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Messages - Janus Rogo

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Off his A-Game was certainly an accurate assessment. Whatever state he was in, he was nowhere near his normal quality, methodology, or tactical fighting style. The roar of the crowds dulled as the soldier slowly prowled down the hallway.

-thump thump thump-

Soon, there was nothing more than the heavy tread of his armored boots on the floor. The man’s silhouette seemed to expand, filling the corridor, blocking off any chance of escape the way they’d come. The Tyrant dipped down, point easily carving through the concrete floors with a metallic, chuckling growl.

The mercenary stopped. He was shaking, vibrating, almost. His Aura swirled around him, the normally carnelian hues were streaked with a deeper, darker color. It… crackled, almost. Closer to eruptions across the reddish envelope, arcing out to the floor, the ceiling, along the length of his weapon. The soldier said nothing. His helmet obscured his expression. But his body language was clear. Murderous, violent intent permeated and radiated off of him. Something led him to pause as the woman spoke before him.

”murderer” was as far as she got.

With a blind, keening howl, the mercenary launched forward. Again, a blur, impossibly fast. Able to close the distance within a blink of an eye. The old soldier’s spear swung from overhead, the hammer blow knifing through the ceiling and killing one of the lights overhead.

[Aura: ERROR_ADAP_HDW_ERR 57 (0x39)/100]
[Strike Fighter:ERROR_ADAP_HDW_ERR 57 (0x39)]
[Debris: ERROR_ADAP_HDW_ERR 57 (0x39)]

Her speed, her response time, was staggeringly impressive. Being able to draw multiple weapons, to charge and deploy her semblance, to take in and plan an attack, all in the mere moments it took for Janus to tear through the Knights? Nothing less than the impossible being done. He'd have given pause on any other day.

But not today. Her attacks were intelligent, counting on his direct assault to continue. She wanted him to engage her on her terms.

The Mercenary wasn't about to let that happen.

He stopped, just shy of her blows, of the Aura Spines. The sudden arrest of momentum wouldn't have been possible without his Semblance. A heavy blast brought his speed to an immediate zero. His follow up, a split second later, was a massive, constant blast towards the woman. An onrushing vortex of wind. The suction picked up the Knight debris, hurling their pieces at her, and the front of the pressure wave ripped the doors behind her form their hinges, sending them spinning into the facility beneath the stands. His statistics on screen flickered, going dead as the tracking equipment began to fail from the damage to the arena.

[Aura: ERROR_ADAP_HDW_ERR 57 (0x39)/100]
[Jetstream Attack:ERROR_ADAP_HDW_ERR 57 (0x39)]
[Debris: ERROR_ADAP_HDW_ERR 57 (0x39)]

There was a sea. A massive ocean, stretching as far as the eye could see. Deep, black waves under a cold night sky. The horizon was distant, strangely invisible. The shattered moon hung in the sky, dully glimmering, though it wasn’t the only source of light.

There was a ship. It burned. It screamed.

Janus blinked. The change was nearly imperceptible. Almost as difficult to follow as what came next.

Before the announcements finished, before the plank had fully extended, before the match had truly began, he blurred into movement. The pair of metallic Knights behind him didn’t just crumple to the ground, either. As if hurled by some massive force, they’d been flung back, driving into the arena walls. The mercenary’s semblance was unrelated, all appearances to the contrary. The most perceptive in the stands could pick up his actions, though, anyone at home was out of luck. The spear had whirled, slamming into the two drones, catching them with a Herculean level of force. The tiled ground shattered as he left the entryway, sending a smattering of ceramic shards back down the hallway, embedding into the walls, ceilings, and floor.

The Jet Knight. The Butcher. Star Cutter. Keelbreaker. Hullripper. Murderer. Madman.

He advanced. He aggressed. His Aura seemed to crackle, then bleed, as its hue darkened ever so slightly.  He shot across the arena, impossibly fast. The plank splintered behind him, the firmly built deck strained from the pressure flowing over it. Over the collective gasps from the crowd, the staccato bursts of debris impacts, the loud roar from the vortex of his Semblance, a howl could be heard. Born of rage and anger and hate, the man, once a pinnacle of Atlesian might, of Huntsman skill, split the air with a keening roar. His foresight was gone. All his planning, gone. The restraint, the professionalism, gone. He didn't hear the soulless, mindless chatter from the Tyrant anymore. There was little more than a beast. A cyclone of fury, of chaos, of despair.

They want madness? Give it to them.

The spear flashed, a rapid blow from the bladed end slicing at the womans head.

They want war? GIVE THEM WAR!

His body was turning even as the initial blow closed, following up with another from below, a strike from the haft; a launcher, to send her skyward. The massive blast of thrust, aimed downward, splintered the deck of the ship, slewing the whole thing sideways, just as the cameras caught up.

The soldier bounced from foot to foot, agitation increasing.

The man seemed determined to shake loose any prefight jitters that could appear. Or had appeared. Whichever.

The Huntsman cocked an ear, listening to the announcements, barely audible in the entry tunnel.

Janus Rogo's face twisted into an irritated scowl at the mention of his name. Fear and animosity.

Can you blame them?, the question rose, unbidden.

He shook it off.

Killed a lotta people.

He shook that off, too.

Whole lotta innoc-

The mercenary's gauntleted fists bounced off his helmet. The sudden shock brought him back to here. To now. He channeled his focus into that.

Malina Nahualli. He'd heard several pronunciations of her last name, some sounded closer to accurate than the others.

He'd spent the past few hours getting to know her, at least as well as he could from broadcasts of her recent match and a bit of cursory investigation. A young Valish Huntress. Younger than him, at least. She lacked some of the hot-headed, or brash attributes a solid portion of her peers commonly demonstrated. Her fight against Siu was an excellent example of reasonable, cautious tactics- Ones Janus himself favored, even. She'd held back, prodding at her opponent, attempting to grasp their limitations and show... Well, not her own abilities, but a snippet of them. A misdirection, almost. She was clever, trying to put herself in the mind of her opponent. Impressive, though not unexpected.

Her weaponry had caught his eye, as well. Her ranged abilities were, at best, limited. The pins she'd fired from her tail would need a great deal of fortune to not just penetrate his aura, but the armor beneath it, as well. Her usage of Dust was the more direct, notable threat. Channeling its effects through her staff gave a surprising amount of control, of variety, of potential in her attacks. Shards, orbs, blasts. She'd demonstrated all of those in the opening moments of the fight and it was undoubted that she could produce more variance, as well. The staff, though he hadn't seen all the forms, seemed to lack any dedicated projectile mode. It was an effective channel, sure, and a promising weapon in-close, but definitely not insurmountable.

The tail, he ruminated, was interesting. It showed up in most of the images of her from the old Beacon Academy yearbooks and she demonstrated a particular adeptness with its use. She was comfortable with it. It was as much a part of her as... Well, as any Huntsman's weapon. He spun his rifle, converting it to its spear form, barely conscious of the act. An extension of her body, of her soul. Her Aura would protect it, he had to assume, or it wouldn't be seeing use on this stage. Still, it was an angle, a vector for attack, one that he had to be prepared for, and one he'd seen before. Somewhat.

Her semblance had been noteworthy, too, though for a different reason than expected. The similarities between the two were what had caught Janus' eye. Any Huntsman worth their salt could evaluate an opponent and their Semblance, their Aura, but in this case, the similarities gave a touch of insight that others might miss. His semblance, dubbed Thrust[/b] many, many years ago, allowed for a constant blast of pressure in most directions. A jet of concentrated air, a steady stream of wind, or a heavy rush of force. He grinned as the memory floated up, his old team discussing the more accurate name for his semblance. Whoosh or NYOOOM[/b] had gotten a fair few laughs.

The spear bounced off his thigh. Still bouncing. It'd been spinning idly in his hand, though he'd yet to notice until that faint -tink- of metal on metal.


Her semblance was an apparently more limited version of his own. Perhaps it was constrained by her relative inexperience. Perhaps it was a hardwired limitation. Or perhaps it was just an act, and her abilities weren't what they seemed? That last one seemed unlikely, slotting in the rear of his mind, while he evaluated what little he'd seen. Concentrated bursts of force, the bursts being key. Unlike his own Semblance, it wasn't a constant stream, it was a fast moving burst of force. The applications were similar, too, seeing her use it to maneuver around the field, but it wasn't quite the tactical multitool of his.

She's skilled, he thought, but not invincible.

Her lack of range, the limited amounts of pressure she could apply to him, would cripple her. It wasn't much different than with Budonoki, in his mind. Keep distance, wear down with the Tyrant, attempt to avoid close combat. If he could keep her off-balance through the match, it would be simple enough, barring any unforeseen complications....

A buzzer in the room rang. A light illuminated. The match was set to begin. Almost immediately, the soldier stepped off, confidently advancing down the entry ramp. There were cheers, a dull, faint roar. Certainly quieter than that for other matches, though. There was something else, too. Something softer, quieter, lying just beneath the crowd. A sea.


Hey, man, if you get time, poke into the Discord from time to time. I'm usually driving in the mornings and evenings, hanging out in the voice channel. At least shoot the shit with us and all.

Approved Characters / Re: Wabul "Toast" Paka
« on: November 15, 2018, 05:51:57 PM »
No Flamethrower. Approving this garbage so I don't have to look at it anymore.

Injuries are a natural way of violence. Whether given or received, in any real fight, it helps to remember that not just one person will be hurt. There’s always more pain and hate to dispense. It’s why armies came up with triage, it’s why ER centers exist, it’s why the Grimm are so… Well… That’s not here, not in Janus’ mind. None of this floats to the surface, it just sets the current of his actions. His natural flow, if one would think of it that way. There’s an acceptance of direction, of events, of outcome in there somewhere. He knows that he’ll be injured, if this is a real fight. He knows his foe is near-enough to an equal. He knows what he sees. The man retreats, attempting to draw him in. The maneuver is a valid one, given the terrestrial upheaval.
It’s also revealing. There’s almost beckoning hint of desperation in the move. The Old Man, the Professor, is attempting to set the environment of the fight. He wants to fight in the mountainous terrain. His ranged abilities are clearly severely limited, if not nonexistent, going off his lack of retaliation. The mountainous terrain lends some advantage to his opponent, in terms of cover, but…
The impassive bronzed helmet betrays no sign of reaction. He simply... moves. The Jet Knight continues to live up to his name, rapidly closing the distance, as though some furious red artillery shell. For a moment, he blends in with the volcanic detritus, velocity and trajectory notwithstanding. There’s a series of sharp cracks as the mercenary shoulders through the obstructing sections of heated stone. The mercenary’s aura soaks much of the damage, but as he slams into the side of the far mountain, momentum arrested, it’s clear he allowed some of the effects through. Charred impacts mar his armor, but they’re largely superficial. A weighed trade-off, sacrificing his own health for speed, and positioning. The man snaps around, rifle up, and opens fire. A thundering hail of rifle rounds spray at the Professor, capped off by one of the heavier 20mm rounds as well.

Action Tracker:
▫ [ACTION: Vectored Thrust.]
  ▫[DAMAGE: 2% per round. 20 rounds total. 40% possible, 8% likely.
  ▫[DAMAGE: 10% [color=#]Underslung Cannon[/color]. Explosive. 10% for Direct.
▫ [Ammo Status: ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇(50%)
▫ [The Tyrant is in it's primary, Battle Rifle form.
▫ [Aura Status: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ (94%)]

The noodly bastard stole my idea. Janus thought to himself. He'd tracked his movements across the arena, floating across the ground, ensuring Budonoki stayed opposite the lava from him. Seeing the man scamper up and crack the side of the Volcano was irritating, to say nothing else. He'd planned to crack it open, in a pinch, but Budo had beaten him to the punch, so to speak.

Then he decided to continue making the same mistake. Hey, if they're gonna give you the chance....

Janus planted his feet. He saw the staff coming. He took his front hand off the rifle, stepped sideways, focused, and with the free hand, he directed an intensely powerful jet of air into the pit of lava before him. There was enough force to peel the first few feet up and spray it across the arena. Right at Budo. If they're not gonna fall into your trap, bring the trap to them.

Action Tracker:
▫ [ACTION: Vectored Thrust.]
  ▫[DAMAGE: 2% per round. 5 rounds total. 10% possible, 4% likely.
  ▫[DAMAGE: 20% Lava Spray
▫ [Ammo Status: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇(80%)
▫ [The Tyrant is in it's primary, Battle Rifle form.
▫ [Aura Status: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇(100%)]

Approved Characters / Re: Draíochta Anam
« on: August 05, 2018, 12:38:22 PM »
Get on our Discord, as well. Makes contact and discussion about your character considerably easier.

Janus watched, bemusedly behind his helmet at the series of acrobatic flips the older Faunus performed in a flamboyant return to his starting point. Impressive. Indicative of a fair amount of physical training. His flips let him get a better look at his equipment, too, which looked to be... Some kind of a stick? A tree branch? Hard to say, although, knowing how Hunters tended to equip themselves in a manner that aligned with their Semblances, their Styles, or their Tastes, it was a safe assumption that this guy would engage him with something related to nature.

Suddenly, almost as if a bomb went off, the arena seemed to change. An electricity seemed to spread through the air, as Budonoki shot towards him. Towards the volcanic hellscape he was standing on, with the pits of lava all around him.

A wise man once said "Never interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake."

But that doesn't mean you can't make the mistake worse.

Janus braced, then rocketed sideways, his rifle fluidly snapping into his shoulder as he skated just above the ground. He didn't even bother to look down the sights, relying instead on the natural feel of the rifle, of the decades of practice with it, as he sent a series of hammered pairs at his opponent, merely to distract, maybe get lucky on a hit. The mercenary came to a sudden, sharp stop, with a blast of air scattering ash, leaving a pit of lava between him and the apparently melee oriented Professor.

Action Tracker:
▫ [ACTION: Aggressive Repositioning.]
  ▫[DAMAGE: 2% per round. 6 rounds total. 12% possible, 4% likely.
▫ [PASSIVE EFFECT: Thrust ~ Jet Skate] Janus' use of his semblance to avoid contact with the ground increases his speed while keeping him out of range of the Lava.
▫ [The Tyrant is in its primary, Battle Rifle form.]
▫ [Ammo Status: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇(90%)
▫ [Aura Status: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ (100%)]

Janus Rogo. The Jet Knight. Specialist-par-excellence.

The Butcher of Tenang Bay.

Of course that'd be the one that would stick with him for the rest of his life. He pinched the bridge of his nose as the announcements went on, mind wandering to distant shores, screams, and sorrows. Dozens of years of service, of protecting Atlas, of protecting Remnant, and here was all that could be said about him. A criminal.

How dare they!, the thought came unbidden, more a voice whispering in his ears. His Aura pulsed and a wave of pressure radiated off him, spreading down the hall. What do they know? He could feel the weight of the Tyrant behind him. He could smell the ash in the winter air. He could- He could fill the whole world wi-

"Enooouuugh!", he growled. His attention centered. The world seemed to rush back in on him. Deep breaths... Deep... Breaths....

Home. The scents of a smokey winter rushed in to greet him. He could sense the eerie silence beyond the doors, his presence might've been a bad idea, in hindsight, but it was too late to pull out now. All he had to do was win. Hell, he didn't even need the win, he just needed to not kill a bunch of people, again. Be polite. Be professional. Have a plan to- *~CLUNK~*

The doors swung open. Rogo, the Butcher, stepped forward. The man was clad in his old tactical battle rattle, once stark white, now worn down to slate gray. Aesthetics were gone, but, despite the pockmarks and furrows, the effectiveness was not. The helm under his arm was polished to a dull bronze dome. The straps and underarmor were essentially molded to him, as long as he'd been wearing the gear, and felt like little more than more skin. He scanned the Knights immediately. There was no way the Military, or just about anyone, really, would try and pull something here. Too much attention on the world stage. Too much Specialized attention. The arena's terrain spinner had somewhat favored him, too. His opponent's side was rife with elevation shifts and cover, while his own had some gnarly surface hazards in the lava. An idea flickered across his mind when he saw the volcano, one that'd come in handy if his foe had the right style of combat. Speak of the devil... A scrawny... monk? Janus didn't recognize him, but he was certainly a sight.

And a Faunus. Again with this, great.

At least this one seemed polite.

Rogo's boots left the ground. The rush of air scattered the smoke and ash around him as he slowly rose towards the cliff. He hovered just out of reach of Budonoki for a moment, staring him down. He could feel the Tyrant hanging on his back. The old, heavy battle rifle seemed to shiver with excitement. All he had to do was pivot forward, spin the rifle around. He'd catch the old man off guard, put the bayonet through him! Push the attack, rush him, AGGRESS!

Janus Rogo drifted slightly forward and clasped Budonoki's arm in his.

"A good sentiment, sir. Best of luck here.", he said over the roar of the volcano, before releasing his grip and floating back down to his entry point. He landed, donning the helmet, and unslinging the Tyrant. The mercenary raised a fist in salute of his opponent, took a deep breath, and prepared for the war.

Everywhere Else / Re: Shiver [Closed]
« on: July 12, 2018, 08:45:25 PM »
The florally clad mercenary shrugged.

"Something like that." he said. "For now, just consider me an... Adventurer? Wanderer?"

Janus pulled a partial loaf of bread out of the pantry, squeezing it with a frown, before discarding it. "An Investigator." Momentarily he settles on a can of beans, stepping away from the pantry and up to the small island in the middle of it. He glanced between the two women, then shrugged. "Investigator should be juuust fine, for now. I'd rather not have to dip into the other names, so, please, ladies, mind your manners?"

He unslung his rifle, setting it flat in front of him. He gestured for the other two to do the same.

"Lets all just relax a little. Enjoy the fruits of someone else's labors. Judging by the state of things, I doubt they'll be back anytime soon."

Approved Characters / Re: Chantou Rou
« on: July 10, 2018, 11:08:33 AM »

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