Post by Magnamon on Oct 15, 2011 22:52:24 GMT -5
Chapter 1: What Happens When a Necromancer Goes Up Against a Dude with an Unhealthy Obsession with Knives and Other Pointy Things?
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A/N: Another original story. This one centers on on the Grimm Fantasies organization: a group of supernatural mercenaries... and a highly-trained mercenary with no powers whatsoever. I'll be putting up character bios every chapters until every Grimm Merc is covered. Here's the first one:
Name:Samuel Charles Newman
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Job: Current- Grimm Fantasies mercenary, Former- US Special Forces Colonel
Race: Human, Caucasian
Nationality: American
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 227 lbs.
Abilities: Highly-trained in Martial Arts, Demolitions, Infiltration, Bladed Weapons, Sniper Rifles, and Small Arms. Extremely dangerous with knives.
Powers: None
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New York City. To most people, it is the city that never sleeps. To those more inclined to be HOWLING at night, it is an excellent place to hunt, love, and whatever else those who go bump in the night are inclined to do. John Mark Eastman falls into the latter category. By day, he is a socialite. He has a nice penthouse in Queens, dates the supermodel across the street, and typically lives a normal, rich life. However, he has one little quirk, as we all do, that makes him just so gosh darn unlikeable by the less accepting of the humans that know of the supernatural. Mr. Eastman is a Necromancer, a controller of the undead, and a very powerful one at that. He rarely uses his powers these days, but he used to wreak havoc in Siberia and Russia. His mother would have been so proud- if he had not turned her and his daddy into his first minions at age six. Now, someone has hired an assassin to kill Mr. Eastman. Instead of partying with the Hiltons of the world, he is running for his life from a guy who just missed hitting him and his vodka in one shot. The assassin is now stalking his prey, staying a few steps ahead to toy with Mr. Eastman. He may not be a werewolf, but the assassin knew how to stalk. Eastman just kept running. Unfortunately, he was running into a Necromancer's two weaknesses: physical fitness and a sense of direction. For you see, Mr. Eastman huffed and puffed his way into a blocked-off alley. The assassin hopped down in front of his target. He may have only been six-foot four, but to John, he was ten feet tall. If John would have been forced to describe the assassin's attire, loose would not be the word used. Batman must have been missing a Batsuit or two, for the assassin's clothing was skin-tight, but was reasonably covered by a belt of grenades, a bandolier on the chest a gauntlet on each wrists, a pair of pistols on the legs, and knives running all across his arms and legs where the pistols were not. The assassin scratched his head a bit and pulled out a sheet of paper. Apparently, he had unseen pockets. He sighed. It was raining, and his hair was sticking to his face where it came down to his face.
"Ah jeez, rain screwed up the pic. 'Ey, your name John Eastman?" John had his hands on his knees, huffing and puffing like he ahd just run a five kilometer marathon. In all reality, he was three point six kilometers off. He nodded his head when he could catch his breath. The assassin chuckled a little.
"Thanks, man, I've been looking for ya for about eight hours. Almost had ya at that party, 'scuse me for trying to put a little style into the drab duties of a sniper." John could not tell if he was being funny or not. His heart was too busy beating all the way into his throat. The assassin folded his paper and stuck it into that unseen pocket. Then, he scratched his head a bit more.
"Well, as they say in Middle Class neighborhoods, good night, Honey." Before John could even process the words he had heard, a knife was sticking into his forehead. The assassin walked over and unstuck the knife. Then, he pressed a button on his left gauntlet. A voice became heard.
"...Yeah, what's up, Sam? You done?" , asked the voice.
"Yep.", replied the assassin.
"Oh right, I never gave you full mission specs. He's a Class-A Necromancer." Sam would have punched that guy if he was near him. Instead, he gave a sigh of disapproval.
"Tell me these things BEFORE I go stabbing people in the face with my double-folded carbon steel knive, kay?" Then, he watched as the Necromancer's body twisted, contorted, and grew into a skeletal dragon. The scientific term for such a terrible beast would be Dracolich. It, somehow, gave a roar. The voice from Sam's gauntlet heard said roar.
"You need backup, Sam?", it asked. Sam burst out laughing. Then, he drew five knives from his left arm.
"You kiddin'? We're about to get a new recruit!", he replied.
"But the contract was for the death of John Eastman."
"He's dead isn't he? They want an undead exorcism? Call the Catholic Church. They want a dude stabbed, shot, poisoned, and other horrible deaths, they call us. They called us." The dragon roared again.
"Well, I'm prepping Goggles to airlift you."
"Gotcha." The dragon lifted up its claw and attempted to bring it down up Sam's cranium. Sam was too quick for it. Apparently, this was the first time this dude had had to use this form. He was clunky and slow in his moement, and the roar was just a way to get Sam to crap his spandex shorts. Sam threw all five knives. They all hit onto separate vertebrae. It was perfect for climbing. Sam then shot out a cable from his right gauntlet. It grabbed onto the top knife. The dragon noticed and was trying to get Sam to let go. That just let Sam jump on and run up to the dragon's head. Sam took a knife and cut the cable. Then, he shot out some more cable from his right gauntlet and managed to wrap it around the top of the Dracolich's mouth. He was going to try to hogtie the thing by its mouth and feet. He jumped down and managed to wrap it around two legs. Then, he ran out of cable.
"Ah crap." He tied the cable that he had around the two legs and mouth. That would at least immobilize most of the dragon. Its tail and back legs were still a problem though. managed to stick a knife through the tail and stick it to the left hind leg. Now, the creature just looked goofy, hopping around hogtied and one-legged. Sam grabbed the other leg and separated the two tibia's and a fibula from the femur. That brought the thing down. John Eastman was immobilized. Sam pressed a button on his left gauntlet again.
"Gogs, you're clear. I'm ready for pick-up.", he said.
"Alright, BUST cable dropping.", replied a voice. Sam chuckled.
"A what cable?"
"A BUST cable. Big Ugly Sam Thing." Sam chuckled some more.
"Who came up with that? Scratch?"
"Yup." A cable with a hook on the end dropped seemingly out of nowhere. Sam grabbed the hook and put it under the creature's nose. He tugged on the cable to check how it was holding and gave the thumbs up. Sam hopped on the creature's back and let it carry him away. Well, he let the cloaked aircraft carrying the beast carry him away. He climbed up the cable and hopped into the aircraft through a window. He sat down right next to the pilot who seemed to only be a pair of goggles, a Nirvana t-shirt, a leather jacket, and blue jeans.
"Hey, Gogo.", said Sam.
"Gogo? You're going with that? Well, I guess I could press your eject button too." Sam and Goggles chuckled.
"Just keep flying.", replied the assassin.
____________________________________________________
A/N: Another original story. This one centers on on the Grimm Fantasies organization: a group of supernatural mercenaries... and a highly-trained mercenary with no powers whatsoever. I'll be putting up character bios every chapters until every Grimm Merc is covered. Here's the first one:
Name:Samuel Charles Newman
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Job: Current- Grimm Fantasies mercenary, Former- US Special Forces Colonel
Race: Human, Caucasian
Nationality: American
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 227 lbs.
Abilities: Highly-trained in Martial Arts, Demolitions, Infiltration, Bladed Weapons, Sniper Rifles, and Small Arms. Extremely dangerous with knives.
Powers: None
____________________________________________________
New York City. To most people, it is the city that never sleeps. To those more inclined to be HOWLING at night, it is an excellent place to hunt, love, and whatever else those who go bump in the night are inclined to do. John Mark Eastman falls into the latter category. By day, he is a socialite. He has a nice penthouse in Queens, dates the supermodel across the street, and typically lives a normal, rich life. However, he has one little quirk, as we all do, that makes him just so gosh darn unlikeable by the less accepting of the humans that know of the supernatural. Mr. Eastman is a Necromancer, a controller of the undead, and a very powerful one at that. He rarely uses his powers these days, but he used to wreak havoc in Siberia and Russia. His mother would have been so proud- if he had not turned her and his daddy into his first minions at age six. Now, someone has hired an assassin to kill Mr. Eastman. Instead of partying with the Hiltons of the world, he is running for his life from a guy who just missed hitting him and his vodka in one shot. The assassin is now stalking his prey, staying a few steps ahead to toy with Mr. Eastman. He may not be a werewolf, but the assassin knew how to stalk. Eastman just kept running. Unfortunately, he was running into a Necromancer's two weaknesses: physical fitness and a sense of direction. For you see, Mr. Eastman huffed and puffed his way into a blocked-off alley. The assassin hopped down in front of his target. He may have only been six-foot four, but to John, he was ten feet tall. If John would have been forced to describe the assassin's attire, loose would not be the word used. Batman must have been missing a Batsuit or two, for the assassin's clothing was skin-tight, but was reasonably covered by a belt of grenades, a bandolier on the chest a gauntlet on each wrists, a pair of pistols on the legs, and knives running all across his arms and legs where the pistols were not. The assassin scratched his head a bit and pulled out a sheet of paper. Apparently, he had unseen pockets. He sighed. It was raining, and his hair was sticking to his face where it came down to his face.
"Ah jeez, rain screwed up the pic. 'Ey, your name John Eastman?" John had his hands on his knees, huffing and puffing like he ahd just run a five kilometer marathon. In all reality, he was three point six kilometers off. He nodded his head when he could catch his breath. The assassin chuckled a little.
"Thanks, man, I've been looking for ya for about eight hours. Almost had ya at that party, 'scuse me for trying to put a little style into the drab duties of a sniper." John could not tell if he was being funny or not. His heart was too busy beating all the way into his throat. The assassin folded his paper and stuck it into that unseen pocket. Then, he scratched his head a bit more.
"Well, as they say in Middle Class neighborhoods, good night, Honey." Before John could even process the words he had heard, a knife was sticking into his forehead. The assassin walked over and unstuck the knife. Then, he pressed a button on his left gauntlet. A voice became heard.
"...Yeah, what's up, Sam? You done?" , asked the voice.
"Yep.", replied the assassin.
"Oh right, I never gave you full mission specs. He's a Class-A Necromancer." Sam would have punched that guy if he was near him. Instead, he gave a sigh of disapproval.
"Tell me these things BEFORE I go stabbing people in the face with my double-folded carbon steel knive, kay?" Then, he watched as the Necromancer's body twisted, contorted, and grew into a skeletal dragon. The scientific term for such a terrible beast would be Dracolich. It, somehow, gave a roar. The voice from Sam's gauntlet heard said roar.
"You need backup, Sam?", it asked. Sam burst out laughing. Then, he drew five knives from his left arm.
"You kiddin'? We're about to get a new recruit!", he replied.
"But the contract was for the death of John Eastman."
"He's dead isn't he? They want an undead exorcism? Call the Catholic Church. They want a dude stabbed, shot, poisoned, and other horrible deaths, they call us. They called us." The dragon roared again.
"Well, I'm prepping Goggles to airlift you."
"Gotcha." The dragon lifted up its claw and attempted to bring it down up Sam's cranium. Sam was too quick for it. Apparently, this was the first time this dude had had to use this form. He was clunky and slow in his moement, and the roar was just a way to get Sam to crap his spandex shorts. Sam threw all five knives. They all hit onto separate vertebrae. It was perfect for climbing. Sam then shot out a cable from his right gauntlet. It grabbed onto the top knife. The dragon noticed and was trying to get Sam to let go. That just let Sam jump on and run up to the dragon's head. Sam took a knife and cut the cable. Then, he shot out some more cable from his right gauntlet and managed to wrap it around the top of the Dracolich's mouth. He was going to try to hogtie the thing by its mouth and feet. He jumped down and managed to wrap it around two legs. Then, he ran out of cable.
"Ah crap." He tied the cable that he had around the two legs and mouth. That would at least immobilize most of the dragon. Its tail and back legs were still a problem though. managed to stick a knife through the tail and stick it to the left hind leg. Now, the creature just looked goofy, hopping around hogtied and one-legged. Sam grabbed the other leg and separated the two tibia's and a fibula from the femur. That brought the thing down. John Eastman was immobilized. Sam pressed a button on his left gauntlet again.
"Gogs, you're clear. I'm ready for pick-up.", he said.
"Alright, BUST cable dropping.", replied a voice. Sam chuckled.
"A what cable?"
"A BUST cable. Big Ugly Sam Thing." Sam chuckled some more.
"Who came up with that? Scratch?"
"Yup." A cable with a hook on the end dropped seemingly out of nowhere. Sam grabbed the hook and put it under the creature's nose. He tugged on the cable to check how it was holding and gave the thumbs up. Sam hopped on the creature's back and let it carry him away. Well, he let the cloaked aircraft carrying the beast carry him away. He climbed up the cable and hopped into the aircraft through a window. He sat down right next to the pilot who seemed to only be a pair of goggles, a Nirvana t-shirt, a leather jacket, and blue jeans.
"Hey, Gogo.", said Sam.
"Gogo? You're going with that? Well, I guess I could press your eject button too." Sam and Goggles chuckled.
"Just keep flying.", replied the assassin.
Awesome Sig by Tal