander could not figure out why they all needed to be moved so deep in to the forest for a simple execution, but he was not about to start complaining about getting a few more minutes to appreciate the scenery and autumn warmth. Along the way, the undead 'Queen' who resembled the physical form a beautiful elf called out his name. The Stormlords must have been scared by whatever was up ahead because they made no attempt to silence her. Or anybody from talking for that matter. Shepard craned his neck to the side so he could make eye contact with Sylvanas. Locking his light green gaze to hers as though to say 'What's up?'. The question she asked was so absurd in a weirdly adolescent manner that Shepard risked chuckling a bit, his wide chest pressing out the weathered fabric of his Admiral uniform. Sylvanas had been in the cell next to him and over the course of the last 3 day's he'd only learned a handful of things about her. First, she used to be a Queen of someplace, and was very open about telling the guards how she planned to have her minion's <strong>“make their insides their outsides”</strong>. Second, she was not at all familiar with the more tech oriented Home Worlds. The places where Shepard had spent the majority of his career. <strong>“I don't think so Sylvanas. I got lucky with these arm replacements. But who knows. Maybe we will all walk out of here with some handsome droid heads”</strong>. Shooting Ganon a playful wink.<br><br><strong>“I actually do believe in coincidence Ganon. Though I am getting a strong 'brush this under the rug' vibe from what's going on here. I don't know if the Empress has finally lost it, but it's certainly starting to look that way”</strong>. He intentionally did not answer whether he'd actually betrayed the Dynasty. Truthfully Shepard was not exactly certain whether he had or had not. He had spent so long believing in something that when that thing turned on him, it was hard for Shepard not to think that he must be at fault.<br><br>Finally they came to a large clearing. Ritualistic looking rocks surrounded them, and quickly the members of the Royal Hunt made their entrance. As well as the Samurai standing up at the execution block. <strong>“Well shit”</strong> Shepard cursed in an almost offhanded manner. Attracting the attention of the Royal Hunt was certainly something he would have preferred to avoid. Couldn't be helped now he supposed. WAR and Ganondorf were singled out as the two men to be executed first.<br><br>With Rowark distracted by his gold, Shepard took the quick opportunity to whisper <em><strong>"Everyone get ready"</strong></em>. His boot heel would noticeably begin to dig out a large chunk of earth. Revealing that buried just underfoot, out of the vision of the Stormcloaks, was a light gray Equipment Restore - Materia orb.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Dynasty of Games - Main Story Thread - The Execution</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niki315</strong> on <strong>08-10-2015, 07:42:49</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/cd/Rozpic013.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Rozalin<br><strong>Location:</strong> Skyrim - Solitude - execution ground<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Doing:</strong> Being just difficult enough to be annoying, but not get hit, preparing to fight<br><hr><br><br>Rowark seemed pleased by the signs of resistance left with the prisoners. Three protracted days of horrendous treatment would normally quash whatever spirit remained, but this group was different. A variety of highly powerful "champions" capable of enduring such abuse all set to be executed on the same day. Rozalin briefly wondered if there was reason to keep so many powerful captives alive for so long. Certainly her shackles and cage were suitable for detaining her, but each day she lived, the more possibilities there were for something to go wrong. Even the most confident of rulers could recognize the dangers of so many experienced fighters in close proximity, paraded for days across un-patrolled land, no matter how restricted their powers might be. Rozalin struggled to think of a reason for the unnecessary risks. <em>Just what is the Empress planning to do with us?</em>, the Overlord thought to herself. Rowark's mention of the Royal Hunt made some sense to Rozalin. If they were as powerful as they were said to be, then it was likely that having them oversee the execution was a form of precaution to minimize any escape potential. Perhaps, the prisoners' best chance of escape was slowly fading as the mercenaries prepared to transfer their responsibilities to the Empress' hit squad. Mercenaries could be bought, but if the Royal Hunt could be, no one had found the price yet.<br><br>One of the guards walked over to Rozalin's cage and proceeded to release its locks. She watched the others as each cage was unlocked allowing the prisoners to step onto the soil once again. She raised an eyebrow at the guard while he motioned for her to exit. "Come on let's go. Get moving,"he said with an irritated tone. Rozalin shifted the bodice of her dress and then gathered up her skirts so she could step down from the cage without tripping. Her guard appeared more and more frustrated with the young Overlord's delicate movements and just before he was about to grab her, Rozalin stepped forward, placing her heeled shoes onto the ground. "<strong>Don't rush me. Had you offered me proper accommodations this might have gone more smoothly. Not to mention these shackles don't make this easy.</strong>" The guard rolled his eyes allowing Rozalin to step down and adjust her skirts again. He was much taller and had a great look down her bodice and her bouncing bounty held within. As they walked along the path for the next hour, her guard hardly took his eyes off her and this time it was Rozalin's turn to roll her eyes.<br><br>The path was well worn, but quite uncomfortable in open heels. Though her tights provided some protection, the sharp growth and twigs made short work of them, pulling holes and runs into them, which was exasperating for the Overlord if nothing else. The first mile of forced march was annoying. By the fifth mile it was intolerable. Rozalin began voicing her complaints but the guard may as well have been deaf. No one here cared about how to properly treat a lady of noble upbringing or her status. <br><br>The wind brought with it a sharp chill, even worse than this morning's variety. Her bare shoulders and the uncovered skin of her breasts felt the sting sharper than the rest of her, but there was no warmth left in her anyway. The execution ground was a place of power for something. Rozalin could recognize the writing. Sort of. A few words, or more accurately two specific words. <em>Evil</em> and <em>Sacrifice</em>. The word evil she would recognize almost anywhere; Recognizing the word sacrifice was a bit strange to her. She was almost certain she must have studied this language in her youth. Or perhaps prior to reincarnation. It was mostly forgotten to her now though. Maybe the Empress' plan was to use the sacrifice of her and the others for some gain. But something seemed strange. Not everyone here was evil, though who could say there was no evil within them. But who could say there was no good within them either? Rozalin learned long ago that there was more to being a demon than being evil. It was more a predisposition toward enjoying certain activities. There were Overlords who could have been considered good, and while maybe Rozalin couldn't consider herself good, she did at least consider herself noble.<br><br>The undead queen began talking about evil. Rozalin was certain she wasn't chattering idly, though it was hard to piece together the message. Knowing the words she knew colored her understanding of the situation. Rozalin thought it was for sacrificing evil when in fact, the runes were meant to protect from evil. Knowing the Queen of the Undead likely harbored evil within her, Rozalin assumed the goading was an attempt to spare herself. It didn't seem to matter who was taunting or struggling, the Royal Hunt Samurai had made the decisions. Two at a time they would be called forward and sacrificed. Rozalin was certain that fighting spirit they had all maintained would be stripped from them by the third or fourth round. It seemed the silent dread was still to come since the other prisoners were shouting at each other and the guards. Rozalin looked on with confusion still not contributing to the cacophony. Finally she noticed beneath the Admiral's heel, something had been smuggled in, or perhaps the trap was laid in advance. Perhaps this was the source of the prisoners' zeal. Even with their equipment restored, it could be a harrowing fight up against ten members of the Royal Hunt. Rozalin's eyes darted around to determine who the largest threats were. This was going to be an intense fight, and this Overlord had no intention of returning to the execution block.
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