Havelock Vetinari

IC (Byz'zul) Byz'zul raised an eyebrow at that. Mortals dreaming of his former master? Well. "Dreams you say? It seems we were...all afflicted."

Yeah. I should know. I was aboard a few of them when they went down. I still get flashbacks.

IC (Morgan Whatley) "Sir?" Morgan sighed. Something had gotten Enrique worked up tonight...though in fairness, he didn't like being out and about in the city anymore then his officer did. You just got the sense something was going inherently wrong with the world here. That something or several somethings were watching you. "Yes, Enrique?" "How long till we get permission to pull out, ya think?" "No idea. Things are getting worse everyday, what's more, communication is getting spotty. If we don't hear anything in a week, I'll be about ready to bug out, orders or no." "I'll testify at the hearing sir. I'm sure we can find some way to pin this on the cartels."

The world is truly less for his loss. Thank you, Sir Pratchett, for the sleepless word-filled nights.

IC (Morgan) "Uh. Sir?" Morgan inclined his his head, turning to regard Enrique. "Yes?" The young man shifted nervously, clearly ill at ease. Considering he was the one responsible for getting Morgan back to the embassy without meeting a wall at intolerably high speeds, this was somewhat discomforting. "You ever get the feeling that...even though things seem calm around you, the rest of the world is just going insane and there's nothing you can do about it?" Morgan paused for a moment, and then sighed. "Everyday. Remind me to get you a drink later."

IC (Saphine Mark) Saphine Mark looked grim for all of ten seconds. "Boys. Gals. Remainder. This is the closest we will ever get to killing Mecha-Hitler. We will never get a chance like this again." She glanced at her crew. "Alright. Aim for the kneecaps, if those don'tt work, aim for something that'll hurt and hey-Lenny, you get still got that disc I handed you?" Lenny or whatever his name actually was nodded. "Good. I want all sound systems on-" "Actually." Said the driver, who she suddenly found herself disliking intensely. "We don't have a sound system onboard. Not really." Saphine sighed. "Fine. We still get to kill Mecha-Skull. Whatever. We'll save the USSR's national anthem backed by Queen for another day. Make this ###### bleed for me. If his death screams don't make for a passable opera, I'm holding you all accountable. That goes double for the gunners." The Revenging's turret swung around and without further ado, started to spit a stream of explosive-shaped gifts from Mother Russia at the now-hulking Red Skull. Express delivery. Same-day shipping. Anti-armor rounds were the gift that kept on giving after all. IC (Alecto) "...I'm not going to go for the eyes. Just gonna make that clear. Just because I fly doesn't mean I want to put myself within grabbing distance for Herr Optimus down there." Alecto gazed down on the battlefield from up above, having momentarily ceased his frantic evasive maneuvers at the sight of the Jolly Red Giant. "My life needs to get alot less interesting alot quicker. Any one of you packing heavy fire power? Stabbing and pistols just isn't gonna cut it right now. Snow, if you've got a giant robot Uncle Sam hidden away anywhere...now'd be the time." IC (Leon Kane) Leon didn't really know what was going on anymore. He'd excused himself from Jenna's presence as politely as possible...well, as politely as one could whilst scaling the side of a building and speaking too quickly to be understand by most people. Then HYDRA had started to show up....and it seemed like enchanted daggers and a pistol did shockingly little against a German in powered armor. They shrugged off pain like Detroit shrugged off mayors. So he'd spent the last five minutes being chased ever closer in times square by an what could be lightly described as a Nazi terminator. And then someone had run Ahnold over with what *looked* like a Soviet BMP. And then something had blown up. And then things stopped making sense to him. That normally meant Jenna was nearby....but somehow he doubted he could pin this on her. For now. IC (Romulus) Romulus was having the time of his very very long life. His gladius was stained crimson with the blood of barbarians, his armor was dented with the impact of bullets and thanks to a certain member of the Hellfire Club, coordinating his forces was easier then it had been in awhile. His legion was back where it belonged, in the thick of combat, defending a center of civilization from the hordes of savagery. The fact that one Lacey Marko had finally developed a proper battlecry was icing on the proverbial cake. And now Red Skull had, evidently, grown as large as he was imbecilic. It had been such a long time since he'd slain a foe he could truly call a giant...in the literal sense at least. "Legionnaires!" His voice rang out over the radio, the square and indeed the very minds of his forces. "Shall we let this insult to the Gigantes stand!? End this embarrassment to humanity! To the very cosmos!" Taking that as an order, and perhaps, aided by his analysis of the beasts new form and it's probable weakpoints, the guns of the Legion began to speak again. Romulus, reluctantly, had sheathed his blade in exchange for his anti-armor rifle. There was a certain wisdom that came with the years. Wisdom that said charging something that large when you weren't mounted on a war elephant tended to be a bad idea. This wisdom also had opinions on the interaction of bullets with eyes. Wisdom he certainly intended to put into practice.

IC (Byz'zul) "Ale or wine...never mind I know the answer. Ale." Byz'zul hefted a mug from underneath the barstand and with a barely noticeable sashay, filled it from a nearby barrel. "You celebrating something? Aside from being the only elf capable of growing a beard I mean. Congrats by the way, must have taken some doing."

Just an FYI, the effigy was a hypothetical on Byz'zul's part.

IC (Byz'zul, Yawning Portal) Today was going to be one of his rare good days, if the dream he'd spent his first waking hour luxuriating in was any indication. Only semi-aware of the fact he was whistling what could be described as a jaunty tune as he made his way over to the bar, Byz'zul felt a small and ever-so-slightly vindictive grin creep onto his face. Keeping his true emotions hidden in public was difficult but considering he was feeling pleased enough to fashion all of the tables and chairs in the inn into a small effigy of his former master, light it on fire and then perform that dance of the seven veils he'd heard so much about in Calimport around it, he rather thought a small grin was the best he could expect. Of course, all that didn't mean he'd be lowering the price for drinks. In fact a 10% increase in price seemed in order.

Not precisely. But feel free to make up a custom race. That does sorta remind me of the Tengu from Oriental Adventures.

Go nuts.

IC (Alecto) Alecto's face was stretched into a taut, grim expression as the full magnitude of the attack hit him. "The plan? Far as I'm concerned the plan is not getting sho-oh ###### me!" Alecto suddenly pulled to the right, just as a burst of fire from below scythed through the sky. "I think they're just shooting at random now. Seriously, where does Fuhrer Jollyrancher get these people?" Alecto straightened his flight path out, grumbling all the while. "So Snow, you've been in this situation before? Now'd be the time to fill us in on the details. From where I stand, we need to get to ground as soon as possible. We're reaching failed middle eastern state levels of bulletmass right now. Sooner we're not in the open sky, the better."

IC (Byz'zul) Well, today's daily dose of idiot adventurers who he wouldn't be seeing again, or would see again but with a few missing limbs was just about spent. Byz'zul glowered at the nearly empty common room from behind the bar. With a small sigh, he hefted one of his precious precious bottles of spiderblood wine and took a sip. Nothing quite like somewhat venomous alcohol to roughen up the voice he found. The former Pit Fiend reluctantly tore his lips away from the bottle, and took another look around the room. Another day, another mediocre sum of money to stash away for a better day. The Innkeeper would be closing shop pretty soon. Time to get while the getting was good. He had a warm bed waiting for him upstairs.

Grochi Cat Approved. Mind the healing spells, the sheer number gave us a bit of a fright.

Welcome back!

There are Lizardfolk as well, if that's more your style. We call it our Blackscale special.

Well, I don't think those are available. But as a sworn servant of Yig, lemme fill you in on our latest package. We call it our pureblood special.

Name: Byz’zul Species: Human (Bound Baatezu) Age: Appears to be in his mid to late twenties, is in fact much much older. Class: Warlock (akin to a Cleric in some senses) Alignment: Lawful Bitter (Evil) Abilities/Skills: Byz’zul’s human body may be lacking in things a Pit Fiend traditionally values, like a fine set of red scales, a good intimidating face and an arsenal of spell-like abilities but his mind remains as infernally clever and legalistic as ever….despite his attempts to dull it with wine in a vain attempt to prevent the full horror of his position from sinking in. As a result, he has a fine understanding of the art of diplomacy, intimidation, and his ability to abuse the law whilst keeping to the word of it is quite difficult to match. By the same token he has a knowledge of Cania and the politics within that, though, slightly dated, is still quite extensive along with, at the very least, incidental knowledge of other planes. Considering his role within Cania, and the general “relationship” his kind have with gods, if one could call mutual disdain and hatred a relationship (after observing some human marriages, Byz’zul has decided that he can), he’s made it his business to hoard knowledge and information regarding gods and mortal religions. He has a general knowledge of the arcane as well, considering the nature of his own abilities and it’s differences from the normal types of divine magic, though, of late, he’s been researching spellcraft extensively for ill-defined reasons he keeps to himself. As a side note, he makes a shockingly good bartender, mixing his love of alcohol with his diplomatic abilities did quite a bit to keep him from starving during his first few weeks of banishment. Byz’zul’s fiendish nature is not completely gone, as some fragments of his former power remain within his body. This manifests in four ways, a small resistance to traditionally ‘good’ spells, a general resistance to poisons in the like, though it can be overcome if one was lucky or had expensive tastes in poison. It also augments certain types of magic, when using traditionally evil spells or his invocations, it is a bit more difficult to for opponents to resist them then it would normally be. Thanks to his status as a warlock, he has been able to enhance his abilities in a few other ways. He has a small resistance to cold iron, finds it much easier to deceive a magic item, allowing him to commandeer from it’s former owner. He has gained a considerable resistance to cold and fire energies, though these can still be overcome. Once a day, he can delve deeply into his fiendish nature, and what remains of his power, and enter a state that greatly enhances his healing rate. This lasts for about two minutes. He can speak several languages, including Infernal, his native tongue and the language of all devils. Gear: Byz’zul makes use of two magical items, the first of these, a fine set of studded leather armor designed with a few features of a robe in mind and laced with metal studs in a few key places. This armor is colored a deep, dark blue with silver serving as a secondary color for the set. It sports a silver shoulder piece, laced with rather ornate runic carvings, that seem to a glow a faint blue at times, at one time, one imagines, this shoulder piece would have complimented the symbol across the breast of the armor, a blue sun. Though this symbol has since been destroyed by a few expert slashes delivered with a dagger. Byz’zul very much did not want to be associated with a Paladin order, so he “modified” that bit of the armor. The enchantment of this armor seems to lend the wearer a sort of natural authority, making them more adept at diplomatic crafts and inspiring/influencing others in battle. The fact that it has glowing runes however, makes it quite difficult for the wearer to hide. It also provides a slight boost to defense, though it did not, in the end, appear to do much against being pushed off a cliff by parties yet to be named. The second magic item he makes use of is the Warlock’s Scepter, plucked from the corpse of a rather pretentious devilhunter that had attempted to make sport of Byz’zul a year or so ago. The light mace is quite decorated, the top of the weapon is styled after the skull of a slain demon and is shined to a fine finish. the handle of the mace is colored a simple black, which Byz’zul has taken to marking with his dagger after a particularly difficult battle. It current sports eight such marks. The enchantment on the mace provides a small boost in power to strikes dealt with this weapon. It does far more than that however, it provides another small boost to certain types of magical attacks of a ranged nature. And finally, Byz’zul can tap into the power of the weapon, and at a cost of decreasing the magical charge held within it, greatly enhance the damage dealt by his Eldritch blast. If it runs out of power, most of the these effects vanish, and Byz’zul will need to recharge it to get them back. Aside from these, he has a satchel he uses to carry his other supplies, which consists of a few battles of Drow-made Spiderblood Wine, some small books on a wide variety of subjects, food and his small stash of gold coins and gems. Attached to the satchel is a small lantern and his well-worn bedroll. He also keeps a small dagger strapped to his belt, as a backup weapon. Spells: His first and foremost magical ability is his Eldritch Blast, an innate ability gained from channeling his former fiendish power. This blast started out weak, but as he grew in power and tapped into more of his former power, it has become quite the force to be reckoned with. The blast tends to take the shape of a gout of purple flame or energy. He has three invocations that directly relate to this blast, the first is an invocation known as Frightful Blast which means, if the target is not willful enough, the blast disrupts their morale and courage with a supernatural effect. The second, Eldritch Chain, ensures the blast jumps from the target to other a variety of secondary target. The last, Hideous Blow, imbues a melee attack with the power of his Eldritch Blast. Aside from this, he has three other invocations. The first, Beguiling Influence, enhances his ability to influence others through the spoken word or body language, a formidable tool in his not-inconsiderable diplomatic arsenal. The second, Devil’s Sight, allows him to see normally in darkness, both mundane and natural. His last invocation, The Dead Walk, allows him to animate the bodies of the dead to serve him in battle. Though if he doesn’t use a gem of some sort to channel this ability, the dead will collapse into dust after ten or so minutes. Personality: Bitter, in a word. Byz’zul is a very prideful being, very easy to anger, and his current state is more or less a constant and unending streams of insults to his dignity. The effects upon his personality, have, as one might guess, been quite pronounced. Whilst he was once a flawlessly polite, suave warlord, his current condition has resulted in him losing many of these traits. He has an exceptional hatred of his former master, and will go out of his way to disrupt any plans Mephistopheles might have. Whilst he does resent his current form, he finds he does enjoy the freedom that comes with it….though the emotions, the emotions are something he is still getting used too. He has however, mastered spite, sarcasm, indignation and pride. That said, he makes a fine diplomat, as might be expected of a former Pit Fiend, he can control his emotions when he must, and his legalistic mindset and years upon years of experience in the cutthroat society of Cania, ensures he does an excellent job at getting what he wants out of a negotiation. He also has quite a lot of ambition, as he is a shadow of his former power, his motivation to get all of that back, his powers, his authority, is quite powerful. Appearance: Byz’zul’s present appearance is about as different from his former glory as is possible without literally turning him into some form of lower animal or slime. His new, human body, seems to have been based off the ideal of a fresh-faced farmer’s son, aged 25 - 28. His skin is a pale, slightly flushed white. His hair is a light brown and seemingly determined to grow long despite all attempts to tame it or cut it down. He’s settled into something of a an equilibrium in his constant war upon it, managing to keep it just long enough to cover most of his ears, though he tends to keep it tucked behind them. His facial structure tends towards the narrow and slightly gaunt, with two notable exceptions. His chin is rather prominent and angular when compared to the rest of his face and he can often be spotted rubbing it thoughtfully, as if trying to reduce it’s size by sheer friction. His nose is, similarly, somewhat large especially when compared to the rest of his facial structure. It is angled slightly upward, as if someone’s thumb were pressing upon it slightly. His eyebrows are long, thin affairs, and the same color as his hair as would be expected. His eyes are the lightest of blue, bringing out feelings of innocence and hope in some who see them. This, of course, annoys Byz’zul to no end. He scarcely needed another reason to drink. His voice can be added to his small library of reasons he cannot face life sober without compelling some force or power to kill him out of a sense of benevolent mercy. It is not the powerful, intimidating growl that he sported as a pit fiend. Like so much about his present situation it is the exact opposite of that. His voice is now light, young, even by the standards of his current biological age, and has a pronounced tendency to crack or in particularly unfortunate situations, to squeak. The rest of his body continues the theme of humiliating him ruthlessly. It is quite lean, some would say lanky, scrawny and gangly. He does sport some muscle, but the most charitable of descriptions would describe him as “fit” rather than anything extraordinary in that field. He is also, as a result of his rather impressive height and rather unimpressive body mass, quite bony in nature, what muscle mass and fat he has managed to acquire totally fails to hide this. Compared to the powerful, scaled form of his former infernal self, this is quite the step down, at least in his view. Biography: Byz’zul has fallen far from his former glory. He was once a Pit Fiend, one of the great infernal lords who make up the nobility of Baator, just below the Archdevils themselves in power and influence. Byz’zul had a reputation as a brave warrior, a hands-on commander and as is only proper for a leader within the infernal realms, a great penchant for cunning and treachery that put all but the most clever and insidious of mortals to shame. Unusually, he was a loyal to causes rather than simply his own advancement. This cause being the strengthening of Baator and the Baatezu as a whole. This led him to be uncommonly and perhaps, unwisely, honest when called to advise Mephistopheles, the ruler of the realm of Cania, as a member of his inner circle. For a time, his frank assessments and strategies were valued, even encouraged. When he went too far however, criticizing the Archdevil’s long-laid plans to invade the material plane, due to the danger it placed Cania in, Byz’zul was punished. Severely punished. He was deemed unworthy of even the basest of Baatezu forms and rent asunder, scattered to the winds. His consciousness, his mind, ended up taking the form of a human being on the planet of Toril. He does not know if this was intended as part of his punishment, but even if it was, he has pledged to use this second chance to bring about the ruin of his former master. To his restrained delight, Byz’zul found he could still tap into the remnants of his former powers. Though his infernal essence was scattered, it was not, it seemed utterly destroyed. Though much of it was gone, enough remained to build upon .To refine. Byz’zul, trapped in human form, became what is known as a warlock. A mortal who can channel the energies of extraplanar creatures, often as a result of bargains or a dark inheritance. Though the specifics differ for the former pit fiend, the mechanics remain much the same. He has made it his business to investigate the exact energies, forces and influences upon his now power, searching for ways to improve the connection further. These investigations, and his own misadventures, have paid off. He has grown from a mere dabbler in the arts of the warlock, to something of an adept in the field. Still though, he hungers for more. He was drawn to the city of Waterdeep, one of the focal points of his former master’s plan, in search of any leftovers from the titanic struggle. He knows little of what transpired during the battle between the hero and Mephistopheles, but he knows that such a struggle would have riddled the undermountain, Waterdeep and the surrounding area with powerful artifacts and plenty of opportunities for the canny plotter to increase his own power. But whilst the Mad Mage stayed in power, it would be unwise indeed for him to stick his fingers into this particular pie. When Halaster vanished, Byz’zul saw an opportunity to finally pluck some of the low-hanging fruit within in the area. This path took him as far as the Yawning Portal, before his funds promptly ran out. He’s been working as a bartender at the inn for some time now, hoping to raise funds for a venture further into the mountain. This has made him even more bitter, if such a thing is possible.

Oh sweet Yig he's doing it again idon'twantodie look out for the brid-

Oh god you took out the entire storefront how did you do that

I hope you have insurance.

IC (Saphine) “Did you see that!? He just-” Saphine made a popping motion with her hand. “-so take that down. GoldPoint HESH round vs Wannabe Ghostepo power armor equals alot of tenderized meat flying everywhere. Seems like the sort of thing posterity should remember!” Saphine stopped her running commentary of the battle when Mysterious Military Frequency Batman (MMFB for short) cut in. “Oh yeah. They’re cool. Just try not to look German or Carthaginian and you should be fine. And hide any history books. Their boss, old man bad###, can go on about them for hours.” Needless to say, as she filled Batman in on Hellfire’s local history club, the Revengining continued it’s noble rampage around Times Square. It was fairly easy to pick out targets-look for power armor that didn't look roman, guys shooting at you and in one unique case that special kind of ‘oh a soviet tank is about to crush me’ look only a true Nazi could pull off. The driver, who had, until now, been doing an admirable job of holding his tongue sighed. “You do know I’m German, right?” “No one cares Jim.” “My names no-” “Less talking more crushing.” IC (Perfectly normal ambulance) Today was, Winston Howe reflected, turning out to be all the wrong kinds of interesting. First, his comrades in the Legion tap him for a quick disappearance run and then HYDRA decides to that now would be an excellent time to just start shooting the entire city up because London, evidently, had become a boring target for megalomaniacal Germans with dreams of global domination. Or maybe they’d learned their lessons about messing with British chaps denied their tea for a few days. Considering the intellect or the lack thereof their leader had, it wasn't difficult to figure out which option was more likely. All of this did nothing to answer his primary question. Why, precisely, did the late president’s daughter have a slit throat, why did he and his partner (currently in back, keeping watch) have to bring her to one of the legion’s outposts in the city and why had Li, normally a temperate sort, been glaring daggers at the girl? As he stepped on the acceleration, Howe reminded himself that his was not, currently, to reason why. There would be time for pondering when New York wasn't a warzone. Hopefully.

IC (Romulus) The legion, of course, had it’s own air force. Sleek, black VTOL’s of varying sizes, with a few proper fighter jets and stealth bombers for tactical flexibility. Romulus had a few choice, easily deployable pieces of this air force positioned around New York. Just in case. Three of them now housed the Hellfire garrison, members of his own personal guard amongst them, with one notable guest, a Lacey Marko. There was, Romulus had determined, something to be said for modern aircraft. Unlike so many ideas (democracy, pop music and the United Nations) that had come out of the current era, they seemed to be quite useful. Granted, modern technology was a bit of a double edged sword. Before, an army like HYDRa would have been killed off marching through a desert because Red Skull had done something foolish like turn all their water into red dye or use it all to build a clay statue of himself. He could see it now: ‘You are a Red Sea! I am a Red Skull! We should be ALLIES!’ ‘Yet you refuse to part!’ And then his war chariots would have crested over the hill and that would have been that. Things were so much...messier now. An army could be everywhere and nowhere at once, and with the ease technology had brought, one scarcely needed to be competent for it to be practical. North Korea managed to maintain a spy network after all. North Korea. That really said it all. Still, he was distracting himself from the matter at hand. It was natural to do, before combat. To seek solace in one’s mind before all became blood, fire, screaming and death. But it was not behavior fit for an emperor. Let alone one as old as himself. He idly wondered if Song had picked up on that particular thought pattern. The connection he now shared with his soldiers seemed to more akin to a psychic ‘radio’ then anything else, but one did not live to see their thousandth year by trusting idley. A burst of static from the VTOL transport’s intercom finally dragged him out of his thoughts. “We’re closing in on the red zone. Air supports kept the drones busy, but some might slip through, so keep an eye on the sky.” The pilot’s voice was chipper, relaxed even. If he recalled correctly, she was a native of Somalia. Maya Omaar. Did some good work as a bush pilot before falling in with the African cohort of his organization. Married. Twice. Three children. One graduated, one in high school and one in college. “And remember, we pull this off, we all get a date with Marko’s boss!” Ah yes. He recalled now. She also believed she had a sense of humor. The sound of combat quickly made itself known through the steady thrum of the VTOL’s engines, through the steel walls and compound armor, drowning out any further mental commentary on his part. The craft shook as it’s own primary weapons answered in return, clearing a landing zone, as per protocol. Then it shuddered, stopped, red lights blinked on. The moment only lasted for a second, but it seemed, as it always did, to drag on for an eternity. “Deploying in three...two...one….GO! GO! GO!” The rear door of the transport rolled open. A few quick calculations rolled through the Imperator’s mind. A few feet above the ground, hovering, as they said. Then Romulus, rifle in hand, surged forwards with his legionnaires, with his legion. A battle cry tore through his lips, quickly taken up by his loyal followers. “DELENDA EST HYDRA!” The power armored cadre that made up the fist of the Legion leapt to the ground, gunfire pouring from their ranks and into the HYDRA encroachers. The die, as they said, was cast.