Astarael
The Weeper
Vigilantes, Rise - The Roleplay
Rules:
Our story opens on a dark night in Soroka.
1.78, 12th of Augine
West Side Foundries.
The truck idles outside of the warehouse. Men dressed in black congregate around it, several with unmarked wooden crates.
“You know the drill.”
The group springs into action, unloading the crates and carrying them toward the warehouse. A man inside opens a side door. A woman steps in first, followed by several others, all in the same uniform.
The facility is empty, and the people begin piling the crates off to one side. The truck is unloaded quickly.
“Fifteen minutes to the next drop.”
This comes from a woman who is taller than the other people, with two armed bodyguards. The other people head outside to wait, several lighting cigarettes. The woman who entered the warehouse first approaches the leader.
“There won’t be any other drops,” she says, with a cruel sneer.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve sabotaged the remaining three trucks. Your operations end tonight.”
The bodyguards train their guns on her, but it’s too late. There’s a hiss of metal, and the woman in charge staggers back, clutching at a gash in her stomach which is oozing blood. The assassin grins.
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
The bodyguards open fire, but the assassin leaps into the air. Her trench coat bulges and rips apart, revealing… steel wings? Turbines fire up, and she charges the guards, whose bullets miss. The assassin extends a spear, and runs one of the bodyguards through, who gasps for air before dying. Her right wing smacks the other bodyguard, sending his gun flying from his hands.
“Mission compromised. Blow the warehouse.”
The assassin turns, but it’s too late. The dying leader laughs.
“You… bitch… you’ll go down in flames!”
“Damn you.”
“Kill the others… but you’ll … never… win!”
The assassin leaps through one of the windows, as the warehouse explodes behind her. The men on the street open fire.
Shit, shit, shit. I should have planned this out more. It’s turning into a mess.
The assassin turns her tumble into a roll, coming out of it on her feet. Her wings unfold and smash into several of the men around her. There are no sirens - clearly, the police have decided to turn a blind eye to yet another fight.
"You don't pick a fight with the Syndicate, missy," one of the criminals sneers.
"I pick a fight with whoever the hell I want."
Things are looking pretty dicey. If only there were some other vigilantes in the area...
This is your cue!
Rules:
- No powerplaying. If you’re fighting, you say what you will attempt to do, and leave it up to me as to how successful you are. Ex. “I charge the assassin, shooting for his chest before aiming to tackle him to the ground.” You might get the following back: “Two of your shots hit, one in the chest and one in the arm. The others go wide as the assassin ducks to the ground, evading your tackle. He grabs your ankle.”
- Your strength is somewhat correlated to your luck. For example, if you’re fighting with a knife, you’re more likely to be successful than if you’re using a bunch of fancy technology. This is to keep things balanced, but the ultimate balance will be decided by me.
- Accept what happens to you. You can and will lose at various times. Again, you aren’t superheroes - you’re vigilantes with a mission of vengeance that can be obstructed by people with better weapons, better strategy, etc.
Our story opens on a dark night in Soroka.
1.78, 12th of Augine
West Side Foundries.
The truck idles outside of the warehouse. Men dressed in black congregate around it, several with unmarked wooden crates.
“You know the drill.”
The group springs into action, unloading the crates and carrying them toward the warehouse. A man inside opens a side door. A woman steps in first, followed by several others, all in the same uniform.
The facility is empty, and the people begin piling the crates off to one side. The truck is unloaded quickly.
“Fifteen minutes to the next drop.”
This comes from a woman who is taller than the other people, with two armed bodyguards. The other people head outside to wait, several lighting cigarettes. The woman who entered the warehouse first approaches the leader.
“There won’t be any other drops,” she says, with a cruel sneer.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve sabotaged the remaining three trucks. Your operations end tonight.”
The bodyguards train their guns on her, but it’s too late. There’s a hiss of metal, and the woman in charge staggers back, clutching at a gash in her stomach which is oozing blood. The assassin grins.
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
The bodyguards open fire, but the assassin leaps into the air. Her trench coat bulges and rips apart, revealing… steel wings? Turbines fire up, and she charges the guards, whose bullets miss. The assassin extends a spear, and runs one of the bodyguards through, who gasps for air before dying. Her right wing smacks the other bodyguard, sending his gun flying from his hands.
“Mission compromised. Blow the warehouse.”
The assassin turns, but it’s too late. The dying leader laughs.
“You… bitch… you’ll go down in flames!”
“Damn you.”
“Kill the others… but you’ll … never… win!”
The assassin leaps through one of the windows, as the warehouse explodes behind her. The men on the street open fire.
Shit, shit, shit. I should have planned this out more. It’s turning into a mess.
The assassin turns her tumble into a roll, coming out of it on her feet. Her wings unfold and smash into several of the men around her. There are no sirens - clearly, the police have decided to turn a blind eye to yet another fight.
"You don't pick a fight with the Syndicate, missy," one of the criminals sneers.
"I pick a fight with whoever the hell I want."
Things are looking pretty dicey. If only there were some other vigilantes in the area...
This is your cue!