MARVEL RPG SEASON VII Application
Screen Name: Optikal
Character you would like to play: Punisher
Powers: None. Weapons Specialist and Master Tactician.
Three reasons why you have chosen that character:
1. I want a street level hero
2. I want to tell a story
3. And I really really really want a zigga zig aah!
Write two complete sentences using proper English grammar explaining what you think you can bring to the RPG: i kan mayke a gud strry aboot heroes and vilans what will set your world on fire then a fireman will come and put it out and hulk will make love to t'challa and theyll hav lil black and green babys and will rool the world. and frank kastle will be a babysitter employed by the red skull to look after the babys and change his codename to pacifier and he'll look like vin diesel who betrays sugarman to nick fury for not winding the bays and destroying genosha. did i win?
How many times do you intend on posting a DAY IN the RPG: Abou' tree fiddy.
Please provide a sample post in the style that you plan to write your character in (must be at least 3 paragraphs long and contain at least 1 line of dialogue):
I could still taste it.
The metallic tinge of my own blood as it trickled from smashed lips and broken teeth. The fat man hovered over me like an exitable vulture fluttering around fresh carrion. The club in his hand swung close to my face, the cool air soothing bruised flesh as it brushed over me. I thought of how long I'd been here, hands zip-tied behind my back, knees aching on the damp concrete.
But time was irrevelant now, soon the big man of the operation would be here and the .44 calibur round that poured my brain out of the back of my head would be my finality.
It's strange really, kneeling here in the middle of a deserted warehouse, waiting death to arrive. You'd have thought that my life would flash before my eyes, that I'd contemplate all the rights and wrongs in my life. I figured that I should be pondering regrets and all the other crap you hear about on TV. Fact of the matter is though, that kneeling here, bloodied and broken, on the verge of death, the only thing I could think of was the fact that I really needed a piss.
The fact that of all the people I've ever hunted down, and all the filth I've removed from society, it was these small time drug pushers that managed to get the drop on me really left a sickening feeling in my gut.
The job had been as simple as ever. A crack house. A festering pit of needle riddled scum that the law had chosen to overlook. Even when the twelve year old carrier they were using was raped and shot. I'd stormed it and taken out most of the junkies with ease, but the bum that hid in the closet suprised me with a tazer to the back of the neck.
It went black after that.
Until I awoke here.
The fat man swung the bat again, grunting when I refused to flinch at his threats. His cell rang and a few brief grunts later he flipped it closed and I knew it was only a matter of moments before that .44 smashed through my forehead. The fat man turned away from me and kicked at a lump of brick, sending a cloud of dust up into the air as it skittered across the filthy concrete.
In that moment I knew that I had one chance.
I surged to my feet and charged him, cannoning into him and knocking him to the ground. I followed through and rammed my head into the bridge of his nose, dizzying myself but managing to shatter his bones and knock him out. He hit the ground with a dull thud as a spray of his blood sprayed across my already beaten and bloody face. I clumsily fumbled my knife from my arsenal laid upon a small fold-away table, managed to reverse it and cut the ties from my hands. Quickly, I grabbed the unconciouss thug, dragged him to a dark corner and tied him up with his belt. Then grabbing my coat and my weaponry from the table I picked up the sawn-off and my desert eagle, before slipping the coat over aching shoulders.
Suddenly the doors to the warehouse swung open and a small skinny man in a vomit coloured pin-stripe suit entered, flanked by two burly guards. Both the guards dropped with a bullet to the head from the eagle before they even raised the rifles in thier hands. The small man turned and tried to run, but stumbled and fell as I blew out his kneecap. He rolled in the dirt screaming and bawling like a baby, thick sticky blood seeping through white knuckled fingers as he clutched at the destroyed knee. I strolled over to him and levelled the shotgun at his head.
"It's over DeBlaine. Time for your punishment".
"P-please don't kill me kill me Castle! I can get you money... cars... women... whatever you want..."
I thought of about three different lines to spurt, funny quips like Spider-man often offered up. The little gangster pissed himself and made no attempt to mask it as he wimpered and cried at my feet.
The police would be here soon enough, but even a hooked up small time punk like DeBlaine would be out in a few months with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a few hundred dollars less in his bank account. Home free and back using ten year olds to run his ***** through the streets.
"I'm sorry Frank, I'll leave town, I'll get out and you'll never here from me again! Just leave me Frank, leave me here for the cops".
Lying, weasely, no-balls scum.
The worst of them all.
Tasting the blood in my mouth, I hawked and spat.
And pulled the trigger.
Do you know how to post pictures on the hype boards:
