welcome
Welcome delinquents to PHS #552. A few reminders, no rough housing, no running in the hallways, no cheating, and no talking back to your teachers. Beyond that, enjoy yourselves. After all these are the years you’ll look back on, and remember, you mother fuckers peaked too early.
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credits
Public Highschool #552 was rebooted by Xereon and Aether. Content is copyrighted to PHS #552 unless otherwise stated. The skin is created by Wolf of Gangnam Style. The board and thread remodel is by Kagney and has been heavily edited. Banner Image Credit. Chatbox Credit
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NEW RP DISCORD SERVER. CONTACT "Shugo Yuy#5730" ON DISCORD FOR INFO. |
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COME IN COME ALL AND WATCH THE SPECTACULAR STUDENTS FROM PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL 552 AS THEY PIT AGAINST EACH OTHER IN BAREKNUCKLE BEATDOWN! Watch as students go toe to toe on this little tournament with an unbelievable budget allocation! See them bite each other in arena made of LEGOS! Make each other bleed in an artificial JUNGLE!, even go as far as making them break bones under an artificial STORM! Really, HOW BIG IS THE BUDGET ON THIS SHIT! SO PLACE OUR BETS AND GO WATCH BAREKNUCKLE BEATDOWN NOW!
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A brand new group is on the making, The Apostles, a Pillar-like group led by none other than our brand new headmaster, Gregoire Girard. A student body that would lead students and enforce the law on this little school of ours. Little is still known about this student body, but who knows? It might just be what the school needs.
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A lunch box is seen last Friday, around 12:37:08pm with an encouraging note packed inside. This appalling display that utterly lacked manliness has left many students stunned and outrage, as some decided, after a long while, to speak out against it.
Full Story Here.
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user is offline ●
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Let's sleep through the end of this world.
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❝ Iconoclast ❞
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Lightning Gang
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Post by Ira Defaire on Oct 10, 2015 11:52:30 GMT -5
Trigger warning(s): Its really simple--Just don't read it if you are sensitive. _________________________ [ Markus Eckhardt ] To spread her wings and fly--that was her wish. She longed to possess the wrath of an avenging angel, an omnipresent, divine being that ensured the slavery of angels and the obedience of demons. She wasn't entirely licentious; what she desired was to dispel emotions.
The stench of disparity, filth, and death was hovering about her skin, yet they avoided her. No, they have decided. Let this one rot, let this one suffer. Her hair was disheveled, and her hands were trembling. Night might be upon them, but the city lights sought to shine their light harshly upon her, proclaiming her existence. She swallowed.
The very fact that witch hunts existed, to this day and age, seemed ludicrously archaic to her. Their reality, the town's reality they all knew was a fluid, ever changing substance. It was never something that could be penned down, filling up pages of tome after tome; that's how it's been, and would forever be. Her legs shook uncontrollably.
She slammed against a street pole, feeling the immediate effect that settled on her in a rather unsettling manner. Everything seemed surreal at that point in time--the night sky dotted with nothing but superficial city lights, the hedonistic beings laughing away as repulsive alcohol slopped down their chins, and the alley littered with trashed glass bottles that seemed to survey her with contempt. Pain seared through her head, and at that point in time, she was too caught up in her world--existing as a juxtaposition of bitter amusement and pain.
Without warning, her entire world went ebony. Her sight was restricted, as she felt a heavy sack weighing her down. A rope was snaked around her neck, and as they tugged, she choked. As her senses rapidly deteriorated and spiraled uncomfortably of her control, she only remembered one word, and only that word.
"Penitence."
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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Administrator
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Post by Markus Eckhardt on Oct 10, 2015 12:27:25 GMT -5
As Ira dangled there, losing control of her senses, her body would suddenly begin to feel... lighter. The roar of the angry mob who condemned her to death was drowned out by a pleasant quiet that seemed to closely mimic the grip of death. However, the longer this went on, the more apparent it became that this was, in fact, as far from death as one could imagine. Ira's body would remain in a position where she would no longer have to fight the rope, and a strange energy began to well up inside of her.
"Death to the witch!" a woman from the crowd shouted, as her and a large man pulled out a bale of hay and placed it around her. Others followed suit, soon building a pyre with which they could burn Ira alive. "Death to the witch!" they began to chant, as one pulled out a lighter.
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user is offline ●
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Let's sleep through the end of this world.
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“
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❝ Iconoclast ❞
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Lightning Gang
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Post by Ira Defaire on Oct 11, 2015 22:59:27 GMT -5
Ira felt her legs dangling aimlessly. Attempting to compress the arbitrary thoughts, she laughed to herself bitterly. These were a group of bellicose peasants, blinded by their faith to god, under the desperation of seeking a purpose for life. She, however, didn't want to blame them. She was mildly sympathetic to their cause of a purpose, but wrath was unfolding in her heart, before enveloping the vital organ into a series of clanks that spoke of vengeance.
Testing her bonds, her heart skipped a fearful beat when she discovered that her movements were thoroughly restricted, with her hands bounded by ropes that cut into her skin. She tasted the calls for blood, their oath of loyalty, and the impending death. Her death.
She was deadly still, as excruciating minutes ticked by, each one longer than the last. Time was striking, evolving and swirling as a vortex of promised pain, and she closed her eyes to breathe. She could see them now--their faces alive with malice as they stared, almost too hungrily at her. Their swollen eyes, ebony circles, ragged hand and peeled flesh metamorphose into blurriness, as sight gradually reared it's head against her.
The only answer she received was despair, as she forcefully kicked against the pole. Her body could barely moved, and her hands trembled under the exertion of the bonds. She refocused herself, trying to turn her head to see what she could use to hack herself free, like a desperate, wounded animal she was.
Within seconds, her whole body shook under pressure, as she bit her lips harshly. She could taste the metallic blood, as she stared, wide-eyed, down at the growing stack of hay underneath her. There was no time, and--
Her thoughts reared their heads, staring cruelly at her, aloof in their icy glory. Something clicked, with a resonating, soft noise inside the landfill of her brain, as her vision flitted around from person to person, pebble to pebble, hay to hay, and trees to trees. The thought has forced itself into the confinements of her brain, and there was no way out.
She was going to die.
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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Administrator
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Post by Markus Eckhardt on Oct 12, 2015 0:17:18 GMT -5
As the men were completing the circle of wood and hay around Ira, the rope holding her arms up would rip just slightly so that her body would fall roughly an inch toward the ground, before being caught again. She would feel that the bindings were weaker, and she could move her wrists so that the skin wasn't being cut into. The small drop startled one of the men and he dropped his bale of hay next to another, so instead of completing the circle he left a small opening behind her - not like she could get to it now, could she?
Amidst the chanting, the man with the lighter stepped up in front of Ira, looking her square in the eyes. "You have any last words, Witch? Care to confess your dealings with the devil before God and accept his forgiveness? Or would you continue to let him in your soul, tainting it with evil?"
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user is offline ●
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Let's sleep through the end of this world.
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“
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❝ Iconoclast ❞
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Lightning Gang
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Post by Ira Defaire on Oct 12, 2015 10:07:33 GMT -5
Feeling the wood scrapped upon her back sent chills down her spine, as the small girl swung listlessly from the pole, with her eyes squeezed shut. Blood was oozing on her tongue now, slithering about her mouth as she violently swallowed the lump in her throat.
Her bangs fluttered reticently in the wind, and her fists clenched. Slipping down an inch was enough, she didn't need the false, miniscule hope that she could still desperately cling onto the thread of life as an insignificant variable. Her eyes betrayed her thoughts entirely--they opened, wide, and soft gray, seeking and analyzing the area.
Turning her head slightly, her pupils dilated when she saw the spot. Blood trickled down her raw throat, as the lump vanished tauntingly. Her mind was a miso soup of blurriness. She laughed, albeit too loudly, as the sound reverberated again and again in their area. Her icy hands shook as her instinct made one last bid for freedom, and they scrambled,panicked, to undo the ropes.
Nothing.
Despair slapped her on the face, as she lowered her head. Her eyes remained dilated, as she pushed and shook, with only anxiety. Petrified, she rose her head as a repulsive, betraying, and utterly uncalled tear rolled down her cheek.
Then the screaming hit.
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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Administrator
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Post by Markus Eckhardt on Oct 13, 2015 0:43:25 GMT -5
A pair of wisp-like, amorphous creatures would begin to whip around the crowd, inciting panic. The man with the lighter would drop it, running back in terror. The hay would light aflame, and due to the ring being incomplete, the gallows caught caught fire as well. The weak rope would weaken even more, and Ira would fall to the floor. It would seem the crowd was fleeing in terror, with these wisps appearing as "demons" to free who the mob believed to be "the Devil's slave."
With a crescent of flame before her, Ira could escape by moving backward, and if she was lucky, no one would notice. As luck would have it, she had her chance.
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user is offline ●
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Let's sleep through the end of this world.
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“
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❝ Iconoclast ❞
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Lightning Gang
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Post by Ira Defaire on Oct 13, 2015 4:08:10 GMT -5
Her eyes bolted about furiously, as she struggled forcefully against her bonds, this time, harder than before. There was something compelling about the screaming, something powerful that was drumming deep into her bones, whirling, and screaming, even louder than the terror of the people, to move, to escape and grasped on to the fine thread of life gently touching her cheek.
Silvery mists were creating a dust storm of nightmares, each one livelier than the last. A bark of a laugh tumbled from her mouth and she yanked herself free, a smile possessing her face. The nightmares were inherently anarchistic, as they wildly flashed about. Her heart skipped, perhaps for too long, as she stared into one of their dark, familiar eyes.
She slammed ungracefully into the floor, as dust and dirt settled gleefully on her cheek. Scrambling up almost too quickly, her mind protested by sending her sight into a perpetual whirl, distracting her from the smoking mists that were floating viciously out of her body.
Despite the screaming, there was a tranquil quality in the night air; it was as though time was bowing it's head in apology, subtly asking for forgiveness as it granted her the deadly calm in the middle of the storm. Turning around, her eyes landed on a vast, empty space, littered with dilapidated houses, as she did what she could do best in every, and any situation.
She fled.
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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Administrator
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Post by Markus Eckhardt on Oct 13, 2015 4:19:38 GMT -5
As Ira fled, the man with the lighter would catch a glimpse of her. He roared out in anger, his voice threatening to pull the ethereal, ephemeral wisps from intangibility and shred them from simple force and volume. As they circled around, frightening all of the others, he discovered they could do no legitimate harm, and pegged Ira for an illusionist, perhaps one of the worst kinds of witches.
"WITCH!" He shouted as he darted after her, pushing through fleeing pedestrian after fleeing pedestrian. He passed the gallows, advancing through the very path she, herself, took, and as he rounded the corner he happened upon her.
Rather than shout and draw the woman's attention, he pulled a "gun" from his belt and planted both of his feet. He took aim at her, and after several seconds, he would begin to fire. Bullets of pure Qi energy soared through the air, aimed for her spine. They would continue to rain until she was either dead, or behind cover.
Qi used: T1
When planting both feet firmly on the ground, the user can channel their Qi energy and unleash a barrage of blasts from an outside source. Base damage for the initial blast is 1/2 the user's Int. For every shot fired, divide the total damage by that amount. Any that hit the same target deal stacking damage. When in use, the user suffers -5 Con.
Int: 100
Str of Shot 1: 50
Shots Fired: 10
Actual Str of Each Shot: 5
Con After Debuff: 5
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user is offline ●
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Let's sleep through the end of this world.
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“
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❝ Iconoclast ❞
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Lightning Gang
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Post by Ira Defaire on Oct 15, 2015 20:06:11 GMT -5
"WITCH!" Ira staggered involuntarily against a wall as she heard a cry of accusation resonate behind her. She winced, as she felt a trickle of blood slyly making it's way down, from the side of her forehead. Blood clung sickly to her hair, as it dripped mockingly down her neck, streaking a path in crimson.
Panting confusedly, she nearly allowed a whimper to escape her throat as she clamped down furiously on her tongue with her teeth. She slowly stood up, and pressed her back fearfully against a grimy wall. Turning around, she was faced with a sign that petrified her to her legs, as she stood perfectly still.
The man was aiming a gun at her.
Letting out an unearthly snarl, she closed her eyes and shivered. The sound had escaped from an odd place, as her mouth opened and closed, unsure of what she was attempting to say. However, something had too absolute control of her body, as her eyes glinted in the moonlight.
"Tier 1, tier 1," she couldn't control her vocal chords, they were rushing out of her mouth, words that she did not, and could not think about. Words were forming, functioning and rushing about the confinements of her despairing mind. "10 shots, five strength, five strength each if you add strength-- no no no no," her head shook violently, "they must be hit- they will hit, they have to hit, but lack constitu-" she trembled again. "No no no more strength no constitution, strength added? Is that- attack him with... with..."
A puppet master must have full possession of her body now. She raised her shaking hand, and pointing an index finger, with her thumb out, much like a gun. Pausing, she made full eye contact with the guy, on the verge of collapsing.
"Pulvus et umbra sumus." She softly whispered, as whips of mists smoked swiftly out of her finger, streaking towards the man. We are, but dust and shadows. She swallowed, and said one more phrase that came to her mind, and incantation she desperately needed, despite knowing perfectly well that she did not possess such knowledge previously.
"Acta est fabula." She whispered, as she laughed silently to herself. Watching her world turning, twisting, and forsaking her, she felt her throat clench up, as she slowly fell over. After a while, she did the next best thing she could really do. The play is over.
She collapsed, along with her emotions and her world went black.
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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Administrator
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Post by Markus Eckhardt on Oct 15, 2015 21:12:25 GMT -5
As the mist shot out from Ira's finger, the man fled, not wanting to risk getting shot by whatever dark power it was that she commanded. It came upon him swiftly, causing him to drop his gun and turn tail. Screaming into the night, the man ran toward the fire, rather than continue to face the witch.
Qi UNLOCKED.
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