Furfur, Prince of Hardcore

By: redneck@txdirect.net (Redneck Gaijin)

The riots in Philadelphia swung into their fourth straight week.

Nobody knew exactly when the Bloods got their hands on the Abrams battle tanks, but it didn't take long for the Crips, the Brotherhood, the KKK, the local Mafia, and everyone else with a large garage and trustworthy mechanics to either scavenge parts from the abandoned US Army tanks or create their own.

The police were dead or gone. The National Guard had retreated. The Army held a few pockets of the city near the Susquehanna, but not much else. The fire department continued its battle against the fires finally burning themselves out in Germantown. Downtown's streets were paved with broken glass and dead bodies.

A wild-haired young man, apparently in his twenties, wearing a ragged T-shirt and jeans, grinned at the small fires burning here and there in the shelled-out heart of the city. He snugged his female-company-of-the-moment to his side and chuckled, "Isn't it wild, gal? The Revolution's here, break out the body bags!"

"You go, boss," the girl purred, cuddling closer to him.

The man grinned, then paused as his eyes flashed across Independence Hall. The ancient brick structure was still untouched, the mobs having bypassed it somehow. "Waaaaait a minute," he chuckled, "there's something I've always wanted to do."

With a swagger beyond most humans' ability to duplicate, he sauntered over across the pitted grass lawn of the hall, right up to the masonry. The zipper of his jeans made a loud, arrogant RRRRRRRIP as he opened his fly.

Celestials in human vessels don't -need- to urinate, but they can do so if desired.

Furfur zipped up his pants, grinning wickedly. "All right, baby," he grinned, "let's go find some mortars! YEAH!! WOO HOO!!!"

The world is hardcore, man.

Furfur has never held so much power before in his existence, and he loves every moment of it.

The word of Hardcore is running wild all over the planet. Gangs of armored thugs with automatic weapons run around looting, raping, and fighting other gangs of armored thugs with automatic weapons. Dozens of major cities which survived Armageddeon are no-man's-lands, thanks to rioting caused by various angry factions in the woodwork.

Furfur played a major role both in triggering Armageddeon and in the actual battles, doing for several powerful angels and giving others, such as Christopher, experiences they pray to forget. His Servitors served with uncommon valor and cruelty, a berzerker wave within the tide of Hell's demons. In the aftermath of the battle, he became second-in-command of Hell's forces, and more importantly, the new commander of the Hellforce and most of Hell's other human Soldiers in the War.

Of course, Furfur hasn't changed his own personal goals. Tear everything down, get rid of the old fogeys, smash the state, and rub everybody's nose in it. He openly disparages Saminga, not caring what the current ruler of Hell might hear: "Hey, do you really think he cares what I say? Man, if it doesn't fit into his paranoid little world he can't hear it, dig?" He's one of the more active players in the hunt for the Granite Throne, but his bluntness, his blatant honesty, and his total unwillingness to play the Game by the old rules has earned him few allies...

(stats changed only as different from 'Night Music')



Bearers of this Attunement gain a Calabite's basic Band Resonance. (Obviously this Attunement is not given to Calabim of Hardcore.)




HOSTILE: All the rest




* Provide a weapon of major destruction to rioters


+1 A brick from a smashed or burned-out building

+2 Smashing a pane-glass window

+3 $500 or more of looted goods, or a corpse killed in a riot

+4 Lynch mob of more than 10 people

+5 Bandit army of more than 100 people (they -do- exist)

+6 Full blown riot of over 50,000 people

--- Redneck

Kris Overstreet, will write for food... |  Do not taunt Happy Fun Belial.
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http://www.jurai.net/~redneck/wlp/      | humiliation in the morning!"
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