DOOM ON YOU || o, new group

[MASKEDHORRORS.]

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"Oi, cap."

Masked was tired as hell and it was obvious in the look of his half-lidded eyes. His fur was unkempt, but at least it wasn't dirty. He walked with a slight limp that he tried to pass off, but it wasn't working too well. However, there was a small smile on his face. There was no way in hell he was letting his captain run off, forming the 141 without him. He was part of the original 141. Yeah, he died, but that's how he was here anyway. "I know you've got room for more, so you better count me in."

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[spoiler=HAUNTED ✦ JANUARY 27][size=8pt][font=verdana]GENERAL INFO.
✦ Simon Riley | Ghost | Maskedhorrors | Male [ he/him ]
✦ 1 year and 6 months [physically] | 30ish years [spiritually] | July 21 | Real Time
✦ Currently WNR | Former ColouredClan Member | No titles
✦ Former human | Cockney accent | Storage | Full info on profile

APPEARANCE. [ reference ]
✦ Flat-Coated Retriever [ main ] | Health: 100%
— A larger than usual Flat-Coated Retriever, approximately 85 pounds and 26 inches tall at the shoulder. His fur is medium length and looks very glossy in the sun's light - his fur is black with no other speck of color on it. His eyes, rarely seen, are brown.
— wears dark red sunglasses
— wears dog tags with his information on them
— INJURIES n/a

PERSONALITY.
✦ CHAOTIC GOOD Broken Ace | Dark and Troubled Past | The Faceless | Good Is Not Soft
— Ghost is an odd man. He's been driven mad and he laughs at death - especially his own. He's sarcastic and frankly, kinda blunt at times. His humor is dry and quite dark, but he's often found being quite encouraging and attempting to raise morale. He may or may not be seen as slightly (or more-than-slightly) creepy to an outsider, with the whole skull mask get-up and laughing at death.
— sarcastic, kinda blunt, dry and dark humor
— encouraging, slightly creepy, loyal
— DISORDERS: PTSD, Borderline Personality Disorder

RELATIONSHIPS.
✦ Single | Crushing on Modernwarfare | Bi
✦ NPC x NPC
✦ No apprentice/mentor
✦ Likes— shooting stuff.
✦ Dislikes— probably a lot. snakes.

INTERACTION.
✦ Hard physically | Medium mentally | Attack in black
✦ May start fights | Will not back down
✦ Will kill | Will not show mercy | May or may not torture[/spoiler]

[grayflower]

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tourmaline, feline wyvern, limped forward slowly on the joints of his wings. "i- i'm disabled but i would, i would still like to join," he stuttered. his violet eyes remained on the ground, then on his wing as he absent-mindedly looked over the calluses. "is that okay? i mean, is there, um, a place for me?" a group like this was his hope, his future. he didn't want to be useless anymore.

[muddymutt14]

★ leave this here the losing card i’ll someday lay
A flutter of hope entered the captain’s heart again as he saw the small, ebony kitten wobble towards him. Hmm. If he could, he would likely take Serrure as a son. A small smile grew upon his sable maw and he nodded. However, he didn’t touch the emerald-eyed kitten. That may have been unwelcome. “Of course you can, young’un!” He barked, tail wagging.

And then... Ghost. Seeing his comrade again, stuck here like him, and even after what all had happened— from his girlfriend to their tad of toxicity... it felt nostalgic but also dangerous accepting the pyromaniac back into the group. His icy luminaries narrowed, his stance less friendly towards the flat-coated retriever. “Very well.” is what the martyr settles on.

And then Modernwarfare sees something, or someone, different. A wyvern, but also a feline? The captain’s gaze was gentle at the callused hybrid, he had to find something for him to do. Maybe he could be a healer? Perhaps a diplomat? Hmm. Either way, he was still going to be let into the One-Four-One. “Of course there is a place for you. You do not even have to ask. Welcome to the One-Four-One, kiddo.”

so this is all i have to say | tags updated 14/01/18

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he gave him a relieved smile. "that- that's good to hear, thank you." tourmaline bowed slightly, respectfully. "whatever position i'm given, i'll do my best to fulfill it."

[muddymutt14]

★ leave this here the losing card i’ll someday lay
He looked proud. The captain marched around, tail high, a grin plastered on his maw and sparks of light in his icy eyes. Modernwarfare finally had a chance. When he was a human, his elite group of soldiers... the 141 were all killed. But he could make a new 141 in this world. He would always have his memories... but a new group of soldiers might be nice.

Even if they were a ragtag group, the order and... amenities of a military lifestyle were sure to succeed in this place, where radiation loomed and anarchy roared with power.

The German Shepherd stood out in the middle of the territory, puffing his chest out, raising a paw to it, and smiling even further as he called out, “Hello everyone! I am Modernwarfare... I wish to lead a group, called Task Force 141. We need order and justice, which can be brought with a military lifestyle.I have also found underground caverns to escape the radiation. If anyone wants to join, let me know!.” Huh. It almost sounded like the group would be not-so-pacifistic monks.


//Hey Guys! Moddy’s trying to make a new group. It’ll seem rather militaristic (due to how it is) But they’re kinda like monks that can actually fight. The guide can be found here.

so this is all i have to say | tags updated 14/01/18

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[nuclear repository;]

  Sure enough, Grim's little announcement seemed to have started a trend. Technically, this was only the second proposal she'd seen regarding the formation of a new group, but the fact that it was catching on with anyone besides the wolfdog would imply that more would follow. That wasn't an issue, per se, but it would make keeping track of them all rather difficult.

  Despite her musings, Seija remained blank-faced as she approached the German Shepard, ears swiveling to catch every word he said. The mention of a "taskforce" nearly drew a shudder from her, but she restrained herself; from how Modernwarfare described it, the group likely would not resemble Taskforce X. Still, she probably ought to keep an eye on them, just in case. "I will keep that in mind, then," she stated, with a slight nod. "Regardless, I wish you luck."

  /ishpost

[Zjarr]

Ironically, the cyborg canine was already sporting his signature olive military cap as he intently listened to Modernwarfare's announcement of a new group, a militaristic one to bring order and justice. Task Force 141—he believed Moddy had mentioned him starting the group up when he first joined.

Once more, the drums of war beat in his ears, earsplitting shouts and booms erupting from all around. Artillery shells burst, metal clashed against metal, anguished screams signaling the abrupt end of one's service. Field medics dragged the injured from the lines to safety, rushing back and forth to carry their comrades. War was a terrible thing. But sometimes it was the only thing you could do to bring justice and order. It took so many, but would inspire hope in so many more.

Heatwave. Heatwave. Heatwave. That was his name; well, a code name. A code name that he held dear to him. His eyes fluttered open and he saw opportunity within Task Force 141. He had the heart and grit of a soldier, and this was the group he was looking for. ThunderClan was not coming back any time soon, and he couldn't sit there waiting. And it would be too much to try to reform it himself or with his ex-Clanmates. This world didn't need another ThunderClan: it needed order. Justice in the midst of anarchy.

The wolf wasn't sure whether to state his intentions to join or inquire about it later on. He supposed it'd be fine to be up front about his interest now. "I'll...I'll join your Task Force, if you'll have me," he barked somewhat reluctantly to the German Shepherd, adjusting his cap subconsciously. He still didn't know of his service in the 141 prior to arriving in this world, or that the canine before him was his commander long before. All he could remember of his time in the Task Force was the drums of war and the name Heatwave.
[spoiler=tags :: updated 01/21]basics.
✯ Zjarr Ignibus // formerly known as Flamewhisker or Heatwave
✯ male // masculine
✯ age frozen, adult // mentally 65 months // spiritually unknown
✯ no rank // ex-leader of the late ThunderClan
✯ no titles // gay redneckâ„¢
✯ played since 2012
✯ formerly in the FeralFront universe
✯ recovering memories of past, slow to recognize old friends from past life
✯ demon, stole physical form from a mortal // doesn't act upon demonic lust
✯ former alcoholic, rehabilitated
✯ can speak German and Latin
✯ often fights with a sword (affectionately calls Ignibus Blade)

appearance.
✯ cyborg wolf [ref]
✯ russet pelt with cream hind legs, underbelly and chest
✯ brown right eye (natural), red left eye (artificial)
✯ prosthetic front legs; left side of face; back/spine — attempt to slow any effects of radiation
✯ may occasionally wear a military cap
✯ nicked left ear
✯ American accent, drawled

relationships.
✯ no best friend
✯ no apprentice
✯ [G1] NPC x NPC
✯ biromantic // bisexual
✯ single // no crush
✯ one child—0 blood, 1 adopted (many children on FF)
  butterflykisses i.

interaction.
✯ storage // plot
✯ physically hard // mentally difficult // possession
✯ attack in #f24b00[/spoiler]

[QUIETUS]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 500px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 20px"]— Order. Justice. Safety. Give me your heart, your mind, and we will be fine. Every group proposed forced him back a step, made him think and churn before spitting that offer back into the face of whomever sprung the idea in the first place. Military meant being strict, it meant being kept under lock and key and feeling the rush of a battle press on and on until the adrenaline thrummed in your ears and in your heart and caused your stomach to flip-flop in tune with the fight. He did not like that, either. His father had been a fighting dog, made for the pits, and he'd fought until every part of him felt like it was falling apart, and he'd told Quietus this with regret in his eyes, even if he'd never really much had a choice on living that life versus the one here. With his mom. Now, Quietus had never been in the military, never lived any past lives, but the word did not sit well with him. Nothing did, anymore, and yet again, he was reclining and fading, like he always did. Qu knew what his dad would say - no to all of this, too. Would his mom say the same? Would any of his siblings? "What she said." Quietus said, with a nod to Seija, thoughts of family rendering him dumb for but a moment as he listened to the proposal.

/ this post is a mess and ic opinions!!

[muddymutt14]

★ leave this here the losing card i’ll someday lay
He blinked at the first approacher. Ah. Not a joiner. That was a bit saddening to the captain. At the very least, she wished him good luck. He could respect that, but at the very least, he missed being with a group of soldiers. Perhaps this group was part of Modernwarfare’s selfishness and desire for good memories. “Thank you.” He replied, with a nod of his own.

Then came Heatwave— no, no. Zjarr. Just like his friend, he could remember everything— RPGs going off, yells, roars... and as his lust for revenge was taken over by his own commander. ”WHO IS KINGFISH?!” He had remembered roaring, thinking this “Kingfish” took away his father... and as the paper slid across the desk, fuel was added to the fire. Then, his gaze turned to the cyborg wolf. Yes. He would accept the former soldier into his group— plus, he already looked the part! The Scottish accented voice carried confidently. “Of course...” He had nearly said the code name, but he could not give himself away.

And then this next approacher. He didn’t seem too happy with the idea, even though he had apparently wished the militaristic martyr good luck as well. Soap couldn’t blame him, the military was not for everyone. The canine gave a dip of his head. “Thank you,” was his response.

so this is all i have to say | tags updated 14/01/18

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[serrure.]

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YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD GO FREE

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