“Fey’lya is a fool. He believes that by staying out of the entire affair will make it go away. It’s like throwing a wounded Gamorrean to a Rancor that hasn’t eaten in weeks. That Bothan slime is prepared to sacrifice the worlds of the Republic to ensure his own safety within his beloved seat of power.

We can’t stand idly by as the Vong continue to ravage our worlds in their hunt to abolish our technology and enslave us all. That is why, with the help of the Jedi, we will branch out from Besaaan and stop the Vong at the source: we will meet them on the worlds they wish to dominate, and through our own cunning, we can overcome them.

Men, women, children; soldiers all. We cannot hope to win if we give in now. Frag Fey’lya and his plan for peace. Invaders never settle for peace; they settle for nothing more than spilling the blood of others. We’ll give them their blood, and drown them in it...” -General Elrek Nexus during the Conference of Besaaan-

Meinzen couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in the rain. Actually, he thought, it wasn't so much the rain, as it was him. "Him" was a tall, broad-shouldered man, clad in a wide-brimmed hat and long black coat. He was just...standing there. Meinzen couldn't help but stare at the man, watching the rain fall off his jacket.

"Meinzen! Stop staring and get to the west breach!" called Sarge. Meinzen blinked, and got to his feet. He checked his helmet, pulled on his goggles, and picked up his Thompson, checking the clip. Full - good. Meinzen ran 'round the building, coming to the west entry, where the breach team was waiting. The flash of lightning was obscured by old buildings. The clocktower in the distance stood out ominously for a split-second, before being blanketed in darkness again.

Meinzen caught a glimpse of the breaching hammer for a second, during the flash, and then there was only shouts, and he was swept inside. The young man stumbled, falling down behind a half-destroyed wall. Gunfire tore through the wall behind him, where he had been not a second before.

More shouts, this time someone was yelling his name, and he remembered where he was. Meinzen took his Thompson, raised the muzzle just above his cover, and fired blindly. He heard a scream - had he hit one of them? Jonas, next to him, lobbed a grenade down into the foyer below. Gunfire peppered the wall Meinzen was behind, and a shot made it through, hitting Jonas in the arm.

All of a sudden, another sound broke through the din. The gunfire stopped. Meinzen checked Jonas - alive, and in pain. The soldier pushed him away. Jonas was a pro - taking the building was what mattered now. Meinzen nodded, and peered over the wall to see what had happened.

The man in the trenchcoat was pressed to the wall, gunfire hitting the corner next to him. He clutched an old pump-action in his hands. One rebel tried to flank him, and was met with a blast to the chest. The man writhed in pain on the ground. Meinzen felt a surge of pride - this man was on their side, taking the rebel position on his own!

The man removed two grenades from his coat. He pulled both pins, tossed one forwards, and threw the other in the rebel defilade. Suddenly the other grenade spewed thick gray smoke, obscuring Meinzen's view. Yells of panic, then an explosion - and the man was gone, sounds of gunfire filling the air.

It was over in a matter of minutes.

---

It wasn't until dawn that the rain finally began to dissipate. Meinzen stood next to Jonas while a medic patched him up.

"Jonas, the man in the coat - who was that?" he asked.

Jonas winced before answering. "I don't know, but I think - ow! - I think he's NOC."

Meinzen frowned "Non-Official Cover? Then why's he out here? That makes no sense."

Jonas scowled. "You know what I mean! He's not one of us - he's a lone wolf, he's, he's..."

Meinzen froze. "No - no, you don't think..."

"Think what?" asked Jonas, confused by Meinzen's change of attitude.

"He's one of them, an Inquisitor."

Jonas' eyes widened. Meinzen could understand why - the stories told. Of how they had purged entire towns to find traitors to the party. Of how no-one was truly safe, not even fellow Inquisitors - their fights were destructive on a large scale. Of how they weren't above the law, they were the law.

Meinzen swallowed. He did not want to be this man's enemy.

---

The Inquisition

Coming soon...

“Listen up marines! The Sith thought that they could bring the whole might of the Galactic Alliance down and then take control of the galaxy, instead they got destroyed at that fateful battle on Coruscant. Even so the Galactic Alliance has fallen like an ego-maniac Sith and have hired all the help they can. But then some alien slug of the Hutt decides that he’s gonna start his own galactic power and try and destroy what little is left of the galaxy. That’s where we come in; you see that palace up there, atop that cliff? That’s where we are heading; to take out that alien slug and ease the pain of the Galactic Alliance. Now I’m sure the palace is crawling with Gamorrean pigs that would make most run in fear of their limbs, but you know what we’re going to do Marines? We’re gonna go up to that palace, blow down the door and then let rip with our blaster and giving a new meaning to kicking a$. Am I right Marines?”

The rest of the special operations team joined in unison to agree with their Sergeant.
“Sir, yes Sir!”

“Damn straight, now head out marines.”

The Galactic Alliance Special Operations Squad “Phoenix”, made up the Sergeant and nine troops headed up the cliff face to the palace of Garulga the Hutt. Who they suspected knew something about the assassination of the Commander in Chief of the Galactic Alliance....

---

Rumours had surfaced that Jedi were popping up all around the galaxy helping people, and planets survive. Shyhn like many, many others was surprised by this; they had thought that all of the Jedi were killed in the last moments of the war, like numerous others. No one knew who it was that fired upon the planet, by the time the next ship arrived the system was empty, the remains of the last three ships were gone though the bodies of their crews were found floating frozen in the cold of space. Shyhn shook the though off of her and looked around before ending deep down a dark and unforgiving looking alleyway. There she stood and waited, and out of the shadows a robed figure crept out, coming up behind her slowly and silently, until he reached her putting his hand onto her shoulders. She jumped up in shock, quickly reaching for her lightsaber, igniting it and slashed at the man in the shadows. Her blade was met by another orange blade.

She started to smile and lowered her blade; she was no longer frightened because she knew exactly who it was. The man then unhooded himself and smiled back at Shyhn.

“Shyhn, it’s great to see you again.” He said.

“As it is you Arlic.” She replied

“I bring troubling news Shyhn, the commander in chief of the Galactic Alliance was found dead in his home on Mon Calamari, they have no lead onto who it may have been.” Arlic explained.

“Galactic Alliance?” Shyhn asked rhetorically, “I’m surprised they haven’t collapsed under their own inflated weight.”

“Though it pains me to say it I have to agree with you, I am not sure how the galaxy is even holding together, the Galactic Alliance is no where to be found it reality no one is governing the galaxy. Even the Sith have gone into hiding for now.”

“And what of Coruscant?” Shyhn queried.

“Coruscant, is as dead as the Galactic Alliance, something is stirring out their, the Vacuum of Power that has been left behind may just suck the galaxy into destruction.”

“Then let’s hope the fate of the galaxy isn’t being held by the hands of those clinging to the past….”

"Nor is it to be thought that man is either the oldest or the last of earth's masters, or that the common bulk of life and substance walks alone. The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be."

~Excerpt from unknown text; Trans. Dr. Henry Armitage, Ph. D, Miskatonic University

Insofar, 1932 had been a good year for the area commonly referred to as New England. As September rolled around, as it is wont do, strange occurrences began to plague the small towns in and around Arkham, Massachusetts.

It began in Dunwich, a small, xenophobic town, on the third. A horrific howling was heard early in the morning, and the next day many farmers reported missing livestock, some found dead and disfigured, others not found at all.

Innsmouth was plagued by floods on the twelfth. The seaside town went on as if naught had happened, odd as it sounds. Neighboring towns commented on Innsmouth's notoriety for seclusion and isolationism, but were pleased at the large amount of fishing the floods brought.

Arkham, the largest town of the three, was the site of a large, violent riot on the twentieth. Three police officers were killed by rioters following the demolition of an old, decrepit church. This was a shock to the citizens of Arkham, a polite, peaceful community, all church-goers.

Finally, reports of the phenomenon known as Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights, occurring above these three towns in the weeks preceding the events have gone, for the most part, unnoticed. Scientists at Arkham's Miskatonic University have been in an uproar discussing the Lights.

The stage is set for investigation - and this is where the Miskatonic University plays a part. Their doctors and scientists and thinking persons are determined to solve the mystery behind these events. Will the truth be liberated, or are some things best left forgotten?

Arkham Investigations

Welcome to Arkham Investigations, an RPG based upon the works of Howard Philip Lovecraft. This game is an attempt at both a horror game and an episodic game - the overall plot is revealed over time, and an emphasis is placed on small-scale stories, rather than large, all-consuming epics.

Lovecraftian horror is rooted more in the psychological than much other horror. There are shocks, surprises, and the like, but more often than not, there is a prevailing sense of unease, of things being "not right". This game will require a great deal of creative and descriptive writing, and as such, proper grammar and spelling is desired.

Rules

1 - The GM has final say.
2 - The Co-GM, if there is one, has final say, only overruled by the GM.
3 - Obey the TOS.
4 - Keep it PG-13, folks. It'd be gosh-darn great.
5 - God-modding will result in being booted from the game.
6 - Play nice, include others - they all have their parts to play.
7 - 6 multiplied by 7 is 42.

Most important of all, however, is this: Have fun! Try new things!

Characters and Character Sheets

As per characters - women can be professors and doctors, even if it's the thirties. History will take a step to the side in this area. Equality = fun for all.

You'll be scientists, doctors, and professors. Archaeologists, biologists, and paleontologists. Historians, archivists, you get the picture. As such, weapons will be improvised, hard to find, or even non-existent.

THE SHEET!

Name:
Gender:
Age:
Occupation:
Appearance: (details, please, or pictures)
Inventory: (no weapons to start!)
Biography: (have fun with it, but keep it real)

Halo: Ghosts of Onyx: Pale Horse posted:

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0932 HOURS, OCTOBER 31, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR)\231 KAPPA SYSTEM, COVENANT SHIPYARD: HEROIC VIRTUE OF THE PIOUS SERVANT, OPERATION: PALE HORSE

SPARTAN-G220 Kyle emerged from his Long Range Stealth Orbital Insertion Pod and watched the tiny cometlike strikes of his fellow SPARTAN IIIs as their pods dropped them on the dark side of the unnamed planet. Three-twelve, three-thirteen, three... "Gerald, status?" No green light flickered next to Gerald's name. "Gerald, come in!"

Operation: PALE HORSE had just suffered its first casualty. Worse entries had been recorded. Beta group had lost nine on its entry and still come out with two surviving SPARTANs. Heck, Gerald might even still have survived, he was just...missing.

SPARTAN-G035 Gerald-MIA

The mission took precedence. Kyle looked ahead, just accross the threshold between day and night on this airless rock, he could see the brilliant purple glow of a Covenant grav-lift. That was their first target, their ticket into Heroic Virtue of the Pious Servant, or HVOPS as the young Spartans had started calling it in their briefing.

Getting into the grav-lift would be the easy part. It was only guarded by a pair of Hunters, about a dozen Elites, and maybe twenty to thirty assorted Jackals and Grunts. A lone SPARTAN-II could handle a force like that, no problem. 314 SPARTAN-IIIs might as well have come armed with lunch trays, and they still would've been fine.

"Teams Excalibur and Cutlass, go right and give covering fire. Teams Rapier and Razor, do the same from the left. Everyone else, on my signal, head for the middle. Snipers, target those Hunters first, or we won't have to worry about getting nearly as many Spartans in to HVOPS." He chuckled halfheartedly. Joking about SPARTANs dying never felt right...

---

Welcome to Halo: Ghosts of Onyx: Pale Horse, this is a Halo RP unlike any you've ever seen. This isn't some wannabe Halo 3. These SPARTANs aren't your Rambo-esque Master Chiefs and Arbiters.

Pale Horse is based on Eric Nylund's novel, Halo: Ghosts of Onyx. In it, you play as part of the SPARTAN-III program's Gamma Company. There's a few differences between the SPARTAN-II you play as in the Halo games, and the SPARTAN-IIIs, which I will cover now to avoid any confusion.
1. SPARTAN-IIs are protected by the frightening MJOLNIR Armor. SPARTAN-IIIs are defended by the less formidable, but cheaper, and camoflaged SPI Armor. This means you're unshielded, but harder to spot.
2. SPARTAN-III was less picky in its genetic screenings. Perhaps you wouldn't have made the cut for future generations of SPARTAN-IIs, perhaps SPARTAN-III was the only way you could've become a SPARTAN.
3. The SPARTAN-II project consisted of abducted children. SPARTAN-III's are the orphans of Covenant attacks. This presents a slight variety in your history.
4. SPARTAN-IIIs are given different augmentation than the SPARTAN-IIs were. The results are basically the same near-indestructable SPARTANs, with one major change: Drugs 009762-OO, 009927-DG, and Drug 009127-PX, the first of which mutates the SPARTAN's mind to be nearly immune to shock, and capable of accessing normally untappable reserves of strength and endurance, at the cost of rational and tactical thinking. The other two drugs counter the mutation's negative effects.
5. SPARTAN-IIIs are trained to idolize SPARTAN-IIs.
6. SPARTAN-IIIs are disposable. You'll have to fight smart, because no one's going to bail you out if you **** yourself.

---

For now, the SPARTAN-IIIs are the only playable characters. At a later point in the story, I may allow Covenant characters, or your character may be infected by Flood, and there may be encounters with other human forces. As such, here is the character sheet you will be filling out:
Name:
Call Number: SPARTAN-G___ (001-330; 099, 003, 188, 035, and 220 are all taken by either canon characters or ones mentioned in the opening post)
Age: (will be 13-15 years old)
Gender:
Specialty:
Weapon of Choice:
Personality:
History:

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Rules:
1. As previously stated, I will currently only be accepting SPARTAN-III players.
2. PM your CS to the GM for approval before posting.
3. Obey the TOS and all that jazz.
4. Try to limit OOCs. No floating OOCs (attach them to an IC post whenever possible), no huge Threadkiller OOCs. A little OOC chatter helps keep the game fun, but if you're gonna bicker with a fellow player, take it to PM.
5. For the love of all that is good and holy, please use intelligible English, proper spelling, grammar, and punctualization whenever possible. No 1337!

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